It’s true. I’m not there as a stalking patient anymore. My therapist—Dr Anash—is helping me cope with the knowledge that my father killed Jenny and my mum. He’s helping me get over the guilt—it’s not gone, but it’s lessened.
I know it’s not really my fault. I didn’t kill her. But it’s hard not to feel responsible. I still don’t know why she went to his house in the first place. I can’t help but think that if I’d never laid eyes on her, she would still be alive.
I’ve recovered more of my memories. After my father knocked me out, the next thing I remember is waking up on my bench. The bench that started it all.
I think he placed me there after cleaning me up.
It’s taken me a few sessions to understand why I couldn’t remember it. Why searching for Jenny never triggered the memories. Doctor Anash says it was my mind's way of protecting itself, but when I saw the article on Emily’s phone, it could no longer ignore what it already knew deep down. Jenny was gone.
I have nightmares sometimes—waking to flashes of blood and bruised fists.
But Emily is always there. Always beside me.
She helped me through the inevitable police interviews. Mymum and Jenny were found under my old house. The questioning was always going to happen.
Doctor Anash decided that the truth was the best course of action. So I told them the pieces I could recall, the broken fragments of that night. They, of course, wanted to know why I never came forwards. Why I never told anyone what happened to Jenny.
Both Emily and Doctor Anash were there to explain the psychology of it.
I couldn't explain to them why Jenny was at my house—not when I didn't really know myself, and not when the tiny part of me that might know wonders if that was all my fault too. She'd realised I was stalking her, and she went to confront my father so he'd put a stop to it. That's my assumption. I don't know the real truth. I don't know if that's because my mind is blocking it, or if I really never found out.
Thankfully, the police accepted my story. Justice will never be served, since my father is already dead. I just hope he's rotting in hell for everything he's done.
I close the cupboard, shaking myself back to the present.
Now the kitchen is spotless, I pull Emily against me, my back resting against the cabinets. We don’t speak, I just hold her, resting my chin on her head.
“What are you thinking?” she murmurs, her hands flattening against my chest.
“How lucky I am,” I whisper, catching her lips with mine. “How happy I am that you didn’t run.”
She bites her lip grinning. “As if you wouldn't chase me.”
I squeeze her sides. She giggles. But then her expression turns serious. She reaches up to trace the line of my jaw. “I’m exactly where I want to be, Eli.”
Emily
Eli is downstairs, letting Graham outside and locking up the house. Meanwhile, I’m staring at myself in the mirror.
The lingerie I secretly bought looks back at me. Dark blue lace cups my chest, my boobs spilling out the top. It barely covers my nipples. That’s the point. The thong isn’t as uncomfortable as I expected.
What I love most, though, is the smile on my face. I look hot.
The bedroom door pushes open.
Eli freezes in the doorway, mouth open in shock.
His gaze rakes over me, heated. “Angel,” he chokes out. “You look—” He cuts himself off, like he can’t find the words. “Fuck. You’re so fucking sexy.”
“You approve, then?” I ask, loving the way he can’t take his eyes off me.
“Approve?” His mouth quirks. “I’m ready to ask you to peg me.”
I cough, choking on my own saliva. “What?”
“I’m just saying—I think I’d do anything you asked of me right now.”
“Then why don’t you fuck me?” I smirk.