Page 47 of Dark Torment

OLIVIA

It’s beenhours and I still can’t stop thinking about our kiss.

I’d almost be worried it was a pity kiss with how gentle and chaste it had been. Almost, if not for the bulge in his pants getting even bigger.

Yeah, I looked again, and yeah, it’s humanly possible to be that big, apparently. How he assumed he could ever fit that inside of me is freaking laughable. Seriously, I don’t have a death wish.

And now I sound like Shelby with the over-dramatics. I’m blaming it on alcohol and lack of sleep, with a sprinkle of my world being turned upside down in the span of a day.

I don’t understand why someone would want me dead, either. All the contract said was that I’m in their way and they can only get what they want in death.

I know Jonathan believes Ben has something to do with it, but what would he and Dad benefit from my death? It’s not like they want the shop. The only thing they seemed to want was Grams’ house, but even that makes little sense to me.

They could easily ask me for almost anything and I would probably give it to them.

“Oh, Grams. I miss you,” I whisper into the dark room.

Sadie is laying at the foot of the bed with me this time. I’ve been tossing around too much for her, but her presence comforts me.

When I have days like this where I feel less than myself, I like to think back on my time with Grams and it makes me feel better. She was always my comfort in any storm, and now that she’s gone, it’s been hard to find my balance.

Sure, I’ve found the semi-confidence in myself that I hadn’t had before, but it just sucks to lose your person.

“Bet you wish we could be under the stars now,” I whisper again, tears stinging the backs of my eyes.

When Dad and Ben first started denying me as family for being different, she used to tell me to lie under the stars and breathe. That they would guide my heart and soul to peace if I just let go. I wish I could do that now, but I’m not about to get up in a strange house in the middle of the freaking night.

That’s basically the beginning of every horror movie, and I’m not about that life.

Again, with the dramatics, Liv?

I sigh to myself while throwing my weight around until I’m laying on my back, staring at the ceiling.

It’s not like I can really blame my brain for being overdramatic at this point. I’m literally sleeping in a serial killer’s house.

Not only that, but said serial killer kidnapped me while I was drunk off my butt, and I remember none of it. Add on the fact that said killer says he’s in love with me, and procured my brother to kill him?

“I bet you’re rolling around in your grave right about now, Grams.” I snort to myself.

In a lot of ways, I think Grams would love Jonathan. She’d tell me that as long as I’m happy and cared for, what more could I possibly want?

She’d be right. If Jonathan is truly trying to keep me safe and not wanting to kill me, then what do I have to fear?

Is it smart that the first man I’ve ever desired is probably close to twice my age and killed a lot of people? Definitely not, but the idea of not giving him a chance to prove himself makes me feel ill.

“Tell me what to do, Grams,” I whisper, finally letting the tears fall.

For the first time since she passed, I wish I had the letter she left me. The lawyer had waited until Dad and Ben left before handing it to me. He said that Grams’ instructions were to keep it, but wait to open it until I felt like I needed her more than anything.

There have been many times I’ve wanted to open it, but none of them felt like the right time. Now I feel like I’m spinning out of control with no way out, and I’d love to read it.

I’ll give it a few more days to see if I still feel the need to read it. It might sound silly, but I keep putting it off because it’s the last time I will ever have her talk to me, and I don’t honestly know if I’m ready for that.

* * *

“Hey, sunflower. How did you sleep?”Jonathan asks when he walks into the kitchen.

Sleep, right. I wish I had slept because I’m feeling like a zombie right now, and we have to go into the shop today.

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