The Sweetest Kill: A Young Adult Paranormal (4 page)

“Come into the office.” He says stiffly, “I want to talk to you.”

“I-I have to go home.” I stutter out, feeling the growing urge to run.

He glances up at Kayla before smiling at me, “It’ll only take a few minutes.”

I spot Melanie out of the corner of my eye, walking out of the back room. Her walk slows down but she doesn’t say anything. I know I’m alone on this one. Neither Kayla nor Melanie can or will help me. When Melanie passes by me to stand behind the counter, my suspicions are confirmed and I blink back tears. I can’t say I’m surprised but it doesn’t hurt any less.

“It’ll only take a minute.” He assures me again and reaches out to guide me towards the office. I clench my hands into fists at my side, but my feet follow his command.

I walk into the fairly small office and see two desks facing different walls, one of which belongs to the other manager, Diane. A fairly small window is on the farthest wall from the door. It has a view of barren tree branches going across it. I’m studying the tiny half bathroom nearby, when I hear the door click shut behind me. This is followed by another click, and I realize I’ve just been locked in.

I close my eyes and try not to show my panic when Lawrence’s hands come down on my shoulders. Both of my fists tighten to the point that my fingernails are digging into my palms. I keep my body stiff as Lawrence leans down to bury his nose in my hair before sniffing me. I don’t like it. I don’t like him. But most of all, I don’t like this.

“You smell good.” He groans in my ear, making my chin start to wobble. “Did you really think you could avoid me forever?”

I don’t respond. Instead, I just close my eyes and grit my teeth.

Lawrence suddenly turns me around to face him. He roughly grabs my face with his thumb and pointer finger, hard enough to feel like my chin is about to detach from my face. I whimper against my own will. His eyes light up like the creepy bastard I always knew he was.

His disgusting mouth descends on mine, and I feel the need to vomit quickly, as his tongue licks the seam of my lips. He continues to try to force me to open my mouth, but I keep it firmly closed. I don’t want anything of him inside me. If I have to suffer a bit for that not to happen, I’ll take it.

“Open your mouth.” He demands but I shake my head.

He grabs a chunk of my hair and pulls it hard enough to make me cry out. The sound is cut off as his tobacco flavored tongue shoots into my mouth. This time, I can really feel the bile rising in my throat as I try to push him off me with my hands. It’s like he doesn’t even feel me fighting him, as he pushes himself closer to me. At this very moment, I can honestly say that I’ve never wanted to die more. I want this to end so much that my whole body radiates with frustration, panic, and fear.

Lawrence’s hands start to work their way up the back of my shirt and my panic only grows as I try harder to get him off me. A hesitant knock on the door cuts him short before he can touch my skin. He leans back and glares at me through his round glasses.

“Did you ask someone to come back here?”

I shake my head but he doesn’t look convinced. He keeps me close, despite my struggling to get away from him and faces the door. His voice is filled with hardly restrained annoyance as he yells at the person who dared to interrupt.

“What?”

“A customer wants to talk to you.” Kayla’s bored voice informs him from the other side of the door.

Lawrence scowls at the door and barks, “I’ll be out in a second.”

“Okay.”

As soon as he’s sure she’s away from the door, Lawrence throws me away from him like I’m made of poison. He adjusts himself in his pants and I look away, deciding to get lost in the sight outside the office window. The snow coats the thin spindly branches of the tree outside. I watch as a lone, brown leaf still hangs on despite its time to go, finally crumbling under the weight. If anything is a metaphor in my life right now, that leaf is definitely it.

Lawrence slaps the side of my face lightly, getting my attention. When he's sure he has it, he fix back his dyed blonde hair and flashes me a threatening smile. His teeth are yellow and a bit crooked. As I look at them, I try not to throw up as I remember his snake like tongue inside my mouth a moment before.

“You’re going to keep your fucking mouth shut about this or I’ll say I caught you stealing from the cash register. Do I make myself clear?”

I nod quickly, hoping he'll just leave if I agree.

Smirking, he tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear, making me flinch. “Good girl.”

Tugging up his pants, he wipes his mouth with his hand and turns to head for the door.  As soon as he’s out of the room, I feel bile rise up in my throat. Rushing into the connected bathroom, I throw up the only things in my stomach, my pills and stomach acid. It burns up my throat, but it’s better than the taste Lawrence has left behind on my tongue. I flush the toilet and quietly leave the office.

Melanie’s eyes widen as she looks at me, and I can’t imagine what I look like. Hiding behind some of my hair, I turn away from her and level my gaze to the brown, tile floor below. Seeing this as my chance to escape without notice, I grab my things from the storage room in a rush and leave through the back exit. My shift ended twenty minutes ago, so what the hell does it matter now?

When I get home, I don’t take off my things like I usually do. Instead, I simply lock my deadbolt and slide down the cheap wood of my door until I’m sitting on the carpet. I let my forehead fall onto my knees as I curl into a ball and begin to let it all out. Heartbreaking and soul crushing sobs escape my body. As I cry, my mind replays every single thing, second by second, of what Lawrence just forced on me.

Laying my head back against the door, I stare up at my ceiling through blurry eyes. It’s as if I needed another reason to hate this world or myself more than I already do. Closing my eyes, I listen to the sound of my phone ringing and just ignore it. I’m not in the mood to talk to my mom right now.

In fact, I’m not in the mood for much more than just sitting here and wishing I wasn’t here at all.

Allocution

“How are you feeling?”

I grimace at the question but answer, “Fine.”

Dr. Reynolds lifts one bushy eyebrow, “Care to elaborate?”

“Not really.” I answer quietly.

He’s obviously unimpressed by my response and begins scribbling on his notepad, while I take the opportunity to study him. Dr. Reynolds is a man in his late fifties with a rather impressive white colored comb over, probing blue eyes, and a cleft chin. He wears thin gold wire glasses but consistently peers over them when he talks to me. I think they might be reading glasses but one can never really be sure.

The office is fairly nice. There’s an expansive desk against a bay window, showing a view of the parking lot below and some of the chiropractic business across the street. Dr. Reynolds sits in front of me in his fairly large brown leather office chair, his back to his desk as I face him. I drop my gaze to a loose thread on the tweed chair I’m sitting on, and start to pick at it, waiting for his scolding. Sometimes, I think he’s worse than my mother with all the lectures.

He eventually lowers his pen and looks at me dispassionately, “Shoshanna, I can only help you if you talk to me. We’ve been over this.”

“I’m aware.”

“Then, you’re also aware that your cooperation in these sessions is also a stipulation of your outpatient status with the hospital.”

I shift in my chair a little, “Yes.”

“Then why don’t you tell me where you got those bruises on your face.”

I wipe my already sweating palms on my baggy jean legs and stare at the entwined fingers in my lap. It’s only been one night since the incident with Lawrence, and I’m still the worse for wear. I feel disgusting no matter how many baths or showers I take, or how hard I scrub my skin. I swear I could still feel his hands on me in my sleep. As a result, I kept waking up covered in sweat, shaking and crying all throughout the night.

He’s never taken it that far before, and now that he has, I’m not sure if I can face the possibility that he might do it again. That being said, I don’t know what else I can do. Calling the police seems like a waste of time. He hasn’t done anything other than touch and force a sloppy unwanted kiss on me. I shudder at the memory and try to shut off the building emotion as I glance at Dr. Reynolds, who continues to watch me. He doesn’t need to know about the incident.

No one does.

“I fell.”

“You fell?” He repeats doubtfully.

I hum a response and nod my head, “Yes. I s-s-slipped on some ice and fell.”

“The how do you explain the fact that they are the size of finger tips?”

My finger knots nervously on my lap, “I landed at an odd angle, I think.”

He sighs heavily and removes his glasses so he can look me directly in the eyes, “Shoshanna, we won’t get any father in your treatment if you continue to be evasive.”

“I’m not.”

“You are, and I won’t insult your intelligence by pretending that I don’t know you are,” He says before sitting back in his chair, “We need to talk about what happened the night you came under the hospital’s care and you’ve been able to evade that subject as well. I don’t need to tell you that keeping these things in is unhealthy.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” I grit out, feeling my anxiety begin to escalate.

“We have to talk about it at some point, Shoshanna. You tried to kill yourself and this incident wasn’t the first time. Seven attempts in the past six years is not a simple matter to just sweep under the rug.”

I stare down at one of his framed degrees on the wall, and feel tears sting my eyes. The ‘incident’ in question is not my finest hour, I can admit that. Glancing down at my covered up arms, I remember what got me in this chair in the first place.

It’s crazy how one little thing can change everything. I had taken myself off my medications probably about two months before and I had been feeling fine. I wasn’t a happy go-lucky cheerleader, but I was feeling as melancholy as normal. I didn’t have a job yet but I was taking a few online college courses, you know just to try it out. I was on my way to being…I don’t know, normal I guess.

As I said before, it was a small thing that pushed me over the cliff that I didn’t realize I was teetering on. It was the middle of the night and I couldn’t sleep. Instead, all I was doing was drawing and writing thoughts down in the margins of my sketchbook. Then the pencil broke. I had been gripping it so hard, it snapped clear in half. It seems stupid but it felt like the last straw.

What was I doing with myself? Why was I pretending to be something I wasn’t? My entire life at this point felt like a sham. I wasn’t some college bound girl with hopes and dreams. I was the girl who sat quietly in the back of the class and was waiting for her time to be up. I didn’t want to make a new life because I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be happy with that one either.

I felt like I was being ripped apart from the inside out. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think correctly. It was like everything was in chaos and nothing would be right again. I tried to get a grip, convince myself that I was being crazy but it didn’t work. No matter what I tried to tell myself, the truth was I wasn’t meant to be like this. I wanted out and I could only think of one way.

I feel a tear run down my face, as I remember the feel of the blade sliding across my wrist. I quickly reach up to wipe it away. “I-I-I was having a hard time.”

Dr. Reynolds poises his pen for notes as he regards me, “What about it was so hard?”

“Everything.”

“Nothing specific?”

I shake my head and wipe away another tear from my cheek. I bite down on my lower lip and rip another piece of skin from its surface. The sting of it focuses my mind on the pain and I can feel myself already calming down. That’s all I needed, just a little focus. I wish I could sneak into the bathroom for a few minutes and use the emergency blade in my jacket pocket.

“Why didn’t you talk to your parents about it?”

I let out a dry laugh, “That would have been a waste of time. I would just be put back in the hospital again.”

“But if you had, you wouldn’t have made the attempt.”

I meet Dr. Reynolds pale eyes, “I think you’re forgetting that I didn’t want to be saved.”

He scribbles on his notepad before speaking again, “What about your sister?”

I instantly go tense at the mention of Charlotte. Narrowing my eyes, I try to keep my voice as dull as possible, “What about her?”

“Did her death have any impact on you? Your file says that you made the first attempt on your life, shortly after her death.”

“Of course her death impacted me. She was my baby sister!” I snap as I lift my legs up to cross them in front of me. “I was fucked up long before Charlotte. Her death didn’t make me sick.”

“But it did drive you to attempt to hang yourself in the family dining room.”

“It wasn’t about Charlotte!” I yell before sitting back in my chair. I run a shaky hand through my hair and try to calm down. I shouldn’t have let him get to me like that. I’m sure that’s what he wanted and here I am just giving it to him. I know better than this. Lowering my tone I repeat myself, “It wasn’t about Charlotte.”

He looks completely unaffected by my outburst, “Then what was it about?”

“I just… I didn’t want to be here anymore, in this body, in this mind.”

“What is it about you that upsets you so much?”

I don’t like this question because I’m pretty sure the answer sitting on my tongue isn’t going to satisfy him. So instead, I just shrug and purposely shut down again. I’ve given him much more than I intended to today. I don’t want to make the same mistake twice.

“Shoshanna,” He begins with a sigh, “I’m going to ask you a question but I don’t want you to answer it now. I want you to think about it until we meet again. Can you do that for me?”

I frown but nod.

Setting his notepad on his desk he leans forward in his chair and locks eyes with me, “The question is: Do you really want to die or do you just want relief?”

“Is there a difference?”

“Yes.”

He doesn’t explain why they’re different, but I think that’s part of the process he’s trying to instill in me. He wants me to think of my motivations. The ‘how’ and ‘why’ my brain goes to the darker directions it often does. The good doctor and suspected ex-hippy is all about self-discovery and self-understanding. Personally, I couldn’t give a shit why I feel this way. I just want it to stop.

“Shoshanna?” He calls, getting me out of my thoughts.

“How much longer do we have left?” I ask quietly as I pull my sweater sleeves over my hands.

“Fifteen minutes.”

I nod and pick at the loose thread again. I’ll have to call a cab to pick me up and take me to my parent’s house after this. It’s Saturday, which means tomorrow is a family dinner back home. I feel my stomach churn at the idea, but I try my best to ignore it. I can only hope Dad is the one cooking this time. Mom always manages to burn everything. God love her for trying though.

“What are your plans for the rest of the day?” Dr. Reynolds asks after a minute.

“Just go home. I have a family dinner on Sunday though.”

“Good. Time with your family is good. It’ll keep you connected to the here and now, and less in your head. Distraction is one of your best allies, Shoshanna.”

I nod my head but internally I’m rolling my eyes. “Distraction” I mentally scoff. Yeah, well, I tried it your way and its gotten me nowhere. The rubber band snapping didn’t work out. My mom took them away saying that the bruises on my arms were no better than the cuts, so that was thrown out the window. I’m a horrible runner so that isn’t an option. What else is there? I can’t carry a note so karaoke is out of the question.

“Is it time yet?”

Dr. Reynolds nearly rolls his eyes at me but refrains, “Yes, you can leave. How’s your prescription working out for you?”

I freeze mid-motion as I start getting out of the chair. Pulling down the hem of my baggy dark gray sweater, I reach up to tuck some hair behind my ear, “Fine. I have enough for the rest of the month.”

He sticks his hands in the front pockets of his slacks, while assessing my face, “You’ll let me know if you run out?”

“Yes.”

“Make another appointment with Marie for next week.”

I nod and grab my jacket off the coat rack in the corner, “I’ll see you next week, Dr. Reynolds.”

“Have a good rest of your weekend, Shoshanna.”

I don’t answer. Instead I walk down the hallway, past the other shrink’s offices and towards the exit to the waiting room. It’s a medium sized room with chairs lining the walls, a play table for kids and a TV in the corner of the room. On the far end of it, is the secretary’s area, with the kind looking Marie sitting in it. She’s by far my favorite part of coming here, I have to say.

“Done already?” She asks as I approach the desk.

I nod and offer a small smile, “I think I might have bored him.”

Marie waves one sun spotted hand, “Don’t be silly, Shoshanna. Doctors aren’t paid to get bored.”

“If you say so.” I shrug.

“So what time can I sign you up for next week?”

As I’m pondering the question, something on the small TV on her desk catches my attention. It’s a news bulletin with the words ‘Fourth Victim of Downtown Ripper Found’ flashing across the bottom on the screen. I don’t take my eyes off the screen as I speak to Marie.

“Can you turn this up? I want to hear what they’re saying.”

Marie frowns at me but does as I ask. The same somber newswoman from the previous broadcast is standing in the city park while she speaks into her microphone, “Stefanie McMullen was found in Griffith City Park today, and has been confirmed as the fourth victim of who the police have dubbed ‘The Downtown Ripper’.”

“What has the world come to these days?” Marie says with a shake of her head, but I hardly hear her.

“I’m here with Detective Vincent Sanchez for more information. Detective, what can our young women do, for them not to be vulnerable to such a brutal killer?”

“Keep your eye out, be safe and be smart about who you go home with tonight. The suspect is a tall, dark haired Caucasian man, described to be in his mid to early twenties. He has a habit of picking up his victims from the downtown nightlife. So if you’re going out tonight, keep an eye out for suspicious behavior.” said an older Hispanic man dressed in a smart suit with a thick overcoat. He had dark hair slicked back from his face with gray coming in at the temples and a graying goatee. He wore his badge around his neck and had a very stern look on his face.

“Wise words.” The newswoman agreed before the camera zoomed over to focus solely on her. “Words to take by heart as the city grieves for yet another lost citizen. Back to you at the studio.”

“Sickos.” Marie mutters before turning the TV off, “You’ll be safe out there, won’t you dear?”

“Huh?” I ask before her words sink in. Swallowing thickly I nod my head, “O-Of course. I’m not much of a night owl anyway.”