Page 27
Bile rises in my throat at the visual, but I also can’t control the heat building in my stomach. As if two opposing forces are pulling me apart from the inside.
“And if you don’t watch your mouth, eventually I will cut your tongue out, too. I hope we don’t get to that point though, pretty girl. Your mouth is too precious.”
I kissed him once. The one night we were intimate, I couldn’t stop kissing him. It was the only time he ever touched me. Eventually, I craved his touch more than I needed to breathe.
“Where have you been all these years?” I finally whisper. My voice comes out shaken and broken.
The line goes quiet again, and I can’t bring myself to blink should I miss his response.
“I told you, I’ve been asleep,” he says in a soft voice, and I blow out a shaky breath. His voice is back to normal—not that I have a clue what normal is with him, but at least his tone sounds less nefarious. “I want you to turn the camera back on.”
This time I do what he says, losing all logic as to why I am listening to him.
“You’re really fucking sick and demented,” I say, turning my camera on.
“Yeah?” he says, and I hate how hot he sounds.
“Yeah,” I repeat back to him.
“Come on, Summer, you’re into this, so don’t deny it. You like when I talk dirty to you.” His demeanor shifts erratically between sophisticated and adolescent. My mind and heart have whiplash.
“Only because you whispered it for years.” The death threats, mixed with the soft, honeyed whispers after. My body is vibrating at the thought of it—memories, I realize now. The line goes silent for a heartbeat.
“What now?” I breathe, focusing the camera back on my legs, thinking that’s what he wants from me. My head pounds as I pull up my dress, showing my lace panty line.
Another small sob escapes me. Maybe if I just give him the show he wants, he will leave me alone and find someone else to target. Either way, as soon as this phone call is over, I fully intend to call the cops and report him. That’s the sane thing to do.
His eyes penetrate me through the phone. It’s like he can see into my soul.
“Show me, please,” he demands, almost sounding desperate. “Show me how slick your fingers are when you touch yourself.”
Please.
Such manners for a perverted psycho.
I lengthen my breath and move my hands in between my legs and gasp as I make contact at how sensitive I am. It doesn’t take much to make my entire index finger wet.
“Lick them, baby,” he whispers, and a sinking pit hits my stomach as the realization dawns on me that I currently have no control over my own desires. It’s disheartening to think about how degrading this is. It’s as if he has complete power over my thoughts, manipulating them as he pleases. I stare right into that camera and stick my finger into my mouth, and I can’t deny how good I taste.
“Now what?” I whisper as arousal bubbles up inside me.
Another lengthened pause, and I nibble on my lip, thinking about the next demand he is going to make and if I’ll actually do it.
Silence. I wonder if I’ve lost him.
“Hello?”
A cosmic shift through the phone. He’s done with whatever game he was playing.
“I want you to open your psychology textbook you’re so scared of.”
I squint my brows together as I come back to my senses. “What?” I ask him. I almost don’t recognize the voice…almost.
“Open it and start reading chapter two. Take your time, Summer. I’ll watch and wait, then we can talk about it.”
A heaviness hits my stomach at the sudden change in his voice.
Two orphans. Two. Is it possible there are two behind this? Are they working together?
