LETTERS OF A VIRGIN

8. Sin city and It's supposed psychopaths

PARIS KILLIAN'S POV

I lift myself up from the wet bathroom floors while trying to breathe steadily. I'm yet to recover from the hell that Malcolm just put me through and I compel myself to not think about it in favor of avoiding  a mental breakdown. I've been trampled on the wet tiles for a good ten minutes and during that time Malcolm had gone into my bedroom closet, taken out my knee length black dress and brought it here then left without saying a word and barely looking at me.

I figured there's no use cleaning myself up like he commanded because I'm already as wet as the clouds.

When I was nine years old , living in the suburbs with my grandparents there was this nice little pool at my neighbors house  and I used to sneak in and take a dive 'cause their house was always empty. It was as though nobody lived there except the keeper who'd show up twice a week.

The owners would take constant trips , the wife was a tour guide and the husband a Marine, they had no kids. So I didn't think they'd mind that a little girl sneaks in their house from time to time for a swim. Well, I was right. I got so used to their pool and I felt that it was the safest place to be until I almost drowned there. I never used the pool again nor swam in anything ever since.

What Malcolm had done to me twenty minutes ago was terrorizing entirely because I've been in that situation before. I can't shake of the trembling nor the cold chills each time I recall my head being submerged into that sink. I had forgotten my fear of water for a while  but now I remember vividly why I hate bubble baths and water tanks. They scare the skin out of my flesh.

But the key matter is that just like back in my neighbors pool where I used to feel safe like nothing could ever harm me there, my mind subconsciously put Malcolm in the sorta similar pedestal without even realizing I had done that, like he wouldn't just hurt an innocent girl I comforted myself. I had completely set aside my logic after he told me everything, swore he was only trying to do his job during the mob ambush and I just took it to myself to think that he's not somebody I should necessary fear. As if he hadn't just tried to kill Fredrick Infront of me.

How could I have been so off guard like that around him? My whole life I've lived in Vegas with my focus straight, never got into trouble once because I've been keen to observe my surroundings and adapt. But I almost got murdered in my own bathroom sink. Right here, because for a second I unconsciously believed I could slightly trust a man in Vegas .

I'm just struggling to understand how Malcolm managed to actually sneak up on my head like that.

But that won't happen again.

Now that I've seen his true colours, which were actually obvious but my mind somehow didn't magnify the realization of danger enough to warn me , I'll be more resilient next time something like this is about to happen.

I quickly put on the black dress I switch up for my previous outfit and wore a pair of brown heels. I look around the bathroom and make a mental note to clean it up when I get back from the Galyner mansion in the evening.

I know Lana is still asleep right now so I can't give her a call to check up but I'll phone her during my lunch break at the Galyner's.

My skin quivers as I exit the bathroom, deep inside I'm dreading to face Malcolm again. It's like he was suddenly an entirely different person during the time he was basically torturing me.

I enter my bedroom and find Malcolm pacing inside. I stop at the door.

He turns to look at me and holds the stare for a while but I glance away from his eyes. If I was in a better mental state I wouldn't have cowered my gaze away but I feel triggered somehow. And I also have this urge to run to safety but there's nowhere to go but here. Malcom has taken up my space, my tiny room has always been my safe haven but now a murderer is in it. This situation reminds me how alone I've been all these years. If it weren't for Lana and Maya I guess I would've been terribly consumed by the loneliness.