𝐔𝐠𝐥𝐲 𝐋𝐢𝐞𝐬 | 𝐀𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐇𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫 (1)

twenty-one

*references sexual assault. Please don't read if this will upset/ trigger you.

It was funny how once I had a gun to his head, the man whose threats had hung over me like a black cloud did everything I said.

His house was in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by towering trees which I knew would keep my secret safe. The location was fortunate for me but terribly unfortunate for Ethan Munroe. I had entered without a single noise, having located a spare key under a flowerpot. That was one thing I had learnt on this job —never lower your guard. Ethan Munroe had lowered his and that fatal mistake was going to cost him his life.

I slowly turned the key in the lock, inching the door open so as not to make a sound. The house was quiet —suspiciously quiet, devoid of any sound. There was no ticking of a clock and no dripping of the kitchen tap. It made the sound of my breath and the scream of my footsteps seem deafeningly loud.

I knew that I had the right house. I could physically feel the weight of the evil that resided in the walls snake itself around my chest, as tight as a vice. Darkness bled through the walls and even the seemingly innocent faded wallpaper had a suffocatingly sinister feel. I had my gun in my hands —its cold metal caught the moonlight and felt reassuringly sturdy in my grasp. My hands were steady with determination because I knew the importance of this night.

I didn't feel afraid. I felt resolute. I knew that things had to go my way because there was no alternative. Silently, I cleared the first floor, starting with the kitchen and then the living room. I checked the bathroom and even the linen closet; I did not want to risk any surprises.

It was when it was time to check the upstairs, where I knew what was waiting for me, that I felt it: the crushing fear that something terrible was going to happen —a sense of formidable foreboding and imminent doom. With each step, my breathing quickened as I was reminded of the night I did everything I could to forget. I bit my lip to distract myself; I would not waste time thinking about the bastard who uprooted my life. After tonight, I would not lose any more sleep over him. After tonight, he would no longer taunt my family. After tonight, he would have no power over me.

When I reached the top step, I faltered. Now I was frightened. Now my hands shook. Now my stomach churned like a washing machine. I used my fear as fuel and I pushed on, taking great care to tread slowly on the warped floorboards.

Then I heard a cough.

It startled me so much that I had to clamp a trembling hand over my mouth to stifle a gasp. Then I heard footsteps. I flattened my body against the wall, my cheek pressing against the cool glass of a picture frame as I tucked my gun into the waistband of my trousers so that it wouldn't catch the light.
A bedroom door opened and bare feet padded against the wooden floorboards as the footsteps advanced towards me. I clamped a hand over my mouth, desperate to quiet the staggered breaths that I could no longer control. He was seconds away from me —I prayed that he didn't turn on the light.

As he passed me, my breath caught in my throat. We were so close that I felt his body heat radiate off his skin. I covered my nose, even though my lungs were already burning from the lack of oxygen.

When he passed me, I breathed a sigh of relief, allowing my body to relax. I moved away from the wall but as I did, I knocked the picture frame off the wall and it hit the hardwood floor with a loud smash, shards of glass bouncing off the wall and the floor.

Shit.

I tried to reach for my gun but I was too slow. The light flicked on and, before I could register what was happening or prepare myself, his hands were around my neck ad he slammed the back of my head into the wall more times than I could count —utterly disorientating me.