Bait(32)

I sit back on the bench and hold him tight, and I’m asking him with my eyes right on his. My soul is on my fucking sleeve as my world goes to shit, and I’m begging him. I’m fucking begging him.

“Please, Cam, please just say something. Please, just say something, bud. Anything. Just talk to me. Make a noise. Anything.”

I’d feel like an idiot if it wasn’t for the way his eyes sharpen on mine. I’d call Serena out for spouting bullshit if it wasn’t for the way his fake tears dry to nothing.

“Cam, please…” I try again. “Talk to Daddy. Please, just say something. Come on, champ, please.”

But he doesn’t. He sniffles and stares at his muddy boots, and then he points at the pond behind my back, accident forgotten.

“Ducks?” I ask. “Say it, Cam. Ask Daddy for the ducks.”

He stares blankly ahead.

He acts as though he doesn’t hear a word.

Deaf as well as mute today.

I sigh and brush his hair from his forehead. “Alright,” I say, “let’s do it.”

And we do.

I lead my little boy to the duckpond and dig the food from my pocket. I squat on my haunches to help him throw the pieces. I smile like this is just another day, just like yesterday, just another fun day at the park like all the other times we’ve been here.

But it’s not.

This isn’t yesterday.

Today my demons have broken from their cages and my eyes are open wide.

Things will never, ever be the same again.

And I’ll never, ever be the same again either.





Fourteen





I will not be a common man. I will stir the smooth sands of monotony.

Peter O’Toole





Abigail



I try with everything in me to stick to the plan.

I try to let that one wild night fade into memory and start living my new life with a full heart.

I’m still smiling with colleagues. Still giving my all to my ever increasing workload. I’m still calling my parents and letting them know I’m doing just fine.

But it’s not enough.

I should’ve deleted my profile like I promised. I should’ve drawn a line in the sand and moved on from our one crazy night in the shadows.

I wish I could.

I think it’s the monotony that’s killing me slowly. Wake up, shower, head to work. Smile at the same faces, pretend I’m just another girl in the office, make sure I offer a round of coffee at least once every day.

I try to break it for myself. I go out twice for drinks after work in that one next week alone. I start watching TV shows as though I might have an interest in continuing them.

It’s all a lie.

All I want is more of the monster.

My monster.

All I want is another night with his breath on my neck and his terrifying cock inside me.

He doesn’t log in and I stop expecting him to. The sliver of hope that he’ll come looking for me has long dulled to nothing by the time the weekend comes back around.

And then, late on Friday night after a couple of glasses of wine, the crazy in me notches up another gear.

I feel the insanity churning in my gut as the idea hits me.

If he won’t come looking for me…

I have nothing to go on and I know it. I’ve got a deactivated profile which listed Malvern as his location and nothing more. He could’ve been lying about that.

The nightclub could be miles from anywhere he knows. He could have scoped out my route on street view for all the sense my scheming makes.

He could be living miles away and I could be a distant memory. He could be regretting ever agreeing to meet me.

But I need to know.

It scares me how much I need to know.

So I make a decision.

A batshit crazy, based on nothing concrete whatsoever decision.

And then I sleep.

For once at least this week, sleep comes easy.





Phoenix



Life without Serena is bullshit tough.

Cameron is restless, back to wetting the bed at night, and I feel a dick for ever sending her away.

I feel a dick for taking Cam into work every day and trying to amuse him with a laptop full of cartoons. I feel a dick for being in work at all.

But the world keeps on spinning, and I keep on spinning with it.

It feels like shit. This whole fucking week feels like shit.

I take the speech therapist outside the therapy room on Friday morning and fight the urge to slam the prick into the wall.

“He can speak,” I hiss. “My sister heard him.”

The asshole nods. He fucking nods at me. “That’s entirely plausible, yes.”

“Plausible? You’re telling me that’s fucking plausible?”

I could tear his head from his body when he sighs. Shrugs. “Trauma is difficult to treat, Mr Scott. Cameron may be choosing not to speak. There’s little we can do about that. There’s nothing physically wrong, it’s the emotional condition we are working to understand.”