Squeak

Jezebel's Bed

Jezebel

I gawked at Erik, still reeling at his confession. While the thought of my father suddenly dying crossed my mind a few times while my father was torturing me, I wouldn't want his death on my hands.

"No, Erik. You can't kill him," I whispered as he backed me into my bedroom.

"Why not?"

"It's a sin, and you could go to prison!"

"According to our school's over-the-hill football coach, I'll be incarcerated by the time I'm 21."

"Why would he say something like that?"

"He wasn't fond of my tattoos."

My eyes zeroed in on the intricate rose and expansive spiderweb that covered his neck.

"You do have a lot of tattoos," I whispered as I traced the exposed inked skin.

"It looks like dear ol' daddy left you with a few tats of your own," Erik mentioned. I hissed when he poked one of the fingermark bruises on my neck. "You have five seconds to convince me not to slit your dad's throat."

"Because what happened to me was your fault." Erik's eyes widened in surprise. "If you wouldn't have abducted me, then I wouldn't have been late getting home, and he wouldn't have had to find me."

"Careful. It sounds like you're making excuses for your abuser," Erik lowly warned.

"That's not what's happening at all, but you need to take accountability. I-I need an apology, Erik."

"You don't want that," he refused.

"I do," I stubbornly replied.

"No, you don't, and I'll tell you why. I am a clinically diagnosed sociopath, so if I ever said sorry to you, I'd be lying. The apology would be as empty as my soul."

"Oh...well, that explains a lot actually. I knew something was seriously off about you," I sighed. My eyebrows knitted together in confusion when Erik began to chuckle. "What's so funny?"

"You talk a lot more than I expected."

"I'm sorry."

"I don't want your apology, but what I do want to know is why your dresser is pushed in front of your bedroom door. Did your dad touch you or something?"

"Obviously," I remarked, pointing to the bruises on my neck.

"You're a comedian. Did your father touch you sexually?"

"What!?" I shrieked. Erik swiftly clamped his hand over my mouth.

"Shut the fuck up, or your dad will hear us!" Erik seethed before ripping his hand away.

"I'm sorry, but that question came out of nowhere, and it's disgusting!"

Erik produced his cell phone from his pocket, punched in the code, and handed it to me after a few clicks. "Press play when you're ready." Erik walked off, leaving me to my own devices. I silently watched him as he toured my bedroom. He caressed the sheer curtain of my canopy between his tattooed fingers before swatting some of my stuffies onto the floor like a misbehaving cat. I wanted to ask him if that was necessary but refrained. Chances were, whatever the response, I wouldn't like it. I narrowed my eyes at him when he pretended to gag at my Sunday School Student of the Year award but was mildly impressed when he didn't comment. Erik's next stop was in front of a chest where I laid my clothes out for school the next morning. He gave the uninspiring dress a tsk before snatching up my stockings. I rolled my eyes when he began playfully stretching them out and then whipping them above his head like a helicopter.