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“My mom heard me in the bathroom and was pissed that I was home on her date night. I heard her boyfriend ask who I was and she told him I was her younger sister. That’s pretty much it. I went to bed.”
“Tylar,” Trey said in a very serious tone, “that can’t be it. That doesn’t explain the ripped pajamas. That doesn’t explain the note about Sissy.” He rubbed my back, comfortingly, consolingly.
“In the dream I had, it got into more detail. But I’m not sure that part really happened.”
“What part?” he asked. “Tylar you must tell me everything, sweetie. We'll sort it out together, remember?”
I swallowed nervously, afraid that I might be sick. I snuggled closer to him, as if that would help my memory be less despicable.
“After I went to my room that night, I couldn’t sleep so I put my headphones on and listened to music. Later I woke up when I felt Mom's boyfriend on top of me, touching me. He was calling me “Sissy,” and telling me the things he liked doing to my “older sister.” He smelled bad, like whiskey and garbage. He looked at me under my clothes and ripped my pajama shorts right off of me.” My voice started cracking. I was so ashamed. Trey held me tight and kissed my forehead.
“Tell me what he did to you, Tylar.” The tone of his voice frightened me.
He'll never touch me again once he knows…
“Don’t you see, Trey? I’m not sure.”
“Tell me what he did to you in your dream.”
“In my dream he put his fingers in and around my private parts. He told me that I had a clit that was working perfectly fine. He put his mouth and tongue down there and asked if I liked it.”
I could feel Trey’s body turn to stone underneath me.
I disgust him.
“Go on,” he said.
I told him the rest ending with me kicking him in the crotch and screaming for my mother.
"Didn't your mother help you?" he asked tersely.
“I thought she would when she finally heard me screaming and came into my room. All she told him was that I wasn't part of the deal and he owed her another hundred for touching me. Those are the pajamas I was wearing," I finished, nodding towards them.
Trey held me close. I needed to get out of his grasp. I was nauseated. I didn’t want to be sick in front of him.
“Please Trey, let me go. I feel sick," I said as I clasped my hand over my mouth and ran to the bathroom slamming the door behind me... I didn’t want him to hear me retching.
He knocked softly on the bedroom door moments later, bringing me a glass of ice water.
“Drink this,” he commanded. I drained the glass, handing it back to him. I lay on the bed numb, scared, and confused. Who'd kept my ripped pajamas all of these years and then used them to terrorize me? Was it the same person that left the jewelry inside of my cottage? Why?
Trey hurried around my bedroom, collecting clothing from my dresser drawers and closet, putting them in a pile on my bed, searching for a suitcase. He found the one under my bed and packed what he'd gathered inside. He was in the bathroom, gathering up my toothbrush, razor, and the rest of my toiletries. He found my phone charger and purse, shoving it all into my suitcase.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“You're not staying here Tylar,” he stated. “And it's not up for debate.” He did not have to worry about me arguing that point. There was no way I'd stay in this cottage one more minute. “You're staying at the house tonight with me.”
I noticed the pile of mail still on the counter. He grabbed it, shoving it into the zippered flap on the outside of my suitcase.
“I think we’re ready,” he said, guiding me to the front door.
It was dark now, which provided a cloak of privacy. Trey held my hand, leading me up the path that led to his home. The mansion stood in peaceful and safe serenity. There were a few lights on inside. He led me around to the front door, reaching into his pocket for his key. The door was opened before he needed his key. A tall, slender man who looked to be in his 60s greeted us. He wore a uniform.
“Good evening Thatcher,” Trey greeted him, pulling me behind him into a large entry hall. “This is Ms. Preston. She is my houseguest this week. Please see to her every comfort.”
Trey set my suitcase down in the entry hall.
“Of course, sir,” Thatcher responded. “Where would you have me take Ms. Preston’s things?”
