Page 28 of The Death of Kisses

“Mr. Wyatt—” Lee began, pleading, but Papa’s eyes hardened.

“I said get before I grab my shotgun,” his voice edged upward, a clear threat darkening his tone. My stomach twisted at the danger—the unspoken warning that hung heavy between us.

“Lilly, I— I am so sorr—” Lee’s voice cracked, helpless.

“Just go, please,” I whispered, my words barely audible, coated with a mixture of fear and heartbreak.

Lee shot me one last look, then turned away and left, leaving me rooted to the ground, paralyzed by dread, knowing what was coming but helpless to stop it.

Papa waited—silent, stoic—as the motorbike’s distant hum faded into the surrounding woods, as life outside pressed on unaware.

“Papa, I—” I tried again, but his hand shot out with violent speed, striking my cheek before I even realized I was about to speak.

“I didn’t know I raised a whore,” his words sliced through the air, cold and heavy with disgust. His voice was a savage blow, and I felt it deep inside my chest, shattering any last remnants of innocence.

Tears spilled from my eyes, streaking down onto my shirt as he dragged me into the woods, a place I knew too well now as a realm of fear and pain. I screamed—desperation echoing in my heart—but it was useless. Something in him had broken, fractured beyond repair, and I was consumed by terror, dread pooling in every fiber of my being, unsure of what darkness awaited next.

19

NO

Present day - October 17th - Town of PineRidge - Population 5025 - 18 yr old

Islipped out of Anna’s bed just as the first light of dawn broke over the horizon. A desperate, aching cling to the fleeting warmth of her presence haunted me, yet I knew I had to leave, and had to face the cruel weight of reality. I grabbed my jeans and hurriedly slipped into them in the quiet hallway, then snatched my bag and slipped out the front door to escape.

The sharp, biting air collided with my face, piercing through me with every step. The path I knew so well laid out before me, each familiar crack and crackle echoing my fractured heart. Minutes later, I reached town, and almost as if it were calling me — demanding me — my feet instinctively found their way to the gym.

“Hey Charlie, you’re here early. Are you here for the meeting?” a gym bro called out, lifting weights as I dropped my bag near the door.

“What meeting?” I asked, a tiny flicker of curiosity sparking against the overwhelming ache inside me.

“Lee’s meeting with the Blackwell contacts, something about an arrangement,” he replied casually, going back to his dumbbells.

Those words, so hollow and indifferent, deflated the fragile air in my chest. I moved slowly, almost robotically, toward the back office. My ears caught snippets of the conversation beyond the door—voices I couldn’t ignore, secrets I wasn’t meant to hear.

“She wouldn’t appreciate that arrangement. She’s not cattle to be sold off. She’s my sister,” a voice with steel underneath the calm declared.

“Well, guess you have some things to consider, Mr. Callahan,” another responded, cold and dismissive.

Suddenly, I launched into the nearest supply closet, the door shutting behind me. Sounds blurred outside: muffled words, the grind of conversations I couldn’t undo. The scent in the air hit me—tobacco, cedar, a hint of lemon—fuming like ash and fire inside my chest.

No.

My pulse stumbled.

No.

My stomach twisted violently.

No.

Lots of people smoked.

Lots of men wore cologne.

I pressed my palms against my eyes. The scent lingered anyway. Buried beneath months of memories. Beneath nightmares. Beneath rain soaked concrete. My lungs refused to work. The closet felt smaller. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I was frozen, paralyzed and helpless. And for the first time since that night, I wasn’t remembering a face. I was remembering a smell.

When the silence stretched on long enough, I pushed myself away from the gym and sprinted straight home. I couldn't catch my breath until the scorching water thundered over my body, flooding out the chaos inside. My chest tightened uncontrollably, tears pouring down my face as I curled into a trembling ball in the bathtub, overwhelmed by a relentless flood of grief, confusion, and burning fury that consumed me.