It Went Wrong

Summer

I once again pull down the hem of Trina's dress. I can only imagine what I look like in the outfit.

Years of mistreatment has me way below the required body mass for my height. I don't have nearly enough hips and ass to pull this black leather skintight dress off, so it constantly rides up. The lack of sleep has my eyes puffy and red. My skin looks yellow and dull. And although Trina worked her magic with this wig, it still looks like one of those costume ones you get at the Halloween store. I didn't need a mirror to tell me I looked a hot mess.

I tug at the thong she forced me to wear, hoping to relieve the feeling of dental floss in my ass crack. I can already feel a panic attack creeping up as I stand outside Gregory's door.

I know the code to unlock the door. Trina gave me the rundown before I left. I am to let myself in and walk down the hall to the last bedroom on the right. Mr. Gregory will be lying on the bed, naked, gagged, and waiting for me to tie him up. All I have to do is go in.

However, my feet refuse to move as I stare at the silver numbers on his penthouse door.

"Come on, Summer, you can do this. It's not like you've never had sex before," I say out loud in the empty hallway.

Exhaling a deep breath, I shake my hands out, punch in the five-digit code, wait for the green light, and then open the door. I don't know what I was expecting, but it definitely wasn't this.

The foyer opens to a French country style living room. Everything is whitewashed and rustic with beige furniture. The place looks as if someone ripped it from a Southern Living magazine. It's almost too normal.

I head down the hall, following Trina's directions. With each step I take my heart pounds faster and faster. I stop in front of the door of the last room on the right. Once I walk in, there will be no going back.

Look, I've done some shitty things for a my next high. Things I'm not proud of, yet this is one line I've never crossed. However, this is my last option to save my life, there are no other avenues for me. This cat has run out of lives it seems.

Closing my eyes, and taking a deep breath, I push open the door and walk as far into the room as I can.

"You've got this."I give myself one final pep talk before taking a deep breath and opening my eyes.

I expected to come face to face with a naked middle-aged man. Yet, that is not what I find. In front of me, in clear sight, is a scene straight from my nightmares.

I start to shake, my vision gets blurry, and my breathing becomes labored. Right now, is the worst possible time to have a panic attack, but it's too late to stop it. I shut my eyes tight, trying to fight to gain control. My demons are riding me hard, and I can't shake them.

Behind my eyelids my dreams start to play back through my mind. My memories of that night wash over me like a tsunami rolling over a shore. I'm back in my childhood bedroom with the big bloodstain on my wall.

The scene I walked in on is a lot different from the one that threatens me every time I try to sleep. In my dreams, there is no tan skinned giant with mint green eyes. Here, the giant is staring at me with a terrifying look in his eyes. In this reality, blood is everywhere. On the walls, on the bed, some even on the carpet underneath my feet. In my dreams it is only on my wall. Also, I feel no pain here, unlike my dreams.

I reach for my shoulder as an old ache starts to form. My heart beats even faster and no matter how hard I try I can't seem to get enough breath in my lungs.

When I open my eyes again, the golden-haired giant is standing in front of me. He towers over me, his wide chest reaching the top of my head. The frown on his face tells me he isn't happy to see me. I imagine not, considering I just walked in on him brutally murdering someone.

I should run. Some part of my brain is telling me to get the hell out of here. But my feet are glued to the bloody carpet because my panic attack won't let me think rationally.

Even though this man is obviously dangerous and clearly a killer, I stare into his pale eyes as if they are a lifeline. Even he is more suitable than my memories.

"Please," I plead, not sure what the hell I'm asking for.

What I wouldn't give for some coke right now. Hell, I don't even do heroin, but I'd take that over this.

"Breathe," his gruff voice says.

His pale green eyes gaze directly into my brown. When I was twelve, we went on a field trip to the zoo and one of the zookeepers warned us of the dangers of looking the large silverback gorilla in the eyes. For some reason that memory is brought back to me. My brain is screaming for me to look away, but I can't.

The giant grabs my hand and places it on his chest. Underneath my palm, his heart beats strong and steady. Nothing like the frantic beating of mine.

"Focus on me," he says, when my eyes start to shut again.

I gaze back at him, taking in his features like an art critic examining a painting. Never have I seen such a gorgeous specimen. He looks unreal. His face has an oblong shape with eyes so hauntingly beautiful they send a shiver up my spine. They are heavy-lidded and almond shaped, but it's the intensity of the light mint green orbs that draws you in. His nose is very Greek, and his plump lips are enticing despite the pale line that cut into the bottom one.

I notice there are a lot of old pale lines on his face. One cuts into his brow; another is under his right eye. He has a long one on his forehead that seems to go back into his hair line. This man has been in some fights, or accidents, I don't know which. His dark blonde hair is pulled up into a lazy messy bun on top of his head. For a moment, I wonder what it would look like hanging down.

"You're so beautiful." The dumb words fly out of my mouth like diarrhea. I can't be held accountable for what I say, my brain is fighting through little sleep and a panic attack. The fact that I'm forming actual words is a miracle.

The giant's brow pinches as he watches me. He lets my hand go so suddenly it falls from his chest back down to my side.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that." I gasp.

This is the problem with me. It's why Trina warned me not to be myself. Where normal people would scream or run for help, my brain seems to think of the most random and stupidest things to say.

The giant takes a few steps back, keeping his narrowed gaze on me as if I'm the murderer in the room. He then turns his back to me, his fist tightened at his side and his wide shoulders lift and fall rapidly. Is he about to have a panic attack too?

I take a step in his direction and the bloody carpet underneath me squelches.

His head turns slightly to his right shoulder.

"Don't." The word comes out like a whip striking through the air and I immediately freeze.

It's then I realize, while I've been distracted by my own shit and his looks, I forgot that the man is obviously a killer and I'm trapped in here with him.

My gaze bounces around the room for a weapon, there aren't any. Well, unless you count the hammer, hack saw, and power drill on the bed. But all of those are on the other side of the room and I would need to pass him to get to them. My only other option is to turn and run out the door. Hopefully, the size and height of the giant means he's slow.

I don't second guess myself. I turn and sprint out of the room as fast as my skinny legs will take me. I'm so close to the front door, I can taste the first sign of freedom. However, it sours on my tongue when my arm is nearly ripped out of its socket.

He turns me around and shoves me so hard against the foyer wall that I see stars. When they clear, the face that was once staring so intently at me, is now frowning as if it's going to eat me alive.

The giant draws in close, his hard body pressed up against mine.

"You ran," he growls down at me through clenched teeth.

What the fuck did he think I was supposed to do? He's recreating the scene from Hellraiser on the bed back there and he thought I was going to stick around to see the final act. I don't think so.

"Don't kill me, please," I plead.

I don't know what Greg did to this man, but I don't want to set him off in the same way.

"You ran," he repeats again like I missed it the first time.

"Of course, I ran," I gently argue back as I gaze up at him. "I don't want to die."

His light eyes narrow as he watches me. I'm shaking so bad my teeth are chattering.

"I have no choice."

"You always have a choice," I sprout the bullshit words an addiction counselor said to me during one of my failed treatments.

"No, I don't." His words are so calmly spoken I actually believe he may not have a choice in killing me.

He places his forehead to mine and shuts his eyes, then one of his calloused hands wraps around my throat. The pressure is light at first, almost gentle, but it steadily increases, making it harder to breathe. If someone were to see us, they'd think we were in a lovers embrace the way his forehead is pressed to mine and his lips hover so close to mine.

So, this is how it ends? I wish I could say I'll be missed, but I doubt it. It would be a relief to my mother. She probably wouldn't shed a tear at my funeral just like at daddy's. Raina would somehow find a way to make my death about her. The only person who'd truly care would be Trina.

Despite knowing there is no use in fighting, my reflexes still kick in and I attempt to pull his hands away. But he's so strong that he doesn't budge.

I gasp for air. His eyes open, and those beautiful orbs lock in on me. I'm not sure if it's the lack of oxygen to my brain or if I'm hoping to see something that isn't there, but it looks as if sorrow and sadness dance in his gaze.

Black spots appear in my vision, and I close my eyes hoping my death will be swift.