7. Little Sinister

Seven

Little Sinister

" F uck, Fuck, Fuck!" I can't even go home right now. What if they're following me? My heart's racing, and the panic is creeping in. I need to do something to shake this off. It's muggy out, and my adrenaline is causing me to have a mix of emotions. Blood . I need to distract myself, and that always makes me feel better. Fuck, if they have my number, they probably already know where I live. Especially if he knows what I did last night.

How did I mess up like this? I'm always so damn careful about this stuff. I try my best to stay off the grid, making sure no one deemed as dangerous or important find me. I keep to myself, blending into the shadows, hunting at odd hours, and avoiding unnecessary attention. My strategies have never failed me before. This whole situation has me rethinking what I think I may know. The only time I genuinely break my solitude is for those wild, primal sex encounters I find through Tinder. The raw, animalistic sex that leaves me breathless and covered in sweat, if it's good enough, blood too. But even that isn't enough sometimes. Even then, I keep an eye on my surroundings and leave immediately after.

Sex and blood. That's the kind of dark fun I need right now. It's the perfect distraction. The thought of feeling the warmth of blood, the rush of power it gives me, mingled with the intense release of sex. It's a twisted, erotic high that can drown out the chaos in my mind. I crave it, need it to regain control. If I can't go home, then I'll find someone to play with for a bit.

I walk a couple of times around the block, staying in view of others just in case anything were to go down. I could possibly rely on the townspeople who I have taken care of these last few years to say something or even perhaps intervene. I need to get on my bike. If it is that rat bastard, I'll enjoy fighting and ending him once and for all, or I'll die trying. Marklov . That name makes me sick. And I would bet my bike that the strange muscular man sitting in the cafe looking super fuckin' out of place could potentially be one of his men.

Marklov, the name that brings a sick feeling to my gut, makes it physically feel like someone is punching me in the stomach repeatedly, over and over again. He is the piece of shit that my mom was with when I was four years old. He was a vile excuse for a human being. He always called me "Little Sinister" because he once walked in on me when I was just five years old, mercilessly beating the shit out of one of my cousins while laughing uncontrollably. In my defense, my cousin had been messing with my baby blanket, which I cherished more than anything. I had a short fuse even back then, and seeing him mishandle my prized toys sent me into a blind rage. The memory of that day is etched deep in my mind, and the sight of my cousin lying there in the fetal position, covering his head for protection and screaming for help, I never saw him after that.

Marklov abused my mom. He'd force her to have sex when she wasn't in the mood and beat the crap out of her for not obeying his every command. That's why I despise those kinds of men. I could hear them screaming back and forth at night, and I'd hide in my closet, hands covering my ears, with my baby blanket wrapped around me. It was the only sense of safety that I could give myself.

He would whoop my ass for the dumbest shit ever, to the point where I couldn't even walk afterward. If I left my toys on the floor or left my snacks on the table, I'd get an ass beating I'd never forget. And I haven't… I remember every single one of them vividly, like dark shadows that haunt my memories and nightmares. It stayed this way for what felt like an eternity to me. I had no escape, no family that would dare help me in the situation because of who my mother is…was.

When I hit the age of ten, everything changed. I started my period, and while my mom explained the basics, she wasn't very supportive. She briefly mentioned the difference between tampons and pads, but I was left to figure most of it out on my own. I wish I could have understood more of what my mother was going through. Addiction is a real bitch.

She might have been an addict, but I knew she loved me. I could feel it. It's hard to explain, but she was fighting battles I could never win for her. Yet, the physical demon she faced, I vowed to one day end. When he learned that I had entered womanhood, he told me he wanted a private conversation when my mom wasn't around. That moment filled me with dread, but in the back of my mind, I thought of every way I could avoid it.

Marklov had my mom being pimped out. They assumed I didn't know, but someone can only go out dressed up so many times and come back fucked up and battered until you put two and two together. I mean, how else would the bills get paid? His bum ass couldn't hold a job. He was too busy running from any authority figure for something he had done across the border. I vaguely remember them fighting about what he had done, but it ended with my mom being beaten with an old telephone cord.

That night, like many other nights, something turned in me, making my blood boil and my heart go cold. That's when the monster in me was awakened but never fully unleashed. Her screams shook the walls. She begged and pleaded with him to stop, and he showed no mercy to the woman he was supposed to love and protect.

There was a night when I was asleep in bed, and my mom had gone out, leaving Marklov home alone with me. I didn't think too much of it. It had become a regular occurrence in my life, a routine that I had grown accustomed to, even though I was just ten years old. The house felt dark when my mom wasn't home. I always had to look over my shoulder and sleep with one eye open.

I woke up to Marklov screaming my name, demanding I get into the living room. My heart practically jumped out of my ass, I swear. I could feel my whole body trembling from being jolted awake. The fear was palpable, and I knew I had no choice but to face him. I didn't want to go in there, but I knew if I didn't, I'd be getting an ass whooping. I remember being in my favorite SpongeBob sleep set. Sliding the blanket that offered me warmth during the cold night, I stepped out of bed. Every step I took felt like walking through quicksand, my legs heavy with fear. The closer I got, the louder his voice seemed, echoing through the house.

* * *

Fifteen years ago…

"Ah, little Sinister, just the little lady I wanted to see." Oh no, he's drunk. My mind is telling me to retreat, to turn and run back into bed and hide under my covers, but I physically can not move. My body is so tense that I feel frozen. Come over here and have a seat with me. It's time for that talk I wanted to have with you." His words are slurred and uneven. I'm scared.

I step over the pile of beer bottles and sit on the couch. It's an uncomfortable setting. Marklov inches closer to me and wraps his arm around my waist to pull me closer to him. I tense up even more, pushing my body away from his touch. "Ah, come on, don't be shy now." Shy? You call this shy? I'm freaking terrified. "How does it feel to be a woman now? You're beautiful, you know that?" He says with a burp that smells like rotten apples. He's in a white wife beater and some baggy boxers. His breath has a strong scent of liquor coming out with every word he speaks. It sickens me and makes me feel like throwing up right here, right now.

"Come on, come sit on my lap," he gestured towards his lap and adjusted himself. If I don't, I'll get punished. If I do… I'll be punishing myself. Still stiff, I lean closer to him, and he picks me up like I weigh nothing and sets me on his lap. My body was trembling, my hands were shaking, and my mind was screaming. I knew what was coming next, and I couldn't do anything to stop it. My "father" figure, the man my mother was consumed by and abused by, made me his next victim.

His whole demeanor changed once my period started. He didn't yell at me as much anymore. He just stayed to himself and continued treating my mother like crap. Now that she was out, it was his opportunity to pounce on me. "You are a woman now, and I need to show you what that means." My vision turned blurry by the tears that started to build up. "What… no!" I whimpered out, shaking my head in disbelief.

He started to aggressively grab ahold of me and rub on my legs, grunting into my ears. This man was about to take what little childhood I had left in me and completely demolish it.

I stood up to shove him off of me, but that only made him more angry. He tried calming me down by telling me that this was "normal" and everything would be okay. "It can be our little secret," he mumbled into my ear.

Doing this to me is not normal, not by the slightest bit. Marklov slipped his hand into my pajamas and circled a sensitive area. His other hand held me down on his chest against my will. My anger was more towards my mother because she let this happen. She let him stay here. She chose to be with him. And now look at what is happening to me.

"You're so… fucking sweet," he said as he locked eyes with me and licked his fingers. His hand grip became weak, and this was my opportunity to do something. I quickly grabbed his hand near my mouth and bit down until something was just sitting in my mouth with the taste of copper. I just bit his finger off. "AHH!! YOU FUCKING LITTLE BITCH, I'LL KILL YOU." He screamed at me, yanking me off of him by the hair on my head, throwing me to the ground, and cupping his hand.

I quickly took off to the front door and ran out. I swore to myself that no man would ever get to hurt or touch me ever again. And one day, his head would be mine. I ran to our neighbor's house and asked if I could wait for my mother to return. They made me explain what happened, and the look of disgust on their face made me embarrassed. When my mother got back home, I ran over to her before she could go into the house. I tried telling her about what happened, but she was too high to even focus on my words. Her eyebrows furrowed as if she was in denial. I knew then and there that I needed to leave. I needed to disappear from here. I'll stay at my uncle's place for a while until I figure something else out.

* * *

The thoughts crashing over me of that night took me into a dark place. I need to get back to reality. I take a shortcut leading me to the back of my garage; there is a back door I can go in through without being seen from the street view. I get in and jump on my bike. I always keep a bag prepared for emergencies so that I am set to go and able to get the fuck out of here as quickly as possible. I put my helmet on and guided her through the doorway I had just entered. Once I leave the garage, l walk her a little up the alleyway. I didn't want to let anyone around know that I was home. Finally, I start her up, and she purrs, ready to get on the cool pavement and take me where I want to go.

I tear down the open road, letting it take me wherever because riding always seems to clear my mind—t he library. We have a little one in the town over, and it is calm, plus you have to be quiet there. I could use that right now. The chilled wind ripples through my hair, hanging out of my helmet, and raises my shirt enough for a cool breeze to sneak in, causing goosebumps to spread all over my skin. The vibration of my bike sends a tingling sensation deep into my core, making my legs tremble. I need someone to fuck my brains out.

No cars are here. Is this the best idea I have had? No. But what else can I do? I park my bike near the side of the building, next to an emergency exit door. It is better to be safe than sorry. Contacting the authorities would be useless. They would probably laugh in my face and tell me I was crazy and to get lost.

Thankfully, the emergency exit door is unlocked. Creeping my way in, the warm heat makes me feel a sense of relief and safety. The library smells of old books and polished wood, instantly bringing a sense of calm and nostalgia. I find an area not too far from the check-out counter where an older woman is sitting and reading a book, probably something smutty.

I settle into a seat and pull out my phone, opening Tinder with a mix of anticipation and desperation. Swiping through the profiles, nothing grabs my attention—until suddenly, there he is. A stunningly sexy man appears on my screen, and my heart skips a beat as I scroll through his photos. He is the color of sweet, delicious caramel, with hair as dark as the night. His body is incredibly muscular, each muscle defined and sculpted as if by an artist. The veins on his arms and hands look like an intricate maze pulsing with life. His eyes are deep and mysterious, like pools of onyx, drawing you in with their intensity. His jawline is sharp and strong, adding to his commanding presence. He is covered with beautiful ink, and in one of the photos, he is shirtless, reflecting in the mirror. His V-line calls out to be traced by my tongue, making my pulse race with excitement.

Every fiber of his being seemed to be fluid and purposeful, exuding confidence and strength. I clicked on his profile to his "About me," which says, "6 ft of pure chaos, the nightmare that will surely haunt your dreams. I'll captivate your mind and your heart, but don't expect them back without a price. Dark humor courses through my veins, late-night snacks feed my soul, and my bike is my steed of shadows. Swipe right if you dare to embrace the darkness." holy shit. I swiped right, and the words "It's a match, say hello" popped up as soon as I swiped and got a little flushed. I can feel the heat radiating from my cheeks all the down to my moistened lips.

Me : Hey, so how dark are we talking when it comes to dark humor?

I re-read the messages from the unknown number in disbelief. I've done nothing but run for my whole life. I'll be damned if I let someone take this life away from me. I know I'm no Saint hell, I'm not even a hero, but I don't need this shit.