Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 25747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Arousal is primitive, obsession demeaning… what she is… is something hypnotizing. It was curiosity at first, then respect, and now... Well, now I’m not certain what she is to me. To us and to what we started so long ago.
With the fire lit behind them, it’s the only light I have with the exception of a table lamp that casts beautiful shadows down Delilah’s dark skin. Her nipples pebble and just as I’m enjoying them, Walsh takes them for himself. Devouring her flesh as he thrusts into her and forces her to hold on to him.
He’s good to her and I recognize that, but it doesn’t, not for a single moment, mean that I’ll sit back while he plays.
We had an unspoken deal. “Had” being the operative word.
I now have something I truly desire and no reason not to take it.
Delilah
As my shoulders lower with a long exhale, I rub my right one, still sore from a horrible night of sleep. My gaze never leaves the open case file on my desk. I’ve been staring at it for hours.
Certain lines on the paper are difficult to read as some cases are, but this one is different. Really, they’re difficult to digest.
My mother’s denials and my sister’s concerns ring in my ears as I read the evidence. Everyone knew what was happening, but no one did anything.
How many times he beat her, where he chose to hit her. It’s all documented now, but before last week, neighbors and family all took notice, and that was it. So many neighbors said they knew what was going on. Not a single one called. They didn’t think it would go that far. The woman never said anything either.
With a tight throat and a rapid pulse, I swallow and put my pen to the paper, to the exact attempt we should charge him for.
Repeated abuse isn’t evidence of malice aforethought. The choices are first-degree or second-degree murder. I have to make that decision. It’s difficult to determine which one we can prove when every paragraph I read is minimized by the memories brought back up so recently. The sound of the slaps and then a cacophony of painful cries that are enough to keep two girls awake in bed together, staring at the door and pretending not to cry because Mom said it was all right.
I lean back in my seat and pinch the bridge of my nose, refusing to let my personal bias affect work. The air has been different this past week and a half. Something inside of me is different and I don’t like it.
I’m better than this. I’ve grown so much and there’s no reason I can’t take on this case. With a sip of coffee and a deep breath in paired with a longer breath out to calm my sympathetic nervous system—as my counselor sister taught me—I repeat my mantra until I can start from the beginning again. This time I grab a pen and travel along the pages with it to keep track, circling keywords and then scribble on a pad of paper. It’s not quite a pros and cons sheet with that sharp black line down the middle of the lined paper. It’s a first-degree or second-degree murder charge. Which has enough evidence to thoroughly convince a jury.
I’d focus on something else, anything else, but this needs to be submitted by the end of the day and the only other place my mind takes me is to a few nights ago when I lost myself to Cody Walsh.
Closing my eyes, I can still feel him, the sweet lingering pain of a good fuck even though it’s been days. That’s all he left me with, though.
I woke up to a slight hangover and an empty bed. If it wasn’t for the throbbing between my legs, I’d have thought it was only a dirty dream about a coworker.
Fuck, what did I do?
My attention is so far off from what I need that I shove both the case file and the pad of paper to the left and decide to go for a walk, to clear my head instead.
I haven’t seen Cody since that night. I haven’t spoken to him either. A deep pain settles inside my chest, digging there and planting seeds of insecurity and doubt.
The insecurity that stands with me as I head to the other side of my office makes me think it’s all a childish crush. It was most likely a one-time thing. He may even think it’s a mistake. I wouldn’t know, since he hasn’t spoken to me.
I barely ever dated my entire life. I dated one guy in college for a few months and that shitty experience was enough to convince me to focus on my studies. I had a fuck buddy, though. And then another in law school. It was exactly what I needed. I focused on my work and there was someone around for the release when either of us needed it.