Estranged • h.s.

13

CECILY

The hum of my refrigerator is the only noise in my home as soon as the lock slides into place. The rush of the evening came and went quicker than I had hoped. I wanted the excitement to last at least a few days to keep me focused as I returned to work for real. There's barely a week until I'm leaving for Los Angeles for something Zayn has been preparing me for for weeks, nearly a couple of months. 

Adam York has been high on my list for a very long time. I had thought I had hated him before when he was simply my asshole manager who failed to keep his hands to himself. But he became much worse when I realized how close he and Jackson were. Adam never missed a chance to punish me for Jackson, to jump for joy when he was picked to participate in my punishment. 

Finally getting my hands on him next week at his stupid fucking gathering will be nothing short of satisfactory. 

He and his rich family think their fundraising event will be marvelous, a night to remember. I'm determined to ruin it by making sure Adam never breathes again, and that I am the last thing he ever sees. The idiot has me booked as one of the dancers for this event. He's giving me full access, bless his heart. 

I need my head on straight for that. 

I toss the small ring of keys onto the table by my door, glancing in the mirror briefly. I'm still caked in makeup and the long blonde wig itches. I head straight for the bathroom, stripping my clothes as I go. 

A content sigh escapes me as I peel the wig from my head, my own short blonde hair freeing itself. I scratch my scalp with my mouth agape. This is why I wanted my hair grown out, and no one will ever take that from me. I want to rid myself of the hassle of wigs. Although, I need them for a while longer if I plan to sneak into the events of these men and lure them into my sanctuary. 

I pat at my unruly hair, scowling slightly at the pixie-style cut. 

My hands reach for the faucet and I waste away under the motions of clearing my face of the makeup that makes me look like the vixen I am, the silent siren who kills so easily. 

Once I've removed the tight bodysuit that allows me to move skillfully and replaced it with loose lounge shorts and a cami top, I head straight for my phone that was left by the door. 

I dial my sister's number, attempting to do the math of the time difference in my head as I pray she picks up. She's the only person I truly have left that still makes me feel somewhat normal. I need the normalcy she brings me every once in a while, for her words to ground me. 

I really shouldn't be calling, she probably wants to be getting better sleep on a Saturday night. Before my guilt convinces me to hang up, the Facetime starts to connect. 

Her tired face greets me within seconds. 

"Hey, sorry, I had to sneak out of bed before I answered or else I would have woken Eric." 

"That's okay, I'm sorry for calling so late." 

"Don't. I've told you a thousand times to call whenever. Do you want to see him?" 

I nod, a huge smile on my face as I settle into my couch. I watch her as she walks through her home, down the hallway, and through the door that has my sweet sweet nephew. She flips the camera to show me his perfect sleeping face, and my heart somersaults in my chest. 

She lets me stare at his sleeping face for a few minutes, the both of us completely silent as his chest rises and falls. He knows no danger yet, no relentless pain. He is a perfectly innocent child who knows nothing but love. I long to feel as content as he does, to sleep as peacefully. He reminds me of the beauty in life.