𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 | 𝟏𝟖+

| 𝟏.𝟔

—

"He touched her where no one else could. In the deepest darkest part of her wounded soul."

—

"You're not going to leave me here like last time, are you?" I ask, digging my toes into the sand.

"No."

I roll my eyes at his vagueness. He hasn't said a word nor left my side since I hopped out of the car to sit on the beach. I trapped my toes under the sand, the coldness keeping me from falling asleep and being vulnerable. Although, how much more vulnerability is there left for me to give? I wanted to grab a log and crack it against his skull and then my own. Creed's heavy presence weighed on my chest like an elephant did when you get sleep paralysis.

Grandma had called me a moment ago wondering when I'd be coming home, and that dinner was ready. I caved in at her worried voice and told her I had picked up someone else's shift and that I wouldn't see her till tomorrow. When in actuality, I didn't know if I'd be returning home despite Creed's words. He seemed too keen on me having a pulse.

I lay my head on my crossed arms over my knees. "Where does this put us? Am I supposed to pretend this never happened?"

His footsteps shuffle closer. "Have some faith, Jamilyn. I have a lot of cards in my deck and people in my pocket."

"So I'm a pawn?" He didn't answer the first question.

His finger lifts my chin, and I hold my breath at the look in his dark eyes. Cold and harboring secrets. The souls and stories of people who lived here like a library. His eyebrows pinch in frustration, his expression trying to conjure something up but seeming to struggle.

He traces my lip softly. "Don't belittle yourself to such a thing. You, princess, are far more than a mere pawn in my world."

"Why?" I whisper.

His expression is blank with contemplation before he merely tilts his head. "I'm still figuring it out."

Creed releases my lip and chin before tugging me up to stand. I watch as he grabs my shoes and hands them to me. I put them on and follow him back to the car, not before glancing at the quiet waters again.

"I want to go somewhere before you take me home," I tell him once we're on the road.

He hums and gestures for me to put the place into GPS. Once I do, Siri's voice rings out, starting route to 7-11.

Creed looks at me in question, but I don't bother explaining, fidgeting with the sleeve of my jacket.

***

Slurp.

Slurp.

Slurp.

I release the straw with a joyful sound at the sweet, frosty sugar coating my tongue–a mixture of blue raspberry and cherry Slurpee, my favorite combination. With it in hand, I walk around the next isle, slurping obnoxiously while grazing over the candy selection.

Sour lifesavers or dark chocolate-covered almonds?

A hand reaches beside my head and grabs a bag of trail mix, and I don't have to turn to know it was him who grabbed it. "Real original," I mutter.

"Says the woman who got a cherry and blue raspberry Slurpee," Creed concurs.

"Oh, don't tell me. You like coco-cola," I say with a tight smile.

"I like juice."

My face scrunches. "You on a cleanse?"

"No, I just prefer juice," he repeats, grabbing a bag of sour lifesavers and dark chocolate-covered almonds. I looked at him in surprise and went to catch them, but he turned away, my hand meeting his back. I follow him to the cashier and choke on the frozen treat at the sight of several juice bottles—apple, orange, and cranberry.

"More like obsessed," I mutter. "Care to share?"

"No."

I bit back a pout and looked around the store while he paid for our stuff. I take notice of an old newspaper sitting on top of the red newspaper box. "Are those new?" I ask the man behind the counter.

He shakes his head sheepishly. "Those are from several years ago. The owner hasn't made time to change them out."

I nod and step towards it, grabbing the paper to flip through it.

"Jamilyn, let's go."

I read the article's title, and my eyes bulged out of my head.

Daughter discovers her father's head on porch step. Where is the rest of him?

Smack dab on the page was a picture of his dismembered head on top of the porch step, bloodied and unrecognizable. The man's eyes were gouged out, and teeth ripped savagely from his mouth. I gasp in horror, and the paper and Slurpee fall from my hands as I resist the urge to scream.

It was my Dad.

I choke out a sob and cover my shuttering lips at sight. Bile rose from my throat, acid and burning. The police had said they would stop publishing them. Why are they still here?

"Jamilyn, what's wrong? Jamilyn, answer me!" Creed shakes my shoulders as I continue to stare down at the picture.

Creed growls in frustration and points to the man. "Get these out of here. Burn them before I burn this place to ashes!"

The poor man flinched at his harsh tone and carefully maneuvered past us, grabbing all of the paper, including the one I dropped, and raced away. I crumbled. I crumbled harder than the day I found him. I sob and cry into my hand. I felt like I was reliving that day all over again.

Too much blood.

So much blood.

I felt myself being carried and sat back in the car. The door shut, and like a switch, I released a scream. My lungs heaved, and my throat became sour at my continuous cries. "Stop it!" I plead to my head to stop replaying the images in my head, rocking myself in the seat. I begged and wept, but it wasn't stopping. The recognizable pain that lurched in my heart was indescribable.

"Come here, baby."

His voice was like a whisper in a storming mountain, my stormy mind. I had yet to see his face due to my low vision, but I didn't force myself. I wept on his shoulder and clung to him in desperate need of comfort. "Please make it go away. Please," I plead into his neck and clench his shirt. "Make it stop."

He shushes me gently, holding me, rocking my quivering body gently. I shiver and grunt in attempts to seep air through my aching lungs. It hurt. It hurt so bad.

"I need you to breath for me, okay?" Creed whispers into my hairline, pressing repeated kisses there. "Look at me." He grabs my face as I shake uncomfortably and mutter incoherent words. "I got you. Now breathe for me, princess."

I inhale and end in a snotty cough. A pained cry leaves my chest. "I-I can't."

He rubs my back even after I finish my coughing fit. "Yes, you can, princess."

I try again, successfully taking in a breath before growing at the pounding headache starts to form. My cries dimmed into sniffles, my body still quivering. My breath hiccups and my body stutters each time Creed holds me tighter than before.

"Let's go home," he says in my ear.

I fall slack in his arms. The pounding headache was hitting harder with every passing moment; all I wanted to do was sleep. "Abuela's not home," I mumble against his broad shoulder.

"I know," Creed says, starting up the car.

I went to shift into the passenger, but his grip on my thigh told me otherwise. Gripping his shirt, I slowly fall asleep to the sound of the cars humming.