Page 55 of Scarred Sins
He didn’t.
And I pushed it under my bed while he wasn’t looking.
Ever since, I have guarded it with my life. I kept changing the hiding place in case my mother decided to either trash my room or clean it to make it presentable for their new clients. At times, I had it hidden in my socks, in my underwear – anywhere her filthy hands never touched.
And for a year, I thought of how to proceed.
My mother, like the drug addict that she truly was, often had times where she was barely able to walk, talk, or even think for herself. At those times, she was often in my room, hitting me and blaming me for everything that went wrong in her life.
It happened so frequently that I’d memorized the days when she was taking harder drugs. Taking her out was easier than I anticipated. She never saw it coming, and she ended up dying by choking in her blood, gasping for air, eyes filled with hatred as she saw me above her body, smiling ear to ear.
My stepfather was a different story. He was taller and much bigger than me, so I was careful with him. Although he never hit me, he followed my mother’s lead and listened to every single word she’d said. I had to play dirty and do it in a way he wouldn’t see coming.
When my mother was struggling for her last, pathetic breath, I screamed for him.
He was shocked.
Mother had too many stab wounds to count, her body nearly empty of blood. The color started draining from his face when he saw her, and I used the shock aspect to my advantage.
I jumped on him, stabbing him in the shoulder.
I’m not sure if it was sheer luck, or perhaps the deities above had finally decided to grant me some sort of mercy and allow me to do it, but I managed to pull the blade out and stab him in the throat, pushing it until the handle was the only part of the weapon outside of his body.
Blood splattered all over my face, his eyes wide in shock. He was gurgling as streams of warm blood continued to fall all over me.
For the next two hours, I continued to stab every part of his body, then move back onto my mother and repeat. The sight gave me nightmares for years to follow, but at the time, I didn’t care.
I’d never seen so much blood in my life, and I’d never so much as hit a person before that. Then, my trial began and finished, labeling me as a convicted murderer, destined to spend the rest of her life behind bars.
Then, I sat on the stairs, crying while talking to the police on the phone.
The only way out was death, and I chose it to be theirs, not mine.
Because of that, I met Arlo.
Just for him, I needed to get stronger, mentally and physically. He saved me and, quite literally, took the bullet for me. It’s time for me to return the favor. For myself. For the man who sneaked his way into my heart in less than a week.
For the first man who vowed to help me heal.
I’ll help him heal, too.
Softly, I press a kiss to his forehead, leaving my lips to linger on his warm skin for a few moments longer than necessary. I’m afraid to leave, afraid that this will be the last time I see him. But as much as I wanted to stay put, I couldn’t.
With instant regret bouncing in my chest, I make distance between the hospital bed and myself. I glance at Arlo one last time, then turn around.
Only then do I feel the movement of his hand, sneaking around my wrist and preventing me from moving. My head turns to the side, looking at him with shock.
“Were you about to leave a wounded man all alone?”
His teasing voice makes my heart skip a beat.
His lazy smile and droopy eyes make me turn to give him a better look. I step forward, allowing myself to take in the sight. He doesn’t look to be in any sort of pain; he looks extremely content and happy.’’
“I have to leave,’’ I whisper. “Arlo, I’m so sorr–’’
“Say it, I dare you.’’ His voice has a sharp edge, but it’s exactly what I needed to hear. “I heard you the first two times. It’s not your fault, butterfly.’’
“How are you feeling?”
