Read Online Bittersweet Seraphim by Debra Anastasia - Free Book Online
Authors: Debra Anastasia
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next?”
The sounds of Hell seeped in around his words. She looked over her shoulder, and he wiggled his tongue at her.
“Um, stick your Smurf nuts in some panties just like these and put heels on?” Emma tried to hold his gaze as she pointed to her underwear. His face crumbled into a very convincing mask of evil.
“You think you’re sassy, but you’ll pay for every word with screams. Every insult with blood. I’m going to chain you by the neck to my ankle for at least a hundred years. You’ll lick my feet clean. I’ve so much time to play with. This hallway is just a speed bump. You should fear every moment.”
He stood, and as instructed, her new best friend, fear, crowded into her heart again. Emma shut her eyes tightly, waiting for him to leave, and panic trickled down her back when Everett didn’t walk away like he should have. His threats had provided him opportunity for the dramatic exit he preferred, and yet he remained standing there, just looking at her.
“Why do you hate me?” Emma finally gathered herself enough to say. Such a simple question. Why not ask?
He shook his head and turned his back on her. Emma tried to wet her mouth with her dry tongue.
Then Everett suddenly turned around. “You really want to know? Shit, how about I tell you? How about a little story time, whore?”
Emma was a captive audience, so she didn’t respond as he disappeared toward Jack’s old chambers just down the passage and returned with a chair.
He sat in it and crossed his legs. “Maybe you need to hear this, understand a bit about me. When we met all those years ago, I thought you were an angel on Earth. Funny, right? Isn’t that ironic?” He waited for her to respond. She didn’t.
“All that blond hair and those big ol’ eyes. I thought you’d be the one who would love me forever. I did all the right things—look at me! I look perfect, right?” He motioned to his body again. “I can even say all the right things. Listen: ‘Emma, you have satin hair and the most beautiful smile. Touch me. Feel me.’ Isn’t that wonderful? But those things didn’t make you quake. Tell me, why I wasn’t enough, Emma? Why were you such a frigid whore?”
The chair squeaked with his agitation and the pressure of this impromptu heart-to-heart. Emma threaded her fingers together and looked at her dirty nails. She knew what he was talking about: when she’d been just sixteen and expected to marry Everett. He’d already been a man.
“Can a whore really be frigid? That’s kind of a contradiction.” Emma looked at the ceiling. It had crappy-looking drop tiles.
“I try to talk to you. I try to let you in, and you toss my words in my face,” he shot back. “I shouldn’t have expected any of your stupid angel talents to really exist. You’ve always been a fake, even a fake fiancée. No one sees you for what you are but me—well, and maybe God, ’cause He did let me leave Heaven with you.” Everett stood and put his slipper-clad foot on the chair like an explorer claiming new land.
He had a knack. She had to give him that. He could cut right to the bone like a butcher. She’d doubted herself, her choices, but her one certainty had been God’s love. Now, sitting in the cold hallway under the assault of Everett’s words, it was hard to remember what had kept her so sure. She was having trouble remembering His prayer. What if soon enough she forgot Him?
“You’re right, Everett. Maybe I belong here because I can’t bring myself to forgive you. I can’t find any bit in you that’s worth heralding. You want to know why I hate you? Because the only true pleasure I’ve ever seen on your face is when you’re delivering pain: hurting things, people, and animals. It brings you joy. How can I be asked to accept that?”
She looked at Everett, but really she was now focused on her challenge: this fear, this hallway. She wondered if God was letting her stay in Hell until she could forgive Everett for the pain
The sounds of Hell seeped in around his words. She looked over her shoulder, and he wiggled his tongue at her.
“Um, stick your Smurf nuts in some panties just like these and put heels on?” Emma tried to hold his gaze as she pointed to her underwear. His face crumbled into a very convincing mask of evil.
“You think you’re sassy, but you’ll pay for every word with screams. Every insult with blood. I’m going to chain you by the neck to my ankle for at least a hundred years. You’ll lick my feet clean. I’ve so much time to play with. This hallway is just a speed bump. You should fear every moment.”
He stood, and as instructed, her new best friend, fear, crowded into her heart again. Emma shut her eyes tightly, waiting for him to leave, and panic trickled down her back when Everett didn’t walk away like he should have. His threats had provided him opportunity for the dramatic exit he preferred, and yet he remained standing there, just looking at her.
“Why do you hate me?” Emma finally gathered herself enough to say. Such a simple question. Why not ask?
He shook his head and turned his back on her. Emma tried to wet her mouth with her dry tongue.
Then Everett suddenly turned around. “You really want to know? Shit, how about I tell you? How about a little story time, whore?”
Emma was a captive audience, so she didn’t respond as he disappeared toward Jack’s old chambers just down the passage and returned with a chair.
He sat in it and crossed his legs. “Maybe you need to hear this, understand a bit about me. When we met all those years ago, I thought you were an angel on Earth. Funny, right? Isn’t that ironic?” He waited for her to respond. She didn’t.
“All that blond hair and those big ol’ eyes. I thought you’d be the one who would love me forever. I did all the right things—look at me! I look perfect, right?” He motioned to his body again. “I can even say all the right things. Listen: ‘Emma, you have satin hair and the most beautiful smile. Touch me. Feel me.’ Isn’t that wonderful? But those things didn’t make you quake. Tell me, why I wasn’t enough, Emma? Why were you such a frigid whore?”
The chair squeaked with his agitation and the pressure of this impromptu heart-to-heart. Emma threaded her fingers together and looked at her dirty nails. She knew what he was talking about: when she’d been just sixteen and expected to marry Everett. He’d already been a man.
“Can a whore really be frigid? That’s kind of a contradiction.” Emma looked at the ceiling. It had crappy-looking drop tiles.
“I try to talk to you. I try to let you in, and you toss my words in my face,” he shot back. “I shouldn’t have expected any of your stupid angel talents to really exist. You’ve always been a fake, even a fake fiancée. No one sees you for what you are but me—well, and maybe God, ’cause He did let me leave Heaven with you.” Everett stood and put his slipper-clad foot on the chair like an explorer claiming new land.
He had a knack. She had to give him that. He could cut right to the bone like a butcher. She’d doubted herself, her choices, but her one certainty had been God’s love. Now, sitting in the cold hallway under the assault of Everett’s words, it was hard to remember what had kept her so sure. She was having trouble remembering His prayer. What if soon enough she forgot Him?
“You’re right, Everett. Maybe I belong here because I can’t bring myself to forgive you. I can’t find any bit in you that’s worth heralding. You want to know why I hate you? Because the only true pleasure I’ve ever seen on your face is when you’re delivering pain: hurting things, people, and animals. It brings you joy. How can I be asked to accept that?”
She looked at Everett, but really she was now focused on her challenge: this fear, this hallway. She wondered if God was letting her stay in Hell until she could forgive Everett for the pain
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