Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 56078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Christopher spins on his heels and his face is bright red as his eyes seem to bulge from their sockets. “What is wrong with you? You are completely insane. Insane! And I swear to your fucked up God that I will kill you someday. I will fucking kill you.”
Papa Rich inhales and very calmly says on exhale, “Kiss. Now.”
I know that he doesn’t like to repeat himself, and he’s already done so more than I’ve ever heard him do. So, not wasting any more time, I pad across the cold floor to Christopher and stand before him. I look up into his eyes and silently beg for him to listen and comply. Papa will starve us. I have no doubt in this if we don’t listen.
I stand up on my tiptoes and place my hand on Christopher’s chest to steady myself.
“Please kiss me,” I whisper, hoping only he can hear my plea.
Christopher places his hand on the back of my head and lowers his head to mine. Our lips make contact, and I wonder if he’s stealing all my air because I can’t breathe. My legs feel weak, my heart beats hard, and my stomach flips.
He smells like the soap I gave him, but also something else—earth and spice. I can feel the heat from his body, and his palm on the back of my head seems to nearly scorch my skin. The hair on his face that has grown since arriving pricks my skin, but the roughness sends a shiver to my toes.
My eyes are closed in fear of what I’ll see. I don’t want Christopher to hate me. I don’t want him to be disgusted. I don’t want him to think I’m evil. I just want to block it all out and focus on what’s happening.
My very first kiss.
My very first intimate touch of any kind.
My very first time feeling… I don’t know what I feel.
Is this the Devil that tingles inside of me?
Is this sin that makes me not want to stop?
Good Lord show me the way.
Is this kiss opening the door to evil and will cease any salvation?
My very first kiss…
The sound of the door closing broke the spell of seduction. We both pull away and look at the door as we hear the key locking us inside.
I touch my lips as I step away from Christopher, embarrassed and ashamed by just how much I like the kiss.
Christopher doesn’t say anything but sits in the chair and places his head between his legs. His eyes are closed tightly, and I see such a deep sorrow that I struggle to ward it off myself. I want to cry the tears for him. I want to howl at God for such injustice and scream out in agony. I want to take his pain. I want it all. I deserve it. Not him.
“Your father just killed me. And you stood and watched as he did so.”
He’s right.
I watched a monster emerge from my father just now. He enjoyed seeing the pain in Christopher’s eyes. He fed off it like a carnivore tearing the flesh from his bones.
My Papa Rich…
Who is my Papa Rich?
13
Christopher
We remained in silence for several hours after the kiss. I sat and stared at the words on the newspaper in disbelief. I had held out hope that no one would believe the ramblings of a madman and truly believe I had fallen to my death.
But they all believe.
They all are mourning my death.
I’m dead.
I’m nothing but an empty coffin being lowered into the ground.
“Would you like some crackers and chicken?” Ember finally asks. “You haven’t eaten any today. You must be hungry. The chicken’s cold, but I’m sure it won’t taste bad.”
“Have you ever lost someone? Anyone die in your life?” I ask as I look up to her for the first time in what feels like ages.
She shakes her head. “No.”
“It’s an awful feeling. The pain is indescribable. My mother, my friends and other family are all suffering right now.”
Ember pulls her legs up to her chest on the crate and lowers her dress to cover her ankles and feet. It’s getting colder by the hour, and the falling snow outside doesn’t help matters. I can’t see our breath yet, but I have a feeling it’s only a matter of time.
“I know you think I can help you,” she says as she pets her cat that finally has crawled up on the crate to join her. “And if I could… and knew it would work… then maybe I would. But I know my father. I know this area. I know our reality. I don’t want to see you dead.”
“Being dead would be better than this.”
“Maybe for you,” she says. “But I don’t want to feel that indescribable pain you speak of. I know it’s selfish, but I don’t want you dead. Not for real.”