THE LONGEST WALK IN THE GARDEN

the devil is a better buyer

My past has always haunted me. I'd kill it time and time again, and it would, as a vengeful spirit, try to make itself known.

All I've ever wanted was to be loved and have the home many were blessed into.

Nine years ago...

With desperate eyes, she shouted semi-coherently: " It's fruk-frickin' time. 'Ou're ol' enough!"

Alcohol-ridden, my mother was not much of an example, or at least shouldn't have been.

"But I'm only seventeen! I don't want to!" My cries grew in volume as I pleaded to be heard, to, for once in my life, feel safe.

"O' please! I w-was younga than you when I  started! YOUNGER!"

"DON'T YOU CARE ABOUT ME! WHY THE FUCK--"

Her hand had violent swifted across my cheek.

"I told you," her hateful eyes sober, " don't curse. Under my roof, in that mouth, talking to me? No. Frigging. Cursing. "

"YOU AND YOUR STUPID ONE RULE! FUCK YOU! AND DAD, WHOEVER THE FUCK HE MIGHT--"

Again.

" I. Hate. You." My quaking voice breathed.

"That's not gonna pay the bills," she huffed and turned around.

Now

Clenched fist, nails burning into my palms, I tried to loosen, but it was harder each time I thought about her. Or my past. Or just anything about me.

I won't pretend I'm strong, but I am a survivor. I'm strong enough.

Enough was all I ever wanted to be.

"Amelia, you have to see this," Clarence, the only coworker is the closest person I regard as a friend, alerts me.

"Did the printer get stuck again? I told you..."

"Yeah, pretty big right?" His eyes ate Mr.Tight Ass and I swear something down below needed a bit more attention than the sex on legs in front of us.

"Well....He's a snack alright," I tried remaining nonchalant, but God damn this body.

What was God thinking when he made this guy?

The guy, who I swear is the heir to God's throne, was 6'5 and a great body. His pure dress shirt was clean and immaculate, especially on his arms, where we could see muscle contracting against the shirt.

"God! He must be a good choker," Clarence whispered beside me.

My eyes widened at his sexualized mindset. Though he would definitely be a good fuck, I would never mix violence with sex, just wasn't me.

"Where the hell is your mind?" I smacked his arms playfully.

His lips stretched mischievously, dirty little secrets he hides behind doesn't he: "In my head, but I wanna put something in him."

Just as he said that Mr.Tight Ass turns around from the printer room.

Once he sees us, his stoic expression morphs into a slight smile, almost polite.

When he got to us, he outstretched his hand to Clarence and gave a short nod, once he reached to me, he took my hand and shook it gently, and kissed the back of it.

It reminded me of a memory I had--a dream would be more accurate of me finding my guy and living fairly content.

"Jude. Jude Arias," he muttered against my skin, letting me the vibrations travel all the way down there.

Trying to containing my grin, I replied: "Amelia. Amelia Harts."

By now, my hands had missed his warmth and the softness of his lips.