Coming Back (The Sarah Kinsely Story - Book #2) (3 page)

Whatever the science behind it, I grabbed a gallon of chocolate ice cream, my biggest spoon, and started eating my way to sleep.

My stomach began growling and my eyelids began to sag before too long. I used my last reserves of energy to put the lid back on the now half eaten gallon of chocolate ice cream and shoved it mindlessly back into the freezer. I tossed the spoon into the sink and bungled my way back into my room.

I slipped under my covers, and before I could reach for my phone; I was out.

It must have been around 4:30 a.m. when I heard the crashing of the glass. It might have been earlier, but I can't be sure.

My eyes opened immediately, but my body refused to respond to my brain screaming at it to move. I eyed the hallway. There was broken glass everywhere, but I couldn't make out any other details. It was like the edges of the walls had melted away, like ice cream does if you leave it on the counter too long.

I tried to crane my neck around, hoping to see my phone sitting on the desk next to my bed, but my body still refused to move. What I could see though frightened me.

I was no longer in
my
house, but
his
.

I was still in
my
bed, but it wasn't
my
room anymore.

No wonder I couldn't make out the details of the hallway, I didn't recognize any of them.

Suddenly, I heard voices coming from the end of the hallway.

A man and a woman.

I couldn't tell if they were arguing or if they were —

Their moans of pleasure turned to silence almost as soon as I recognized what was happening. I struggled to move my body, but still no response. I couldn't escape, my mind had gone into some kind of paralysis that I had never experienced before. I wanted to scream, but even my voice was restrained by this mysterious hold.

Suddenly, I saw them both standing in the hallway. They were naked; that much I could tell from the silhouettes they cast in the darkness.

They were staring at me.

The woman leaning against the man, her hand rubbing up and down on his chest.

They were standing barefooted on the glass.

They took a step towards me, the broken shards crunching under their feet. I tried to scream, to move, to do
something
, but I was still held down, unable to move an inch. I tried kicking my feet with every ounce of energy that I could muster, but only my big toe wiggled in response.

They stepped closer again. A light shone down on their faces from somewhere in the hallway.

Oh my God.

My breathing almost stopped completely, then went into overdrive.

"Hello Sarah," Lizzy said, now standing near the end of my bed. Her naked body was nearly covered entirely in tattoos. She was wet, probably from sweat, and her body glistened in the low light of the room where I was. She saw me looking and struck a pose, trying to bait me into her temptation.

I tried to answer back, to tell them that I was going to go to the police, that they would be spending the rest of their lives in prison once I got out of here, but nothing came out, and it didn't matter because Aiden would have interrupted me anyways.

His voice was booming, it didn't sound like it came from a man.

It sounded like it came from the whole house.

"Why didn't you let me in?"

He too was wet, the edges of his body flashing under the dull glow of light in the hallway. The muscles along his stomach seemed to point downward, pulling my eyes towards the part of his body that I now feared. He smiled and looked down, somehow guiding my eyes where he wanted them. His cock was erect, larger than I had remembered — and something else — it was tattooed. I hadn't noticed it when we had spent the night together, I wondered if I had really missed it.

It didn't really matter now, whatever was going to happen was going to happen.

There was nothing that I could do.

"Why didn't you let him in?" Lizzy chimed in.

She stepped over to Aiden and straddled her leg over his manhood. He picked her up, grabbing her ass cheeks with both hands so that her breasts were smashed up against his chest. She seemed to float in the air as he held her, toes dangling, off the ground.

They both looked at me and asked, "Why didn't you let us in?"

I felt like I was losing my mind. It felt like my mind was beginning to shut itself down in preparation for whatever event was about to happen.

Then he lifted her up into the air above his head and slowly lowered her onto his shaft. They both moaned so loud that I thought my ears would burst.

I could do nothing but watch as they fucked each other over, and over, and over, again.

Just when I thought I could endure no more, the sound of breaking glass crashed through my ears and into the deepest parts of my brain. It was such a shock to my system that — I woke up again.

This time, I was in my own house. I could see the details of my walls perfectly. I could move my neck, my head, and my whole body. There was no glass in the hallway. There were no moans of pleasure coming from the other room.

There was no Lizzy.

There was no Aiden.

I started to cry uncontrollably.

It must have been a dream.

No, not a dream; a nightmare.

Chapter 5

It was nearly noon by the time I finally woke up that Saturday morning. I had spent the rest of that night tossing and turning, reliving the nightmare in my mind, checking and rechecking my doors, and making sure that my phone was plugged in just in case I had to call the cops. Even when I first moved to New York and had to live in an apartment directly above an Irish bar and strip club I wasn’t nearly as afraid as I had been that night in Portland.

The first thing I did when I woke up that morning was take a long shower. I felt dirty. The images from the nightmare refused to leave my mind. They left a bad taste in my mouth.

After my shower I got back on my computer and started my furious quest to find a roommate. I would rather live with a complete stranger who could serve as an eyewitness to my murder than live alone and have to go through what happened last night ever again.

I jumped on Craigslist, and typed out the following ad:

Roommate wanted

No drama, no bullshit, no weirdos, no smoking.

Rapists, criminals, scammers, druggies and other various nefarious types need not apply.

Looking for a long-term roommate. Possibly more than one.

Open house today at 5.

I realized it was a little bit last-minute, and the show up might be sparse, but I wanted to get this process started and I had to squeeze it in between now and before I had dinner with Brandon later that night.

The house was still in shambles from the move so I spent that afternoon cleaning it and trying to make it look nice. Yes, I had spent the previous week in near mental breakdown, but prospective roommates didn’t need to know that.

In between filling the tub with bleach and stuffing everything into drawers, I ran down to the corner market and bought some prepackaged cookies. On my way back I wiggled the “For Sale” sign out of the ground and threw it over the fence into my backyard.

Classy, I know.

I had heard Portland was a hard city to find a place to live, but when five o’clock finally came around I found out just how hard it really was.

The turnout was overwhelming.

My house was instantly flooded with 20-somethings in thick framed glasses, ties and polka dot skirts. There were couples, both gay and straight, singles and an occasional group all vying for whatever living conditions I could offer. They asked questions, ate cookies, and told me that they loved my hair. I knew they were lying, but I didn’t mind getting buttered up by attractive people my age.

At around 5:45 p.m. the crowd started to dissipate as the house search party began to wrap up. I collected information on a few potentials and was feeling really excited and, if I'm being honest, a little more safe just knowing that so many people had seen my face and new my name. If my picture showed up on the evening news that night maybe one of them would have recognized me.

It was a comforting thought anyways.

Just as I was about to put the few remaining cookies away and close my door I heard a loud and familiar voice. I couldn't quite place it until I saw the face — and the beard.

"Marcus," I shouted.

"You little bitch." Marcus ran over and gave me a tight squeeze.

"How are you?" I asked.

"I'm as fine as ever. Where the hell have you been?"

Marcus turned to the crew he had drug along with him and ushered them over.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I mean, Aiden has been a complete and royal pain in the ass since last weekend when you girls stopped by at the place. All he does now at the restaurant is ask about you like we are supposed to know where the hell you are tramping around at.”

I didn't know what say. I felt embarrassed that people I hardly knew were getting all the gory details of that weekend spent with Aiden. I imagined him sitting back there in his kitchen making rude jokes and comments and pretending to care about me and trying to make a big deal out of something that, in all reality, meant nothing.

It made me feel sick.

I invited Marcus and his friends into the living room. I waved goodbye to the last few people that had come for the open house and told them I would call. Marcus waved at them as well and said he would call too.

It made me smile.

"So girl," he said, "what
have
you been doing?"

"Oh you know, just hanging out trying get roommates and stuff."

I flashed a grin.

"Well, can I live here or what?"

The thought of having Marcus constantly by my side automatically made me start to feel better. I imagined the two of us snuggling on the couch together watching Netflix films, knitting and doing other offensively cliche things that girls can only do with their gay friends. The fact that he did work at Aiden’s restaurant did concern me, but I was willing to overlook it if it meant having a semi-familiar face around.

"You got money?" I asked laughing.

Marcus blurted out a loud laugh.

"Bitch please, I ain’t got no money, but these bitches do. And they all owe me."

He pointed to his posse and they all laughed.

I told Marcus that I would definitely think about it, that he was on the top of my list, then I told him something I would later regret.

"Well, you all are free to stay here for a few, but I need to go and get changed. I have a date with my boss tonight.”

"Wait, what?” the laughing stopped, “You got a date with who?"

Marcus looked like I had just mortally offended his pride.

"Oh no it's not really a date. It's just something my boss does for all the new employees. They take them out to dinner or something. I don't know what it is, all I know is I get free food."

Marcus didn't look convinced.

"Damn," he said, "if you're doing your boss and I have to deal with Aiden's shit every day, no thanks to you, that makes you one cold heartless bitch."

I considered telling Marcus the whole truth. I thought about laying it all out there — exposing Aiden and the girls he considered friends — but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Even when I was younger I was always the girl who kept the secrets best. Instead I gave him a half smile and reaffirmed that I would consider having him as a roommate and I would let him know if I thought it was a good idea.

He said "whatever" and we parted ways.

When Marcus left I felt my blood begin to boil. I couldn't help but think over and over again about Aiden telling his cooks and wait staff about me. I imagined the harsh and cruel things he would've said about me in his kitchen speak. I imagined them flinging pans, fire splashing around them as they poked fun at what I thought were intimate moments.

I felt ill thinking about him recounting our sexual interlude with people I would never meet.

A tear fell down my face as I put on my mascara. A long black streak fell down my cheek.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breathe, and looked at myself in the mirror. I still had to get through the meet and greet with my boss’s boss.

I could cry when I got home.

Chapter 6

I had agreed to meet Brandon at a place he called “his go-to spot”. I didn’t know what that meant and so I dressed casual. I showed up exactly ten minutes fashionably late and he ushered me over to the table.

It was the kind of place that you noticed for all the wrong reasons. The majority of the patrons seemed old enough to have grandkids, the waitstaff all looked old enough to have kids in high school, and the booths were high backed oak benches. It wasn’t tacky, it just seemed — overly nice.