Page 21 of Wrangled
“I’ll ride into town and get some things. Fifteen years locked up tight? I think we’re going to need some industrial cleaning supplies,” Jen mutters.
“Thank you,” I tell her gently before I turn my back on everyone and step inside.
As soon as I step over the threshold, the door slams shut. Something tells me that no one standing outside will be able to open it without my say-so.
Chapter Seven
My eyes fall to the hallway, a surprised gasp tearing from me as I take in the dried blood and bloody towels.
The house wouldn’t let them in to clean up. I didn’t put it together, but seeing the crime scene still here after all this time, I know it’s true. How did the police investigate a murder if they couldn’t gain access to the scene, though?
I move forward robotically, my eyes drifting to the wall I collapsed against. When…it…happened, all I cared about was getting home. I thought I’d survived the worst, but the hits just kept on coming. Maybe I should have fought harder. Not during the rape—I was too drugged to do much of anything but survive. But after, with regard to the case, maybe I should have pleaded not guilty. Perhaps, I’d have even won. But all I could think about was getting away from Austin and Andy—one of whom raped me—and Dale—the man who framed me. I wasn’t safe here, and I had nowhere else to go. You know things are bad when prison is a safer option than home.
I slide down in the same spot and picture myself all those years ago, broken and terrified, hurt and bleeding. Instead of being saved after my torment, I was violated again, just in a different way. I harden my heart, or the feeling of helplessness will cripple me. I came back here to prove everyone wrong. It sounds fucking cliché, I know. But I don’t care because I also came back to prove them right. I can be every bit as bad as they think me to be. But that doesn’t mean I can’t thrive and rub their faces in it too.
Perhaps I’m supposed to be the bigger person here, but I have no interest in turning the other cheek or offering my token forgiveness. Fuck that and fuck them. One thing I learned away from here, surrounded by women who fought tooth and nail for everything—whether they were right or wrong—is that I can hold a grudge. And I’m petty as fuck when the need arises.
Something bangs in the kitchen, and I frown. I get to my feet slowly and head that way, grimacing when the smell hits me. I eye the fridge, wondering if the smell is coming from in there. I’m not brave enough to open it and find out. I’m pretty sure, after all this time, that whatever is in there would likely eat me, as opposed to the other way around.
I look around, confused. Suddenly, all of the cupboard doors open, and the lights, which I hadn’t turned on, flicker.
“So it wasn’t a dream. This is real. You’re real?” I ask the house, whose response is to launch a mug at my head. I duck at the last second and gasp when it shatters against the wall.
“What the hell? Stop that.”
The top drawer slides open before a fork flies my way, followed by a spoon. I duck and hide, noticing belatedly that the house doesn’t throw any knives at me.
“At least I know you’re not trying to kill me,” I mutter, standing up. “I’m sorry, okay?”
The spoon that flies through the air hovers in front of my face for a second before it tilts and smacks me on the forehead.
“I said I was sorry!” I yell, feeling tears blur my eyes. Again, I know what I’m feeling isn’t just my emotions. The weight of it, though, is almost too much to bear.
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” I move to the wall and press my forehead against it. “I didn’t have a choice. I was hurt and scared. I’m sorry I left you alone with him. I was weak, and I knew if I stayed, I wouldn’t have survived. But I swear I won’t leave you again.”
The house is quiet as I wait for some kind of response, but I get nothing. At least I don’t get smacked in the head with a spoon again. Whatever emotions I sensed are pulled back, but I can still feel the house as a soft hum in my veins.
It sounds stupid, but I have a sinking feeling I’m going to need to prove myself to the house. It’s clear that I’m not the only one who suffered all these years.
Walking over to the broken mug, I pick up the sharp shards before carrying them to the trash. As soon as I lift the lid, I gag. Well, at least I know where the smell is coming from. Jesus.
I move to the windows to open them, but they refuse. “The only way I’m going to be able to get rid of this smell is if you let some air in.”
After a moment of hesitation, one of the windows opens, followed by another and another until all the windows are flung wide.
“Thank you. Now, my friend has gone to get some cleaning supplies. We’ll have you spick and span before you know it.”
The house doesn’t reply, and I huff out a laugh because I’m talking to a damn house. What’s it gonna do, nod its head?
I take out the trash first, then find some black sacks and empty both the fridge and the freezer. I have to tie a kitchen towel around my face to stop myself from gagging, but somehowI manage. By the time I’m done, I hear a car pulling up the driveway.
I head to the door and feel a slight wave of panic ripple through the house. I check the spy hole and blow out a relieved sigh. “It’s just Jenny. She’s got the cleaning supplies. Be nice. She’s the reason I’m here now.”
The door clicks open and swings wide as Jen hurries up the steps, her arms full of products, which she dumps on me. She jogs back to her car, in six-inch heels, making it look effortless.
“I pretty much cleared out the cleaning aisle of that mom-and-pop store. And then I found a little coffee shop that hopefully tastes as good as it smells. I was a little worried for a minute because the place was dead, but then the whole town was. People must be at work.” She shrugs as she carries in a couple of drinks in one hand and a brown sack in the other. I wait for her to pass before following her into the kitchen.
“You know what? The food will keep. We’re going to need to clean in here first before I even think about exposing the food in that bag to whatever that smell is.”
