I turn the envelope and tear it open. I pull out a piece of lavender card stock with a note written in the matching penmanship.
To my beautiful enchantress,
From the moment I laid my eyes on you,
Your sorcery has deep magnetism,
Making you irresistible to me.
For it is you, I have fallen in love with;
I will wait for you till my last breath, that is the spell I’m under.
My heart skips a beat. It’s beautifully written. I never knew Rick was capable of such poetic beauty. It stirs something foreign inside me. I throw the card down. He is a monster and I need to remember that.
And I know just the way to do that.
I storm into the bathroom, mad at myself for even authenticating feelings for him. I turn on my shower and let the water warm up. I take my clothes off with shaky hands as I mentally prepare myself for what I am about to do. With all my clothes in a pile at my feet, I think, You can do it—remember what a monster he is.
I turn to face the mirror with my eyes closed. Come on, Emma, you can’t forget… One… Two… Three…
I open my eyes to see my full reflection. My hands fly to my mouth to silence my cry. A tear slides down my cheek as I examine my torso. Running a hand across the scars, I can feel the crack of his whip as it tears open my skin. I remember it, I think as the shadowed form of a man haunts my nightmares. It was Rick, it had to be Rick, I think as I hear the shattering crack of the whip through my head. Don’t forget. He is the monster—the shadow.
My mind races as I continue to run my hands down my torso. I—I can’t feel the scars. The skin under my fingers feels smooth as silk, as if the scars weren’t there. I frantically look down to my stomach. I see them—bright red and raised.
My hands tremble as I glide them over each side of my hips. I force myself to look down at the larger scars lying horizontally across each hip.
Why can’t I feel them?
My right thumb rubs across my birthmark on my upper thigh. Inside the heart-shaped mark is a scar that mimics my own heart—broken with no hope of repair.
He is the monster,I think as I hop into the steaming spray of the shower.
I grab a towel and dry off. The library is going to be a great distraction, I think as I wrap the towel around me and make my way over to the vanity—thankful the mirrors are steamed over.
Absentmindedly, I open the bathroom door and walk toward the closet when I hear voices in my room, causing me to freeze mid-step.
“Oh, Ms. Andrews, I thought you were already dressed,” Brutus announces his presence from behind me. I quickly turn around and hug my towel tighter to my naked body.
My eyes lock with Chance’s. Instantaneously, my heart dips low into my belly. I stand frozen, watching his eyes run down the length of my body, causing heat to catch like wildfire and spread over my chest. I follow the path of his eyes—a slow lazy path down my body. My nipples tighten as he lingers for a moment. His eyes flame as if he can see right through my towel. The wildfire causes my sex to throb. I feel needy and my eyes heat with passion. I take a sharp inhale.
Brutus breaks the connection. “Ms. Andrews, we will leave immediately,” he says, grabbing Chance by the arm and pulling him toward the door. After Brutus pushes Chance out first, he turns, trying to explain.
“I’m sorry again. We were trying to get your flowers into your room.” His voice carries around the door as he makes his exit.
In that moment, I notice the large arrangement setting awkwardly in the middle of my bedroom.
T. L. Mahrt is a former business owner, where she utilized her education in cosmetology, barbering and massage therapy for several years. She was raised on and is currently living on a farm in Nebraska, where you can find her running barefoot in the country side with her loving husband and inspiring children and massive dogs.
After having her son, who was born with Cerebral Palsy, she made the life altering decision to stay home to care for her two children and pursue her love for writing. She has a love for romance and poetry where, her overactive imagination, along with her adventures and up beat lifestyle drives her inspiration for her writing.
T. L. Mahrt has a thirst for knowledge, and is currently working on her Bachelor of Applied Science in Communication Studies degree.