“Yes, but I was with Hank and Mary for over twenty years, Kloe. That’s a hell of a lot to block out. The early stuff… Judd, I don’t remember him. I don’t feel any connection to the little boy I was.”
He wiped at a stray tear that rolled from my eye. He was like Jekyll and Hyde; hot and cold. One second he was furious and spiteful, and the next he was tender and reassuring. I couldn’t keep up with him. My heart was bleeding and then parched, my soul excited then dejected, and I was starting to question my own judgement.
“What’s your earliest memory?” he asked as he slid his finger down my neck and across my shoulder. His touch was barely there but my body shot to life with awareness. I hated that he had that much control over me. I wanted to be free; from him and myself.
A shiver took me and I squeezed my eyes closed.
“Let her out, Kloe,” Anderson demanded, his stern bite back once more. “You need to allow Samantha her memories or she’ll never find her peace.”
He made it sound like I was possessed, like another entity had buried itself deep down inside me. Yet, it was the total opposite. Another life had emerged from the scared and hurt child. A new soul had bled from the wounds of Samantha Rowan. Kloe Grant had been created from the torment of another. She had been coughed out and pushed into an existence without the nightmares she’d been born from.
“I heard that name, you know, once.” Anderson looked at me curiously but I carried on. “I was… I’m not even sure where I was, but I was small. My mother was meeting a man, I think.” The image flittered into my head and I concentrated on it. “I was sat on a dirty step outside a house. People shoved past me to get inside, most of them loud and boisterous, and I remember their laughter making me tremble. It was a cruel laugh. I knew, even then, that the laughter came from bad people. It was so hot that day.” I could practically feel the overbearing heat from the sun crushing me and I swallowed, attempting to wet my dry mouth. “A woman was pushing a buggy. She was across the road. Her child threw its teddy out and it fell to the pavement. She bent and picked it up and passed it back to her, and she said ‘There you go, Honey Cup’.”
Anderson gave me a small smile. “And what happened after?”
I shivered and slowly moved my eyes to him. “Trust me when I say you don’t want to know.”
He swallowed and clicked his tongue, but he nodded, allowing me my secrets. Sighing, he tipped his head. “You told me that Terry killed your mother…”
I knew where he was going, and I nodded. “He did.”
“Are you sure?” he asked softly, his eyes narrowing on me.
“Yes.” Every fibre of me stiffened and I bit into my lip. “Is it…Is it wrong that…”
Sensing my despair, Anderson found my hand beneath the blanket and threaded his fingers through mine. His touch sent a trickle of hope through me, but I pushed it away, refused to let it fester inside me. It would only open me up for more disappointment. “It’s okay that you still loved her, Kloe. It’s okay.”
No one could ever know how much his assurance allowed my heart to take another beat, for my soul to drop to its knees and thank him. Because, really, it wasn’t okay. My mother had taken so much from me, but still, even now, I still gave her my heart.
“She was nice sometimes,” I told him sadly as tears silently slid down my face. “I remember once, after… after…” Anderson nodded, telling me he understood what I couldn’t voice. “She gave me a dolly. It was old, and her dress was torn. She had short blonde hair, like some other child had hacked it off. I knew it was one she had perhaps found. But she gave it to me.”
“Do you still have it?”
Shaking my head, I smiled sadly, the memory of the scruffy doll at least giving me one good memory. “No. Brian burned it.”
Anderson drew a deep breath. Outrage poured from him and he dropped my hand and stood up. “Coffee?”
I looked up at him when he peered over me. “Tea?”
He nodded once and disappeared into the kitchen.
It was all a bit surreal. Not hours ago, Anderson had pinned me on the floor beneath him and fucked me raw, both with his cock and my own gun, while a dead man had watched us. He had instilled a fear in me that had taken my mind and squashed it under his cruelty. And here I sat, covered in a blanket on my sofa in front of a roaring fire while Anderson made a brew in my kitchen.
How the hell did that make sense? It didn’t. It couldn’t.
My bottom was sore and I shifted uncomfortably. My eyes dropped to the floor where Anderson had taken me, the memory making my stomach twist and my belly ache with a need I didn’t want to accept. My chest hurt and I squeezed my eyes closed, hoping it would block out the visions starting to both plague me and arouse me.