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  "No… you just don't know what it’s like to be me… to feel so alive."

  Kelly casually lights a cigarette and responds, "If being alive is being someone's cutting board, then you can count me out."

  Taking a swig from her bottle of rum, she walks into her room leaving Emma to hang on her last words. Emma stands silent and flops down onto the couch. She brushes he sister off as if she has no idea of what she talking about. Deep inside, Emma knows she is right but she does not want to believe it. She wants to hold on to the thought that she has her perfect man. His sexual perversions do not matter to her as long as he shows his affection; his love is all Emma needs in this cruel world. As her sister closes her bedroom door, Emma battles her every word in her mind, convincing herself that no will understand their kind of love life.

  As much as she wants to further explain her and Matt's connection, Emma knows it's best to let it rest. She knows that Kelly would never understand their way of lust. Emma could talk until she is blue in the face and in the end, Kelly would refuse to accept it. Plopping back on the couch, she examines her wounds. From her stomach to her arms, Emma traces every sealing wound as she herself wonders if this kind of love is normal. Closing her eyes, she re-visions Matt's hands around her throat. Choking up with that fear, Emma lay back and exhales as her hands caress her inner thigh, working towards her crotch.

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  Emma's fingers inch closer to pleasure herself as she fanta-sizes Matt holding a blade to her throat. She is aware of the morbidity that lies in these thoughts, but she is turned on regardless. Her conscience screams for her to stop, however she views these warnings as mere suggestions. This passion rules over everything else as she loses herself—undoing control. Slipping within herself, she dreams of the most volatile romps with Matt. Gleaming blades against soft flesh, tickling in sweet caress—she yearns in the most orgasmic fashion. As Kelly further pollutes herself in her bedroom, Emma is alone to explore the most taboo ways of self gratification.

  Cooing to herself, Emma thinks of earlier that day when Matt had her up against the shower wall. Forcing himself deep inside of her, he held a straight razor to her throat while promising to drain her of blood if she did not scream his name. The threat keeps her moist as she works herself towards her solitary release. Shoving her fingers deeper and harder into herself, she pines for the cutting sensations that Matt has introduced her to. Her body tightens as she nears her orgasm, fantasizing as she remembers the blade tickling her skin. With loud moans and heavy pants, she excretes her passion all over her fingers.

  After climaxing to her jagged fantasies of sensual pain, Emma catches her breath and quickly comes back down to reality. She now faces the reality that her mother, her sister, and her sister’s friends are trying to force her out of her relationship with Matt. Something inside of her agrees with the dissent from her loved ones, but she fights with the crutch that she does not want to be alone again. Along with that emotional hampering, Emma loves Matt and that danger that he brings to her. This dose of chaos that he offers her is the kind that she has always pined for. For better or for worse, Matt is her prince of darkness—the hellish ruler of her inner most desires.

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  CHAPTER 20

  The clock strikes 9 pm as Ophelia paces by a bench at Jay Cee Park. Warm winds blow in from the beach and ride down the slopes to surround her. Keeping her eyes peeled, she nervously waits for Dillon as she listens to the waves crash in the distance. She thinks about the last time she saw Dillon so many years ago. That intoxicating gleam in his eye and how it sucked her in every time she wanted to escape him. In the darkness of the park, she questions if she can just walk away from him again. It has not been easy for Ophelia having to live without him. At the same time, it was hell having to co-exist with Dillon.

  Taking a seat on the bench, she looks across the way and sees a shadow moving in her direction. Her stomach tickles with butterflies because she knows right away that it is Dillon. In sudden wave, Ophelia is reminded of the familiar feelings that she once felt for him. Attempting to breathe out 167

  the past, she pushes back with the reasons why she ran away from him. Thinking of her daughter and what he had done to her, the butterflies are burned away by a fire of rage. She tells herself that he is the bane of their existence and the source of her family's misery.

  As he gets closer, she sees his face appear from the shadows. Taking in his aged appearance, she grits her teeth knowing that he still has not changed. Merely feet away, he looks at Ophelia with that same arrogant smile that he used to shine to her. Trying as she may, she works her facial muscles enough to return his gesture with a phony grin. Behind her smile Ophelia's contempt for Dillon builds. Standing up from the bench, she puts herself on guard for anything that he might try. Knowing what he is capable of, she does not put it past him to assault her in some way in reaction. His fuse is short and leads to a temperament that leaves bodies in its wake. Dillon may come to her with a smile but that is his way of deception.

  Now he stands before Ophelia, less than three feet away as her heart palpitates with fear and misgivings. Looking her up and down, Dillon says, "Jeez Ophelia, you really look good… just like I remember you."

  Holding back from her yearning to scream at him, she forces out a generic reply, "Thanks… you uh, look good, too."

  "Well, there isn't much to do in jail than workout and read books."

  With a nervous chuckle, Ophelia comments, "I bet."

  Dillon casually moves by her and she turns to follow his movements, taking no chances. Sitting down on the bench, Dillon reaches into his shirt pocket. Ophelia watches him closely expecting anything as he takes out his cigarettes.

  Relief washes over her, staring at him as he flickers his lighter. Taking a puff, Dillon sits back and asks, "So, how ya been?"

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  Even though she is disgusted by Dillon's attempt at small talk, Ophelia plays along, "Fine… everything is going fine."

  Dillon shrugs, "That's good to hear… really, it is. I just wish I could say the same…"

  Ophelia hangs on his pause, noticing that he is waiting for her to show an interest. Wearing her irritation for his sheer audacity on the inside, she quips, "Oh?"

  Not missing another beat, Dillon comes out with his queued response, "Yeah, y'know, prison really gives a man a lot of time to think… to reflect. You start thinkin' 'bout all the people you've hurt on your way to that two by two cell that you're rottin' in."

  Rolling her eyes at his act, Ophelia pulls her smokes from her purse and lights a cigarette. Watching her reactions, Dillon continues, "I spent a lot of time thinkin' of you…"

  Hearing those words, Ophelia sighs, "Dillon…"

  "No, wait… I have to tell you this. So, just hear me out, okay?"

  Taking a drag from her smoke, she gives him a reluctant nod to go on. Waving her over to him, Dillon asks, "Can you at least sit down? Jesus, you're makin' me a fuckin' nervous wreck over here."

  Against her better judgment, Ophelia sits down on the bench towards the outer edge. Uncomfortable; she takes drags from her cigarette as chills ride through her body. She tells herself that she is in remote place close to the last person that she ever wanted to see again. On edge, she listens to him dribble his nonsense about how he has changed so much.

  Ophelia nods and pretends to care while she cringes at his nauseating stature.

  Fed up with hearing him drone on, she tells him honestly,

  "I really don't believe that you've change at all, Dillon."

  "Why's that?"

  "You call me… harassin' me at all hours of the night and threatenin' me and my kids… that's not really showing me that you've changed."

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  Dillon shrugs with a smile upon his face and replies,

  "That's just what you do to me, baby… you make me crazy…

  you always have."

  "That's not me anymore… my life is different now, better in fact."

  "Bet
ter without me?"

  "Yes…"

  With a condescending laugh, Dillon argues, "Nah, I don't believe that… not for one second."

  "I'm sorry if ya don't wanna believe it, but it's true… you brought out the worst in me, Dillon."

  Sliding closer to Ophelia, Dillon flicks his cigarette and says, "Let's just cut the shit, okay? You're nothin' without me.

  You need me and that's why you always answer my calls."

  Extending his arm around her shoulders, he tries to pull her closer to him. Ophelia shrugs his arm away from her and moves from the bench. As she turns to face him, Dillon stands up and grabs her. He drags her into him by her arms and asks, "Why do you have to be difficult, why can't you just admit that you want me back?!"

  Ophelia struggles to break from his clutches as she shouts, "I don't fuckin' want you… just let me go!"

  She finally squirms free and pushes him as hard as she can. Backing away, Dillon draws back and punches Ophelia in the stomach. Falling to the ground, Ophelia fights for air as Dillon laughs at her and mocks her, "Aw, what's wrong, baby?"

  Stepping back, Dillon takes a cigarette from his pack and lights it. Taking a drag, he watches Ophelia cough and heave on the ground. With a shake of his head, Dillon says, "Quit being so dramatic, I didn't hit ya that hard."

  Picking herself up from the ground, Ophelia draws her

  .38 and carefully cocks it. Holding it close to her chest, she tries to keep it hidden from Dillon. Standing up she turns around to Dillon looking up at the clear night sky. Taken in by sight of the moon, Dillon says, "I don't know why things 170

  always seem to go so wrong for us… maybe we were just damned to be in conflict?"

  She takes a step back and raises the barrel; putting the side of Dillon's head in her crosshairs. As he turns to face her, Dillon asks, "What do you think?" Seeing Ophelia staring him down with a pistol in her hands, Dillon lets go a nervous chuckle, "Uh, what the hell is this?"

  "This is a gun…"

  "I thought you hated guns?"

  "There's a lot of things that I used to hate, even more, that I used to love… some people actually change."

  Approaching her with caution, Dillon tries to ease her down, "Look, just put the gun away… you don't wanna do somethin' that ya might regret."

  "The only thing I regret is not getting away from you sooner. You destroyed my life!"

  "I destroyed your life?! You fucked your own life up, Hun! I didn't force you to sell your pussy and I didn't force you to love heroin!"

  Glaring into Dillon's eyes, Ophelia retorts, "What about Emma, my daughter that you defiled? Was that her fault as well?"

  Dillon raises his hands up slowly as an expression of fear molds his features. Taking a deep breath, Dillon says, "Just put the gun away, baby… we can talk about this…"

  Gripping the pistol tighter, Ophelia snarls, "Don't call me baby… I'm not your fuckin' baby!"

  Enraged, Dillon taunts her as he walks closer, "You aren't gonna shoot me… you don't have it in you to hurt anyone."

  "Don't come any closer… I mean it!"

  Suddenly, Dillon lunges at her and tries to take the gun from her hands. In reaction, Ophelia’s nerves recoil forces her muscles to squeeze the trigger. The loud pop of the gun going off forces Ophelia's eyes to close. When she opens them, she sees Dillon staggering back and forth, holding his chest as he 171

  gasps for air. Falling to his knees with two hands griping the wound, he tries to say something but he just slumps to the ground. Seeing what she has done; Ophelia steps back in shock and drops the gun. Her mind aches in horror and she does the only thing that her instincts allow her to do—she runs.

  Moving as fast as she can, she cuts through the park and speeds towards her car. Surrounded by darkness, she exhausts the breath from her caving chest. Her feet throb as her knees go numb while she prays with a burning in her lungs that no one witnessed what she had done. Getting to her car in the dimly lit parking lot, she gasps as she frantically looks around for any unwanted eyes. Scanning the scene through blurred eyes, she jerks open her car door and jumps inside. Fighting to catch her breath, she slams the door and dumps out her purse on passenger seat. Ophelia sifts through the emptied contents for her keys as tears stream down her face.

  Finding her keys, she fumbles as she tries to shove them into the ignition. Frustrated and boiling with emotions, she pauses to take a deep breath. Exhaling, she sticks the key in and starts her car. Shifting into reverse, she slams her foot on the gas and backs out frantically. Peeling her tires upon the asphalt, she spins the wheels and slides the car into drive.

  Fleeing the scene of her crime, she does so at the top speed her old coupe can reach.

  Exiting the parking lot, Ophelia gets to the main road and starts to cry. She does not cry out of guilt, but because she is finally free from Dillon. All those years have been turned into a distant memory in a matter of seconds. With a simple slip of the trigger she wiped Dillon off of the planet and out of her life. Ophelia had removed a stain from her existence, a stain that ran so deep that its essence would invade her dreams. In this moment of release, Ophelia feels as if she has been reborn. So taken with what she had done in the act itself, Ophelia does not care that she left the smoking gun at the scene.

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  Once she gets home, relief washes over her in a wave of protection as if nothing can touch her. Like a teenage trying to get passed her parents, she sneaks into her quiet home and heads to her bedroom. Walking down the hall she can hear the sounds of her daughters secluded in their rooms, their music haphazardly jelled into muffled waves of conflict.

  Slipping into her bed room, she closes the door behind her as she flips the light switch and twists the lock. Ophelia slowly strips down to her comfort zone, her bra and underwear before plopping down on her bed. Lighting a cigarette, she exhales her stress with the smoke of her relaxing drag.

  Halfway through her smoke, she remembers that dose that she has been saving for a special moment. With a shrug, she tells herself that there is no better time than now to dive in. She digs into her drawer like a kid in a candy jar and pulls out the little baggie. The bag holds more than a usual fix, but she cooks up the whole bag on her trusty burnt spoon in both celebration and escape. Her cigarette burns in the ashtray as she sucks her joy into her syringe. Tying off her arm above her elbow with a belt, she slaps her forearm to raise the abused vein. Taking one last drag from her smoke, she preps the needle and sticks it into her arm. Slowly pressing down on the plunger, the drug rushes into her veins.

  Feeling as if heaven is taking her body over, this dose ends her period of sobriety. Emptying the contents into her body, she slips the needle out and unties her arm. She feels as if she is floating on clouds of divine comfort, over taken by the warmth it brings. Her eyes roll into white as she lies down on her bed and temporarily leaves this plain. Stretching out as she scoots into comfort, Ophelia finally feels alive. Every nerve of her body is cradled as her senses are smoothed over with soft waves of calmness. Lost in her high, she leaves behind all of her woes; carried by this moment and this moment alone.

  It has been so long since she has felt this free, always on edge; waiting for Dillon to find her. Now that he is gone she 173

  can finally rest at ease. She has saved herself, her daughters and countless others from being enslaved by his existence.

  Ophelia knows she did the right thing because he would have never stopped stalking her. Running from him time and time again for so long proved this to her. Her motives may have been out of desperation, but desperation is all that she was left with in the end. He would have kept coming, always lurking in the shadows for the opportune moment to shake her from whatever peace she had found.

  With a grin upon her face, she curls up to hold her pillow, knowing that her personal horror movie is over. A single round from a .38 caliber pistol was the means to an end for all of her sorrows. Suspended in loving arms of her high, she tells herself that sh
e is going to turn it all around. Now she can move on and become the person that her daughters can be proud of. Basking in the glow of freedom, she tells herself that this is her last fix. No more hooking and no more heroine; after this night she will move forward into a life of normalcy.

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  CHAPTER 21

  Kelly awakens to the sound of her alarm that summons her to prepare for work. After drinking half of a bottle of rum the night before, her head is dominated by a hangover and a damaged sense of pride. Sliding out of her bed, she wanders into the kitchen for a glass of water to cleanse her dry mouth.

  With her eyes barely cracked, she takes a glass from the cabinet and fills it from the faucet. She slowly sips from her water as she debates whether or not to make a cup of instant coffee or a full pot. Wondering if her mother would have some, she walks over and knocks on her bedroom door.

  Standing in silence, Kelly knocks the door again and says, "Hey mom!"

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  Waiting a few seconds, she knocks harder and speaks louder, "Hey mom, you want some coffee? If not, I'm not making a pot!"

  Shaking her head, Kelly jiggles the door knob and gives it a twist. Opening Ophelia's bedroom door, she walks in saying, "Look Mom, I'm gonna…"

  Stopped in her tracks, Kelly is startled by the sight of her mother. With eyes wide open and her mouth agape, she lays frozen in her bed, stiff and staring lifeless at the ceiling. Kelly simply stares at her mother, unable to move or say a word as her jaw drops in shock. As much as she would like to attempt CPR or call 911 for help, Kelly knows that it would be useless—her mother is dead. Sitting down next to her on the bed, tears stream from Kelly's eyes as a rush of anger and hurt collide into a selfish pain. Knowing that this was inevitable, Kelly always held out hope that her mother would someday wake up and get clean. Laying her head on her mother's corpse, Kelly cries onto her bloated belly—wishing that she was still alive.

  Kelly picks herself and calls 911 from her cell phone, when the operator picks up she gives her the address and tells the operator that she thinks her mother is dead. Hanging up the phone, she walks into Emma's room and wakes her. She softly shakes her by the shoulder and whispers, "Mom is dead..."