WICKED ✓

15

Stella

I would compare sex with Dominic to a marathon if as soon as you finished a marathon, you wanted to run another one no matter how tired you are. Finally, I'm able to peel myself off the sweat-soaked sheets of Dominic's bed and climb into the shower that smells like his musky body-wash. As soon as I start to get hot and bothered thinking about this morning, I turn the water to cold and step out after a minute with a clearer head than before.

With exhausted muscles and a growling stomach, I pad into the kitchen to make myself an omelet in order to settle my stomach. Humming to myself, I'm distracted enough not to notice that Dominic's office door is cracked open until I'm finished cooking, eating, and doing the dishes. 

Curious, I walk over and peek inside to see an almost obsessively organized room with computer screens and a desk, small enough to be a walk-in closet. My eyes catch on the pictures on the wall, various men and women the targets of the photos. Moving the computer mouse, the three screens light up but require a password so I move on. The longer I spend in the room, the more curious I become and though I feel bad about it, I continue to snoop.

A sticky note with an address, a date, and a time is stuck to one of the screens and I peel it off, noting that the date is today and the time isn't far from now. Typing the address into the GPS on my phone, I see that it's only twenty-five minutes from the apartment. All of the drawers of the desk are locked and my breathing picks up as I look back up at the pictures.

What does Dominic do for work?

Why doesn't he ever talk about it?

What is he hiding on that computer and in the drawers?

My mind and my heart are racing and I quickly get dressed in proper clothing in order to meet Dominic at that address and make him answer my questions. Grabbing my wallet, phone and keys off of the counter, I march out of the apartment; a woman on a mission.

Pulling up to a concrete warehouse, I check my phone to make sure that I'm in the right place. Aparently I'm in the right area at least. I climb out of my car, locking it twice to be sure, before slowly walking towards one of the two towering, square buildings. Wild grass and weeds sprout from cracks in the concrete ground and spray paint covers most of the first six feet around the bottom of the building. All the windows have been broken and glass shards litter the ground.

Glad that I wore boots as I crunch over the glass in search of an entrance, I look around behind me and don't see any sign of...anything really. No sign of Dominic's car. No sign of human/animal life. Nothing at all. Glad that the time was set for the middle of the day when the sun is the highest, I find a rectangular cut out on the side of the building that looks like the perfect fit for a door, except there isn't one, or any sign that there ever was one. Walking in, the sun almost entirely disappears until I'm standing off to the side of a large factory room filled with old, rusted car parts and machines. Chains, screws, and glass litters the ground on the inside and I cover my mouth when something runs past my feet. 

Careful not to make too much noise, I inch along the wall so as to not walk out into the open, unsure of what exactly it is that I'm walking into. Clicking sounds echo through the building with no sort of pattern until they stop. Then complete silence. My breathing feels heavy but sounds perfectly hushed to my own ears with the convenient noise of the wind blowing through the broken windows.

The sound of car tires screeching and crashing into the building makes me jump. The side that was hit crumbles slightly, but the concrete wall must be thick enough not to buckle completely. I run outside quickly, exiting the same way that I came and am immediately struck by the sight of the blood on the cracked windshield. The glass is broken completely but doesn't shatter, so I can't see through it. Running around to the driver's side, I gasp at the sight of a man with his head leaning against the wheel, blood dripping down his face onto his lap. 

"Oh god. Sir? Are you okay?" I ask trying not to panic as I reach inside and feel his neck for a pulse. When I feel it throb, although slightly, beneath my finger, I almost squeal with delight. "Oh my god. I'm going to call an ambulance. If you can hear me, hang in there." I say and fumble my phone out of my back pocket with one hand while I tilt his head back carefully with the other to try to stop the bleeding. His white shirt is red with blood and I notice the stain getting larger.

Before I make a call, I rip open his shirt only to see a small wound, possibly from some sort of shrapnel or an object in the car. Ripping off my sweater, I use it to press against the wound as I dial 9-1-1. The man mumbles and a tear falls out of my eye.

"9-1-1 What's your emerg—" The phone is ripped out of my grasp and I turn around quickly to see it held in a familiar tattooed hand.

"False alarm. Sorry about that." He says and hangs up.