AllFreeNovel
Share Us
What I didn’t expect to find in their home is this. I’ve been standing here for what seems like five minutes, just staring into the room with my jaw open. This is magnificent. Something in the back of my mind tells me I should just walk away from the masterpiece in front of my eyes, but I can’t. My feet have a mind of their own, and they’re staying.
My eyes gaze on the large canvas sitting in the middle of the massive bedroom. It’s the only thing here besides a couch in the corner, which has a pillow and blanket lying on it. The drop cloth protecting the carpeting squishes beneath my feet as I circle the piece of art.
My heart shudders at the sight. Tears fill my eyes, and emotions slightly choke me.
It’s me.
Or at least, someone who resembles me.
She’s lying in bed, curled in on herself. Her hair splays over the pillows in a heap of curls, messy and unbrushed. The blanket barely covers her backside, and her legs are wrapped in it. The tight T-shirt, which I recognize as something I’ve worn before, bunches at her waist. But nothing is exposed. Just a girl lying in bed with her eyes closed and the darkened room swallowing her whole. The only light shining is from a small lamp next to her bed, illuminating only her sleeping form. A tiny signature sits at the bottom right-hand side. SM.
Sheppard Mondelli.
It clicks right away. His hands speak in two different ways—through language and art. He expresses himself through beautiful visuals that speak for themselves. He doesn’t have to utter a word.
I swallow hard, staring at the brown-haired girl with the perfect skin and unblemished face. Peace settles on her features. She’s almost ethereal. It’s perfection caught in a painting. She’ll never have to wake up like I do. She can sleep forever and live in the fantasy her mind concocts each night when she falls asleep. The girl in the painting doesn’t need sleeping pills to drag her away from her nightmares. She doesn’t need music to drown out the screams echoing in her mind from the nights she lived in a darkened cage in the fucking basement of her monster’s home.
I shiver, tears burning the back of my eyes. Never in my life did I think I’d be jealous of a painting that can’t be me. That’s not what I look like. Maybe on the outside. But my insides are littered with scars and blemishes. I’m so fucked up in my head that sometimes I can’t keep my darkness at bay. It begs to be let free and harm the people who have harmed me. Sometimes I slip into it. Sometimes I hurt people when I don’t want to. Like Jenni. But I had orders. I had to do it or my sister would pay for my sins. Like she has been for years.
But this painting.
My breath stalls when I turn away, squeezing my eyes shut. I was supposed to be a bad ass bitch, finding my stuff. Not crying over a painting that hits way too close to home for me. And it’s not even me, for fuck’s sake. Is it? Did Shepp paint this for me? Is this his space?
What is wrong with me?
I wipe my face, waltzing out of the room without looking back. I leave the existence of the painting in a small box in the back of my brain, dig a hole, and bury it forever. Because if I think about it too much, I may grow softer than I already am toward the men who took me.
I gently close the door behind me, making sure it latches before moving on. I’ve already explored most of the upstairs and have yet to find anything. Not even my damn phone. The only thing they gave me was my damn book.
Ugh.
Why does life have to constantly throw lemons at me when I can’t make damn lemonade? I don’t even have the equipment for it. They just squirt in my eyes.
Life could at least throw me a million dollars and a break. Hell, it could kill my monster for me, too. Ah. A girl can dream, right?
I blow out a breath, standing in the middle of the long hallway, contemplating where to go next. I’ve been through every door and have yet to find anything of use. I crane my neck, staring at the ceiling. Maybe there’s an attic somewhere where they stash the good stuff out of sight. Or maybe a basement that has something in it. Fuck. Or maybe it’s not here at all.
My body stiffens when a loud thud comes from downstairs. Then it happens again. And again. My feet move as the sound continues, echoing through the entire mansion. My ears fill with static when I slowly come down the stairs, overlooking the foyer and living room.
Slam!
My fingers wrap tightly around the banister, keeping me rooted in the spot.
“Hello?” I shout, looking around at the lack of movement in the house.
Right. Shout hello like every woman in a horror movie does.
Another slam happens near the kitchen, drawing me further through the house.
“This is exactly what you should be doing in a stranger's house, exploring it until someone pops out and murders you. This is how every horror movie starts,” I grumble to myself, marching through the kitchen.
My heart leaps from my chest when the wind slams the back door again. Rain falls quickly outside, slamming into the windows and sounding through the house. A full-blown storm sweeps through Briar Cove.
“I am a badass,” I mumble to myself as my hand shakes. “I’m a badass who needs a knife,” I mumble again, snatching one from the counter and tightly gripping the small knife in my hand.
Don’t show your fear. Don’t give your enemies the upper hand. Don’t show your emotions! Back straight, Little Snake. Look me in the fucking eyes and block out everything around you. You are not allowed to feel when it matters most. Do your job.
Every word stomps through my mind with every step I take toward the back door, waving in the vicious wind, sweeping in from the outside.
