Pure Punishment(6)

How do they do it?

What is the motive?

How do you determine if it’s an accident or deliberate?

My mind starts to wonder…

“Who is my special girl?” she asks me gazing at me with her wide hazel eyes that match mine.

“I am, Momma,” I answer and look around for Daddy.

“And what does Momma’s special girl do when Momma says hide?” I don’t want to answer her. I hate hiding, especially when I have to hide for a long time.

“Kristy, what do you do?” Her hand wraps around my arm tighter and a squeal breaks loose from my mouth.

“I stay until you come get me,” I reluctantly reply while keeping my head down.

“Good girl. Now let’s go and climb the highest tree we can find and see if we can fly,” she says jumping up and down clapping her hands. Sometimes I think my momma is the best mom ever.

I snap back from my daydream to notice everyone is leaving. I have no idea why I remembered that day. It was the day I ended up in the hospital with a broken leg from jumping from the highest tree. When my father came to the hospital, he was not impressed. I recall him yelling and screaming at my mother. Two days after that day I was sent to my grandmother’s house and never saw either of my parents again.

I pull my bag up and place my old laptop in it. I hope to make a fast escape so I can have lunch before I have to go back to my dorm to study. As I stand, I notice Detective Black is still in here and his eyes are boring into mine. I try to ignore it and continue packing my things up. As I turn to go, my name leaves his mouth and it stops me dead in my tracks. I can’t face him. I don’t know why, I just can’t.

“Was I boring you?” I can hear his footsteps edging closer to me. I look down at my worn Converse and take a heavy breath, trying to think of a plausible reason as to why my mind had wondered.

“No, not at all, everything you said today will help me tremendously,” I lie… straight up lie. Oh God, I’m going to hell.

“See, for some reason I have trouble believing that answer, but you can rectify today’s lack of participation by taking me to lunch,” his voice is getting closer and I know if I turn around he will be directly behind me.

“That’s not appropriate, Detective Black,” I say the first thing that jumps into mind. Shut up, think before you speak.

“Oh, but it is. You see, I could tell your professor that you were sleeping in class and he would fail you on your assignment simply because you were not participating in some of the things we discussed today. If you were, you would’ve noticed it was directed to the case you are working on right now. So, I think we should discuss that and at the same time grab something to eat. Do you disagree, Miss Wilde?” His breath is nearly on my neck. I haven’t moved and I haven’t faced him. My hands are fiddling with my bag strap trying to come up with a good reason to get out of this and not fail the class. I can’t afford to fail because I’m on scholarship. I rack my brain and I can’t think of anything. I’m stuck, forced to endure lunch with another human being who is bribing me. Just my luck!

“Okay,” I mumble, just above a whisper.

“I didn’t hear you correctly, Miss Wilde.” He’s taunting me, I know he is. I get the courage to turn to face him and when I do I’m correct, he is directly behind me. So close that if I step one foot closer I will be on him. I pull my bag to my front and take a step back; I don’t want him in my space like this. It’s overwhelming. God, he is overwhelming. I can smell him; his breath, his cologne, and his strong scent invading my senses, making me think of what it would be like to be touched or even held by a man. It’s all just so overwhelming.

I try to think of an excuse that will get me out of it and nothing comes to mind. I’m drawing up a complete blank. God is not on my side today. I look up to his eyes before I answer him and I can see the amusement in them. He knows I’m struggling and he also knows he will get his way.

“Yes.”





The average number of thoughts that humans are believed to experience each day is 70,000.





My job helps me deal. It helps keep away the bad memories. I think it helps piece me back together. It makes me strong. I’m a protector. I help protect those who need it without asking for it. I didn’t have anyone to do that for me and because of that, the things I can do, the things that people squirm in their seats about, are the things I love to do. I know I’m not normal and I know taking a life, good or bad, is not sane. But who are they to judge? I don’t love, I’ve never had love. My father was a bad man and for that he got punished.