Page 93 of The Games We Play

I don’t want to take it back, but I am worried about what she’ll think of me. Will she hate how much I’ve killed? The things I’ve done simply because I was following orders? SomeI’m proud of, some not. Regardless, it’s what I was trained to do. What I needed to do.

But I don’t care. If I spent all those years training to do those things to bring me to this moment, to bring peace to her by ridding him from this world, it was all worth it.

“He raped you. Beat you until you were unrecognizable and almost drowned you in a lake. He ruined the memory of that night,our night, which has haunted you for ten years. Ten fucking years of your life was taken because of him!” I’m breathless as I step closer to her, aligning my body with hers. “So yes, I want to fucking kill him.”

“I want to believe he’s better than he used to be…” she replies almost inaudibly. Like it’s hard for her to even say it out loud herself.

It should be.

He doesn’t deserve that kind of forgiveness. Not from her or anyone else that he bullied and tortured in his years.

She needs to know everything before I let her make her decision. She’s here so she has the chance to tell her story and keep him in jail. But, if he’s granted parole and there is an ounce of terror that resides in her eyes, I need her to be okay with letting me do what I need to do. To keep her safe. To keep others safe, too.

I walk back toward the bedroom door, open it, and reach for the backpack placed on the chair right outside of it. Reaching in, I pull out thick manila folder with the photos from her attack and reports detailing all the other sexual harassment complaints filed against him.

Tossing it on the bed, the photos splay out in front of her, revealing flashbacks of that night. The very top photo is a picture of her beaten face, from the neck up after that night.

Surprisingly, her neck is untouched. Which is a relief considering what she enjoys sexually. If he would have held her downby her neck instead of her hands, her natural desire would be a fear she’d probably never be able to get over.

She’d react the same way she did when I grabbed her wrists and she’d battle even more demons within herself.

Using her fingers, she reaches down to spread out the pictures and she squints, as if in pain, when she sees them.

Her eyes are bloodshot and swollen. Her lips, puffy and bruised. A stitched cut aligns the top of her eyebrow and a bloody slit decorates her lip, matching the gash that crosses over her cheekbone.

The worst part of the bruising lies around the bridge of her nose, circling around her eyes. Different shades of black and blue, in depths I’ve never seen before.

Another one displaying her hands and forearms comes into view. You can see the outline of his fingers and palm print from where he held her down. One wrist is completely dislocated with striped bruising starting at her palm, all the way past her elbow from the abuse it took.

I’ve seen horror in my life. Lone body parts, broken bones, and more blood than someone should see in any lifetime, but I have to look away. To see Mimi like that, completely shatters me.

She stares down at the photo, stunned to silence. I don’t know if she’s seen these before, but I’m glad she’s reminded of the pain and suffering he put her through so she can be okay with whatever decision that needs to be made.

Wrapping one hand around her wrist, she caresses the soft area and flinches. Her eyes are pained and I step toward her wanting to hold her, needing to do something.

“These are evidence pictures from the trial. Those were sealed.”

“Not to me.”

Her eyes snap over to mine, and I can’t tell if she’s upset or just confused and distraught.

My body has a mind of its own as it walks toward her, my legs taking me in the direction it knows my heart wants to go. I gently place my hands on her waist, pulling her close, and I swear it’s like my body needs her to breathe.

“Some days I want to be able to forgive him, so I can feel like I can move on. Other days I fantasize about his death like it’s the only way to get closure.”

“You have the right to feel both ways at any given time,” I reply reluctantly, because forgiving him is the last thing on my mind.

“I feel so confused and angry, and I want to scream and cry at the same time.”

“What do you need right now?” I step toward her as she grips my shirt.

My hands roam under the fabric of her over-sized hoodie, caressing the soft skin of her stomach. Her hand wraps around mine, guiding it to her chest.

My fingertips graze over the satin hem of her bra and the sensation of touching her goes straight to my cock.

Her hips press deeper into mine and her breath hitches as she feels the length of my hard cock pushing against her.

“Tell me what you need, Mimi,” I say again, my grip tightening over her hips.

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