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  Snuffing out the butt of her cigarette, Kelly stands up and takes another swig of rum before capping the bottle. Walking passed Parker she places the bottle on the counter and heads for the bathroom. Now alone with Emma, Parker asks her,

  "How are you doing? Do you want something to eat or anything?"

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  Emma shakes her head, "No… the tea is just fine for now."

  Taking Kelly's seat, Parker says, "You know? You're sis really cares about you… you have to do something about this, and it’s all really it's up to you."

  Sipping from her tea, Emma just listens as Parker tries to get through to her in his own way, "I know you don't know me for shit, but I know Matt and he's no good. He's used and abused many girls, one of them was my sister and I can tell by your ordeal that he hasn't changed."

  She tries to listen but the effects from the mushrooms and the alcohol distort her attention span. Swarmed by the opinions of Kelly and Parker, all she can think about is Matt.

  Emma wants to blame the drugs on his behavior, but she holds herself back from screaming this opinion. Reserving the need to voice her thoughts, she fears that she will make her matters worse by spawning an argument. Taking deep breaths, she takes more sips from her tea as Parker continues to throw her lover under the bus. Before Emma can brace herself, Kelly comes back into the kitchen, walking in on Parker's one on one session.

  Finishing up, Parker closes by saying, "You really need to move on without Matt, but you do what you want, Emma."

  Grabbing the bottle of rum from the counter, Kelly adds with ferocity, "After this shit, she better leave that motherfucker!"

  Parker turns to Kelly and says calmly, “Hey, all you are going to do is make her sick, just calm down and let her ride this shit out.”

  Kelly steps back and asks, “How do you know?” With a shrug, Parker says, “Well, I’ve had my share of experimentation with uh, certain things and I read a lot of Hunter S. Thompson.”

  Taking a swig of rum, Kelly shakes her head, “I don’t care, she needs to get rid of that motherfucker and go on with her life…”

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  Emma's insides churn to the negative energy from her sister, impacted from the tea. Before she can stop herself, she feels everything that she ingested earlier start to raise.

  Suddenly she vomits across the table, splattering fragments of brownish bile on to Parker. Kelly and Parker look on in horror as Emma attempts to collect herself, apologizing as she gasps for air. Parker stands up wearing a look of shock and disgust; dripping with vomit. He looks at Kelly as he tries to keep his composure and says, "You're cleaning this up."

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  CHAPTER 16

  Ophelia looks into Mark's eyes from across her kitchen table as he sips his beer. She hangs on to his question, seeking for a lie to answer with. This question rings through her head as if she has to ask herself for the true answer, "Is there someone after you?"

  After he long gaze, Ophelia takes a sip from her gin and replies, "We're all runnin' from somethin', right?"

  Mark shrugs, "Not me…" Taking another swig from his beer he continues, "It almost seems like you want to convince yourself that you're not alone."

  She gives Mark a smirk, "Oh fuck you, Mark… you failed psychology, remember?"

  "Hey, I didn't fail! I dropped out for a short time. I had other obligations to deal with."

  Taking the opportunity, Ophelia shifts the subject to Mark by asking, "So, why did you drop out?"

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  "I had to help my father with his construction business, he was sick and I was young n’ able. I went back later and studied to become a contractor. Either way, what I learned in those psychology classes stuck with me in my everyday affairs."

  "Like now?"

  "Yeah, like now… so what's the piece for?"

  With a sigh, Ophelia shakes her head, "You're not gonna drop it, are you?"

  "No, I want to know what's going on. I mean, if I can help, you know I'll be there for you."

  Pushing herself away from the table, Ophelia stands up and drinks the rest of her cocktail. Sucking the gin clean from the glass, she leaves only the ice. She lights a cigarette as she contemplates telling Mark anything about Dillon and her past with him. There is a part of her that yearns to tell Mark everything, if for no other reason than to feel less of the weight that she has been carrying. As much as she wants to tell Mark everything, she fights the urge to cave.

  Smoking her cigarette and quenching herself with more gin, she simply replies, "Protection".

  Mark watches her close, taking her actions into account as he reads her every movement. He sits quiet with a piercing gaze, staring through her façade. Without question, he knows that she is hiding something solely from her body language.

  Flipping her pages like a book, these are the lessons he has learned from his days in college—psychology 101. Seeing her fragile state, he does not push her for a suitable answer; he allows the uncomfortable silence to edge her towards him.

  Sitting back in his seat, he takes a swig from his beer as she pulls from her smoke nervously.

  The quiet rips Ophelia apart, pushing her to drink more from her iced gin. She takes a deep breath and says, "Look Mark, I've made a lot of mistakes in my life and they have all come to this."

  "What are you so afraid of?"

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  "I want to tell you, but I can't." Taking gulp from her drink, she puts out her cigarette and starts to cry.

  Getting up from his seat, Mark walks over and puts his arms around Ophelia. He pulls her close and whispers into her ear, "You can tell me anything… I just want to help, that's all."

  Ophelia pushes him away with tears running down her face and screams, "You think it's so fuckin' easy to cope with this shit… walk a mile in my shoes and then come talk to me!"

  "I didn't say that… I just…"

  "Fuck you! Fuck you and you're psycho-babble bullshit!

  There's someone who's been stalking me since god fuckin'

  knows, you tell me how to deal with that?!"

  In an emotional fit, she spills herself out to Mark without holding back. All he can do is listen as she goes on, "This mother fucker has been calling me and threatenin' me for so long that this fuckin' gun is the best thing that I can think of!

  I'm gonna shoot the son of a bitch and then I'll finally have peace in my life!"

  Stunned by what he is being told, Mark searches carefully for the right words to reason with her, "Jesus, Ophelia… I mean, you just can't shoot someone, you have to think about your girls."

  "I am… this prick has it in for me and my family. Mark, this is the only way that I can free myself."

  Looking Ophelia in the eyes, he can see the desperation that seethes. Cautiously, he moves in closer to her and carefully puts his arms around her again. She wraps her arms around his waist and cries into his chest, "I didn't want things to be like this, dear god, I’ve tried!"

  Keeping his silence, Mark holds her close and lets her cry out her pain into his t-shirt. He wants to tell her so many things, but he knows it is not the right time. With all that she has had to drink and as emotional as she is, he knows that his words would fall on deaf ears. Holding her as she explodes 136

  into him, he hopes that he can ease her into a calm so that she can make a better choice. This is the role that he must play in this moment; the concerned guy who seeks only the best for her.

  While Ophelia bellows her sorrows into him, he is not sure where to go from here. As he clinches on to her, he is left to wonder why he is there. He asks himself if he really wants to complicate his life with problems that do not affect him.

  She coughs up her tears on to his shirt as he rolls his eyes, asking whatever being that is listening, why he cannot meet someone who is sexually appealing that does not have ten tons of baggage. His blood boils on the inside, irritated that he has to once again pick up the broken pieces of someone else's doing.

  For Mark it is the sa
me old story; he meets a woman that he is attracted too and he has to somehow fix them, mostly because they dated the wrong man. He is left to prop them up from the human garbage that kicked them up and down the stairs of life for their own gain. As far as Mark can see, this is the story of his life; always playing the savior. Sacrificing himself to a woman who did not know enough to keep herself away from a burning fire. Regardless, with a roll of his eyes and a heavy sigh, there he is for her. Cradling Ophelia in her most compromising of moments, Mark struggles within to find a way to help her.

  After parking his car in a lonely spot in the plaza next door, Matt stands in the shadows and waits. Smoking a cigar and glancing at his watch, he waits for the strip club to close.

  Out of sight, he watches the front door and pines for Amber to exit. Exhaling, his smoke brushes upon the humidity of the evening, sticking to the heavy air. Suddenly the door pushes open and out comes Amber. With a tired strut, she says her goodbyes and walks towards the back of the lot. Matt drops his cigar and stomps it out as he watches this pale beauty walk into the darkness.

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  Making his way around the opposite side of the club, he tramples through the uncut grass, passing by the bushes. Matt gets to the end of the building and lurks around the corner to see her car, a beat up Japanese sports coup. He watches as she pops the trunk and places her duffle bag inside. Thinking fast, he cuts through the side brush and quickly makes his way back to his car. Looking over his shoulder, he sees Amber get into the driver's seat of her coup. Matt gets to his car and jumps inside, watching Amber as she takes her time. She slowly backs out of her parking spot as Matt inches towards the exit in the next parking lot over.

  In idle, Matt glares at Amber as her car pulls out on to the main road. As she passes in front of Matt's headlights, he slowly turns out behind her on to the empty stretch. He follows behind her, not too close to make it obvious.

  Listening to the music in her car, she is just happy to be going home. Failing to notice that she is being followed; she simply minds her driving and listens to her favorite mix cd. Matt keeps her in his sights as she turns on to the street to her apartment, mere blocks away from the club. Trying not to come off as suspicious, he hangs back as she enters the complex. Watching her every move, he knows where she is headed and where to find her.

  Matt tries to drive as slow as he can while morbid fantasies play out in his head. Filled with the stain of rejection, he lusts to take what she will not give of herself.

  His foot eases on and off the gas pedal; he tries to contain himself as he tails her to her apartment. Amber parks in front of her door, making her way inside with a hustle. Licking his lips, Matt parks his car in the empty place beside her car.

  Looking on as the door closes behind her, Matt steps out of his car and makes his way to her front door. Jiggling the knob as he stands on the doorstep, Matt feels it is unlocked.

  Placing his ear to the door, he opens it softly to hear Amber starting her shower water. Peering through the cracked opening, he sees Amber strip down to her naked flesh 138

  and walk into the bathroom. Taking his chance, Matt slips inside and makes his way into the shadows of the dimly lit apartment. While Amber showers, Matt locks the front door and disconnects her land line phone. After stealing her cigarettes, he takes her cell phone from her purse. He pulls out the battery and tosses it into the garbage can in the kitchen. Looming over the garbage can as he cleans his prints from the cell phone, Matt hears a door close. Looking around the corner, he sees that the bathroom door is closed.

  Taking a seat in her living room, he draws a large hunting knife and plays with it while he waits for her. Reclining in her chair, he twists the tip of the blade into his right pointer finger slowly. He works it in slow, deep, and hard until he draws blood. Licking his wound, he waits and listens as unsuspecting Amber cleanses herself from that night.

  When the water comes to halt, Matt sits up and clears his head. Focusing himself on what he must do, he turns off the light over him and waits in the dark. Gripping his dagger in hand, he glares at the light that pours from the bathroom.

  Locking his sights on to her shadow, his insides fill with lusting hatred that drives his need to watch her breathe her last breath.

  Wrapped in a towel, Amber steps out of the bathroom and into the hands of her fate. Unknowing what waits for her, she puts her hair up in a towel as Matt slips away from her recliner. Whipping her head back, Matt creeps into her and places his blade to her throat. She gasps from the sudden shock of the cold steel as Matt whispers in a sickly rasp,

  "Don't move… do exactly what I say and I'll make this as quick as I can, I promise!"

  Stripping the towel away from Amber's body, Matt moves his knife slowly down her front. He softly runs the blade amongst her inner thigh, tickling her flesh with the sharp edge. She shivers with the coldest chill; trembling from the sensations that drag upon her skin. With every movement, Matt exhales his hot breath onto the back of her neck. Feeling 139

  his cold warmth, Amber closes her eyes and wishes she was someplace else; somewhere far from the horror that she is facing right now.

  Pulling the knife away from her crotch, Matt shoves Amber on to her sofa. Pummeled with his strength, she limply falls into the cushions of her couch. Matt closes in as Amber tries to catch her breath, fighting to roll over. Facing him, she begs, "Don't kill me… please, Matt… I'm so fuckin' sorry."

  A grin warps Matt's mouth into a sardonic bow and he replies, "This isn't you, Dear… It's me. I have some personal problems to work out. I just really need some me time right now."

  She looks at him with a terrified glare of confusion while Matt's smile curves upwards as his eyes glaze over in madness. Amber bites her lip as her nerves spread out like spider webs, sending sick tremors through her. Matt grips the knife in his hand, clinching it in his palm as he fantasizes his next move. Taking in her surroundings, looks to the lamp on the end table beside her. In a ditch effort, she grabs the light and throws it at Matt. Dodging her attack, Matt rushes towards her and sticks the blade into her sternum. Basking in her expression of shock, Matt smiles as he slowly cuts her down the middle. As Amber's eyes roll into the back of her head, Matt nibbles on her bottom lip. Inching the blade towards her crotch; Matt bites her neck while she chokes out her dying breaths.

  Amber stares up at the ceiling as her pupils dilate. Matt's teeth puncture the skin on her neck, seething with raw emotion. Drawing the saturated knife from her abdomen, Matt thrusts the blade into the upper area of her chest and proceeds to twist the blade viciously into heart. Blood pools around the two, feverously pouring from the freshly inflicted wounds. Pulling back the wet steel, Matt eases away from his victim. Looking at her stained body in satisfied awe, his hands drip with her essence—crimson drops pattering upon the off-white carpet.

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  Lifting the dagger to his mouth, Matt runs the blade across his tongue—licking the blood from the weapon. He closes his eyes as he takes in her life's flavor and slides the blade back into its sheath on his side. Slowly backing away from his work, he takes in an eyeful of what remains of Amber. Matt feels nothing in the form of regret for what he has done. However, he feels her life force branch out within him—making him feel as if he is more alive. Pulling a rag from his pocket, he twists the door knob and walks out. Using the same rag, Matt pulls the door closed and makes his way to his car while looking over his shoulder the whole time.

  Matt gets into his car and cautiously drives away, keeping that cool that he has mastered so well over time.

  Leaving his victim a gouged and splattered mess, Matt accelerates back to his home. With blood caked on his hands, Matt lights one of Amber’s cigarettes. Taking a drag, he closes his eyes and exhales with relaxation. His nerves come to an ease, touched with temporary fulfillment.

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  CHAPTER 17

  Kelly wakes to the sensation of the sun cascading upon her face. The warmth radiates through the thin fle
sh of her eye lids, forcing them to open. With a soft yawn, she looks over at Parker as he snores away in a deep sleep. Sliding off from his bed, she quietly gets dressed and slips out through the bed room door. Stepping into the living room, Kelly closes the door carefully behind her. Turning her head, she sees Emma on the couch along the wall beside her. Emma's curly hair frizzes out from under the blanket that covers her body as Kelly shakes her head.

  Tip toeing towards the kitchen, Kelly thirsts for water to cleanse her alcohol induced dry mouth. Rubbing her tongue along her teeth, she can taste the residue of the rum from the night before. Every night of heavy drinking ends like this; the sour taste of wasted regret. Her head throbs as she searches the cupboards for a glass, blinking as if she can so simply 142

  shut out the symptoms of her hangover. Filling her glass with tap water, she glares at her sister as she starts to toss and turn.

  Harping on the moment that she had to clean up her throw up mere hours ago, Kelly cannot wait until the moment she can rip into her sister.

  As Kelly sips from her water, Emma raises her head from the couch and with a scratchy voice she asks, "What time is it?"

  "It's time to get goin'."

  Emma falls limp, "I think I'm still high…"

  "I don't care, we gotta go now… I have to go to work later."

  With heavy sigh, Emma asks, "Are you gonna tell mom?"

  Kelly leaves her lingering without an answer as she sips her water. She knows that she is not going to say a word, but holds her tongue to push her sister into a deserving suspense.

  Swishing the water around in her mouth, Kelly leans against the counter. Knowing that their mother is no better, Kelly is more angered that Emma would ask something like that.