Chapter 7

• Chapter Seven
• Ellsa sat at the bar licking her wounds with the help of a few tequilas, after getting thrown out of her sister’s home. This person wasn’t her. She didn’t go to dingy places, drink cheap liquor and feel sorry for herself. She was better than this, and yet she couldn’t help but wallow in the gutter.
• How dare they humiliate her like that? And worse of all, in front of Kris and Audrey? Ellie might be her sister, but she was going to regret what she did. And Carson, he had no idea what he’d just started.
• She drove so far just to get away from the humiliation. She didn’t even know the name of the stupid town.
• A man sat on the stool next to her, ogling at her like he was seeing a woman for the first time. “Hi honey, how you doing tonight?”
• “Get away from me,” Ellsa uttered, with disgust.
• He held a lock of her hair and rubbed it in between his fingers. “What’s wrong? I was just trying to be nice.”
• Ellsa pulled away. “Don’t touch me.”
• The man sneered. “What, you think you are so special?”
• “Yes I am. The hands that touch me earn a million dollars as an annual income. How much do you make a month, or should I have said a day?”
• The man got right into her face. “You are a high priced whore! It doesn’t change the fact that you sell your body for money. How much do you earn a day?”
• “Do I look like a prostitute to you?”
• He winked at her. “I saw what you have under that coat. Trust me, I’m going to be worth your while. It will be so good, you’ll be paying me.”
• Ellsa slapped him across the face and poured the tequila in his eyes. “Touch me again, and I’ll kill you!”
• He grabbed her and roughly pulled her off the stool. “You little bitch!” he hissed. “I’m going to teach you a lesson!” He dragged her out into the alley and pinned her against the wall. He felt her up as she struggled to push him off her.
• She stopped fighting when something in her mind clicked. “Okay! I’ll do what you want. You don’t have to force yourself on me.”
• The man looked at her with a glimmer in his eye. “You are not going to run, or blind me with your pepper spray?”
• She tilted her head and looked at him. She then ran her fingers over his lips. “Of course not. I’m going to do you a favor.”
• The man moaned, closing his eyes. “What?”
• “Stop your life from getting even more pathetic.”
• “Please do.”
• Ellsa pushed him down a few inches to reach his ear, one hand on his chin the other stroking the back of his neck. “You asked for it,” she whispered. And with one swift quick move, she snapped his neck. The man’s body fell to the ground with a loud thud.
• ****
• She startled awake, vaulting to a sitting position, gasping for air. She’d been having these nightmares for months, waking up in cold sweats and looking around her surroundings in sheer panic. Before the images were hazy, sometimes just voices in the darkness but this one, she stared right into the man’s face before he died and that scared her. She’d never seen the woman’s face, but… with this new development… did it mean that she was the murderous woman?
• She took the already wet sheet and wiped away the streams of sweat running down her face from her forehead. Her nightgown clung to her perspiring body. This had truly been a bad one to make her look like someone had thrown water at her whilst she was in bed.
• Her mind was plagued by the same questions again. Who were those people and why did they plague her sleep? Who is Ellsa and why does she hate these people so much?
• She should tell Tom, but no she couldn’t. She didn’t have it in her for another fight this early in the morning. The lurid dream had drained her. The first time she’d told her husband about the them, he’d been concerned and so sweet about it. Then as the months went by and the nightmares came periodically, but more vivid than the one before, he just seemed to get more annoyed and angrier with each one. She thought it was his bruised ego that made him such a bear—a psychologist who couldn’t help his own wife. But now she didn’t know what the hell was wrong with him. His erratic mood swings were getting on her last nerve.
• Still shaking from the ordeal, she slowly placed her feet on the carpeted floor and reached for her dressing gown. She jumped when she heard something crash and break, then sighed tiredly when the shouts soon followed.
• Could they not for one morning have breakfast without it turning into a shouting match? She debated on whether or not she should just stay in her room until the front door banged signaling Tom’s departure. It was easier than trying to play referee.
• “You’re not my daddy!”
• Time to get up.
• She quickly shrugged on her dressing gown and ran out the room and down the steps as she tied the belt around her waist. She found them in the kitchen yelling at each other, milk, cereal and a broken bowl sat between them at their feet. It was a good thing she’d put on her house sandals on her way out of her room. She rushed to DJ and picked him up off the floor, placing him on her hip before she began checking his bare feet for cuts.
• “Tom, the least you could have done, was move him away from the broken bowl before you began your shouting match. He could have cut his foot.”
• He scoffed throwing his hands up, “Of course you’re going to take his side, you always do!”
• She refrained from rolling her eyes and telling him how ridiculous he sounded. As silly as he looked: a forty-three-year-old man having a shouting match with a five-year-old boy. Hell, he was worse than DJ!
• She grabbed her son’s chin and turned his head to face her. “You okay? Did you get hurt?”
• He tried to turn his head to keep glaring at Tom, but she held onto his chin firmly.
• “No,” he grumbled. “Why does Mr. Tanner always pick on me momma?”