The Whispers of Silence

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Chapter 4

Lenora Dutch

Lights flashed in my eyes, the drinks I’d had making my body numb. I swayed to the music, my fingers in my hair and running down over my face and my curves seductively. I kept my eyes closed as I danced, knowing I had everybody’s attention on me. It felt fucking good.

“Nora!”

I heard someone shouting my name over the sound of the music, but I pretended not to notice.

I needed to drown it all out. The noise helped me replace the endless pain in my head, the horrible memories that made me feel sick, the knowledge that I was heading down the same path Posy had taken, even though I’d sworn to myself I wouldn’t do it.

“NORA!”

I opened my eyes, anger flooding my body as they locked with my friend Francine’s.

“What do you want?” I hissed at her.

“That guy over there,” she told me over the sound of the bass. “He asked me if you were Nora when I went to get us drinks. I think he’s into you.”

She motioned to one side of me, and I looked over to see if he was of any interest to me.

The guy she was talking about had a stocky build. He was taller than me, but not that tall, wearing a varsity jacket over a V-neck shirt and distressed jeans. His hair was long on top and short at the sides and he wore biker boots with the outfit.

He was handsome.

Sexy.

I looked back at Francine with a smile playing on my lips and winked at her. She smiled wide.

“I guess I’ll see you soon?” I asked Francine, and she shrugged.

I walked away from her, the guy who’d been checking me out came up to me.

He wore a sexy smirk on his face and a look of determination passed through his eyes as they locked with mine.

“Hello, trouble,” he said with a toothy grin, and I fluttered my lashes at him.

“Hi, handsome,” I purred as he reached for my arm, gently stroking down my skin.

Once he reached my wrist, he grabbed onto it, his fingers rough and calloused against my skin.

“You wanna have some fun?” he asked, opening my palm up with his fingers.

I looked down to find a small pill in it.

Memories flooded me with the intensity of a punch to the face.

Connor.

Fucking Connor.

Always him. Why?

He was gone gone gone—and I was here here here.

I smiled weakly at the guy, raised my palm to my lips and licked up the pill with the tip of my tongue. I showed it to him and he leaned into me, taking my mouth in a rough kiss. I swallowed it before he could get a taste, the drug disintegrating inside me and showing me how to have fun fun fun.

Like Connor never would again.

He moved away from me and I opened my mouth wide, sticking my tongue out to show him I’d swallowed.

“Good girl,” he muttered in my ear, his fingers wrapping around my waist possessively. “Come on, let’s dance.”

I let him lead me to the dancefloor and I let the pretty little pill work its magic.

I danced with the guy, never stopping to wonder what his name was.

I wasn’t going to throw up. I didn’t want to. It would mean the pretty fun pill would stop working, and then I’d have to remember.

I hated remembering.

I needed to go, leave before I broke down.

I ran.

I unlocked the front door with shaky fingers and walked towards the curtains, feeling dizzy as fuck as I tried to force them to close. I glanced up to see what the problem was, but my eyes locked on the apartment across the street instead.

He was in his living room, his palm against the window, staring right at me, hand down the waistband of his pants and his fingers jerking, tugging, getting off.

I looked into his eyes, his face shrouded in darkness but still making my pussy clench at the sight of him.

Through the haze of the drugs I’d taken, the drinks I’d had, I tried to remember the night a few days ago when he’d fucked that girl while looking right at me, getting off with her as if she were nothing more than a cum-toy ready to please his dick, then killing her.

What was wrong with me?

She could still be alive, couldn’t she? No. He killed her. I saw it. Why aren’t I scared? He threatened me!

He was staring at me as he jerked himself off, and I couldn’t tear my eyes off him.

He tilted his head to the side, giving me a questioning look.

He made my heart pound, and it was only a moment later that I realized my hand had wandered between my legs and I was stroking the inside of my thighs.

He laughed at me, throwing his head back and pulling his hand out of his pants. I stared and stared and stared some more. There was something about him. Something that made me want to do everything he said.

No. I couldn’t do this. I shouldn’t! I should call the police. Now!

When my eyes wandered up, he was still there, his gaze firmly fixed on me.

And he was holding something up to the window.

A piece of paper with a phone number scribbled on it in big, chunky numbers.

I looked at him and saw something in his eyes that scared me.

Desperation.

The same ugly, bad, broken desperation that looked back at me every time I passed a mirror.

With shaky fingers, I took my phone from my purse lying on the floor and typed the number, saving it.

When I looked up, he flipped the paper and I stiffened reading what was on it.

I dare you.

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