You don't control me, Dixon

➊ 2- Princesses and Princes

♤

The girl is dead, blood dried on my hands as I press my head to the wall, watching as the thickened blood slowly drips into the puddle next to the island.

I sigh and push myself off the ground tiredly and look at the girl once more before taking the couch throw and gently lay it over her.

I guess as a final form of respect for a girl that didn't deserve to die. At least she didn't die chained up.

I turn to the entryway that has a vase of flowers that would have made the house smell fresh and nice, but that girls body has ruined it. It's supposed to smell like French vanilla and the roses. But it's not.

I push past into the dining room that holds the small table with a small bowl, where my mama would fling her car keys in before groaning and stripping on her way to her room where she would slip pajama shorts and a loose tank top on.

Then if it was a particularly hard day she would call for a pizza as she explains her day while I read my books for night classes.

But she won't do that.

I move to mamas room and go to her safe plugging in the numbers of my birth into it and watch as it springs open showing her gun, a note, and tactical knife from her army days. She said it was a .44 Desert Eagle.

I grab it all along with the holster for my hip and clip it on my form, grabbing bullets and holding it as I clip my mons thigh bag on, slipping my ammo in it. The note alongside it.

I grab the duffle on top of the safe and head back to the kitchen- pointedly ignoring the dead girl as I fly around the room- grabbing any can or preserved foods including candy I found in my mamas' stash in her bedside.

Tossing the bag to the side and ignore the clang of cans inside.

I grab another duffle and fill it with long sleeves, exercise leggings, jeans, bras, panties, tanks tops, and socks. I also pick up regular hygiene stuff -ignoring my mother's feminine hygiene materials- from my bathroom and into my bag. I quickly run around the house and pick up pictures and shove them in there as well. I zip up the bag and stand.

I glance down I cringe at the blood covering me. I slam my eyes close and let my hair down as I head to my bathroom, stripping as I go before I stand in the warmth of the water, my feet scrubbing on the grips on the ground, more blood swirling into the drain.

A few minutes later a clang makes my heart bang against my rib cage. I turn as I hear another bang on a wall across of the house.

I quickly turn the water off and step into fresh clothes before pulling the top half of my hair out of my face. My thigh and hip holster on.

I shake my head and grab my glass mouthwash bottle and hold it as I venture into my room.

I gulp as I hear soft footsteps, a slight stumble, and a small crash.

I sneak closer as the thing slams on my bedroom door. I jolt back but open the door, my arm coming down on its head.

Her head.

The pink girl.

It reaches up as I rush past her and scoop up my duffles and run for the door before halting, the stomping of the little girl making my heart pound, as I stare at the leather jacket that my mom wears on her days off.

As it clambers into a wall I yank it off the hook and slam the door behind me, the slamming of the girl making me jump away from the door.

I sigh and shrug the jacket on before the duffles.