Paint The Town Red

Chapter 6

Rebecca's POV

I stare at my last text and the empty space below it, because she never messages back. Seriously, I suck at flirting.

Groaning, I get up, flicking a gaze over at the monitor on the wall. Matthew walks around in front of the camera just in his boxers, smirking as he texts someone. My secondary phone dings right on cue, and I look down and read the messages he's sending to a girl named Kylie.

MATTHEW: What're you wearing? I'm thinking of you.

I roll my eyes, hoping Kylie tells him to fuck himself. But she doesn't.

It's hard to watch them live their lives for a month. I have to watch them loving the freedom they stole from me. The freedom they stole from us.

Matthew is the first one who is married, and apparently having an affair. I've been saving him for closer to last, but right now, I can't afford to go home and sprint through so many. And sprint is an accurate depiction of how that time will go, considering it'll be too easy to get caught if I try to space it out as I do now.

James assured me the feds are investigating our hometown. It was only a matter of time before they linked the kills and made the connection. I'd hoped to have more time before they got on my trail, hence the reason I started the kills outside the town.

It's not like they'll link any of it to me, of course. Rebecca Graves doesn't exist in that town. Never has.

Patricia Armstrong died thirteen years ago. I look nothing like her anymore. They made sure of that. My eyes flick to the small mirror on the wall beside me. Without any makeup, you can see a few faint scars.

I spent a lot of money to help make sure there were as few scars as possible. Patricia Armstrong was a poor girl from Springfield County, but Naomi Ambrose was an heiress who died in a car accident the same night my death certificate was signed. She was so mangled and unrecognizable that James had no problem shifting the info around in the computers.

Naomi might have died that night, but the stranger I never met saved my life.

I went in as Patricia, left as Naomi, took on her rich, orphan life, and 'legally' changed her name to Rebecca Graves to avoid anyone from her past finding me out.

It was the easiest way to build a fund to support us and to change my identity. James didn't get good at more inventive forms of identity changes until the past couple of years.

It took awhile to see my scars on my face as marks of survival instead of brutal reminders of that night. The scars on other parts of my body didn't heal as cleanly. But the scars on my soul took the longest to deal with.

They say everyone has their own healing process.

The first year of mine was spent mourning for my family and suffering from all the trauma. I cried until there was nothing but sand left fall from eyes. I curled into a ball and showered three times a day, never feeling clean.

The second year was spent being angry and seeking outlets. I took kickboxing first. By the third year, I'd moved on to various other forms of mixed martial arts. Several black belts are mine now.

I never want to be anyone else's victim.

The fourth year was spent getting stronger, dealing with all my fears, and learning to stand on my own without all the sleepless nights.

The fifth year was the first time I could withstand any physical contact. I learned to grow. I learned not to flinch away when someone barely touched me. I learned to be as normal as I could be.