18+
After her devastating breakup leaves her broke and jobless, Sienna Bardot is determined to do whatever it takes to find her standing and save herself from being a disgrace to her family so when an opportunity arises for her, she takes it, agree...
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There's red paint splattered on the wall. I touch it. It's sticky and it smells. I sniff. I sniff again. It's not paint. She lied to me. It's Willy. She killed him, she killed Willy.
My knees are weak from running. I decline to the floor and bury my head between my knees and I cry. I cry because Willy is dead. It's my fault, it's my fault.
Cold hands rest on my shoulders, squeezing them. I look up and see her. She's smiling. She smells like him, she killed him. "Oh, don't be sad, that silly dog was starting to get in the way." She tells me, patting my hair and smiling. "You still have me, don't you? I'm the only friend you'll ever need."
I shake my head. I'm glaring at her. Killer. Murderer. Killer. Liar. Killer.
"Come play with me." She says, pulling me up but I'm angry, I'm very angry. Willy was my only friend. I grab the scissors I stole from Lily's room. I grip it tight. I'm angry, I'm very angry... Killer. Killer. I'll kill her. I blindly swing my hands. It's swift and sudden and before I can realize it, there's blood splattering on the floor.
She gasps, her eyes bulging in disbelief as she lets me go and staggers back.
I stare at the hole in her hand and my eyes grow wide. What did I do? What did I do? I'm shaking. I stabbed her, I stabbed her.
She pulls out the scissors. There's more blood, too much blood. "Tristan..." She's glaring at me, pointing the scissors at me. "You silly little brat." She's going to kill me. She'll kill me. Like she killed Willy.
My steps recede and I start to run. She's coming after me. I'm running, I'm screaming, Dad! Lily! I'm screaming hard, running for the door.
Dad!
Dad!
The sound of thunderclaps snapped me out of my nightmare and I jolted up but fell right back as pain shot from my head to my spine.
Shit.
I groaned in agony, forcing my eyes open to the realization that I was still confounded in that stiff hospital bed.
The frisson of fear I felt disappeared. I shut my eyes back, recollecting everything that had happened.
It had taken about three hours for Doctor Ryle to finish running the extensive tests that kept me imprisoned there, and so far, for what it was worth, nothing significant had come up.
Relatively, after being punctured by multiple needles and given a dose of God knew what, I managed to fall asleep, thinking it would help with the soreness I felt all over. But Madeline saw that as an opportunity to remind me that the scars in my heart were still very much fresh and very much hers.
The memories of her were ones I could never suppress no matter how hard I tried. Nothing compared to her torture. Every single one of those times spent begging for freedom in her painting room was entrenched in my mind, never to be forgotten.
