Less than Perfect by S. J. Evans (love letters to the dead txt) 📕

she cared about most.
She had one option: to succeed.
Fighting pain and weakness, Skye pushed herself back on her feet, stumbled over to the basement stairs where the cries were coming from, and began to venture down into the dark abyss, searching for her friend.
When she came off the last step, she was on high alert, terrified of what could happen next. Her throat felt like sandpaper, and her breath came out in choked up gasps. “Rachel?” she whispered, breathlessly. “Are you down here?”
Vaguely, she thought she heard a muffled whimper, coming from inside Bryan’s old room. A flashback blipped into her mind, revealing horrific events of what had previously happened in there with Bryan’s father, causing her to shrink back in fear.
A stray tear rolled down her cheek. Cold wrapped its icy claws around her, causing a shiver to run down her spine. She took a few tentative steps forward, trembling. Go ahead, you can do it

, she told herself, closing her eyes. Just keep going. Rachel could be in there, hurting. And you’re the only one who can help her now.

She reached the doorstep. Her skin crawled.
Slowly opening her eyes, she checked out the scene before her, took it all in. Rachel lay on the bed, whimpering and crying, her shirt torn away from her body, revealing large, red gashes all along her back, the aftermath of a brutal beating. Her hands were bound to the bed, and there were cuts along her arms, too.
Skye covered her mouth with her hand, on the verge of tears, utterly horrified at what lay before her. “Rachel,” she gasped, suppressing a sob. “Oh, no. Rachel . . . how could I let this happen to you?” Her voice barely made it above a whisper as she spoke, gasping for air.
For a moment all she could do was stare, frozen to her spot. But then Rachel made another miserable cry for help, and everything swam back into focus, reminding her why she was where she was.
In an instant she was at the bedposts, untying the restraints on Rachel’s wrists. “I’m going to get you out of here. Everything’s going to be okay.” There was sudden strength in her voice, strength that hadn’t been there before, and she was grateful for it. It almost

made her believe what she was saying, too. “Hang in there, Rach. You’re going to be just fine.”
Rachel shook her head into the bedding, crying out as the bonds fell away, leaving her wounded arms limp on the mattress. “No . . . I . . . you . . . Johnny . . . leave . . . please . . . danger . . .” she mumbled, breathlessly. “Skye . . . go . . . it’s . . . trap . . .” Her voice trailed off, eyes rolling back as her body went still.
Skye’s blood turned to ice. “Rachel?”
Silence.
“Johnny?”
A shuffle of feet.
“Welcome back, Princess,” a voice cooed from behind her. “I’m so glad you could make it.” An arm snaked around her waist, pulling her into a firm chest. “We’re going to have a good time together.”
A sob trembled from her lips as her body went stiff, terror plaguing her entire being. Hatred and sorrow was evident in her voice as she whispered a weak, “Johnny.”
“Don’t cry, Princess,” he whispered in her ear. “You’ll learn to enjoy my company.”
She struggled but it was no use—he’d already won.
As a cloth covered her mouth, a heavy darkness took over her weak body, surrendering to Johnny’s poison.

* * * * *

IF THERE WAS one thing Victor hated most—it was rejection. Having faced so much rejection in such a short lifetime, he’d worked up an ugly hatred for it. Rejection seemed to have become such a common occurrence to him, that it was almost second nature. Lately he’d managed to find himself out in the storm, alone and rejected, quite a few times. First, when his housing didn’t work out. And second, when Skye and Jules pushed him out of their lives, possibly for good.
With nowhere to go, he had no choice but to wander the streets, alone with only his thoughts and the night sky to keep him company. And as he walked, all he could think about was Skye, the kiss they’d shared, and how badly he’d messed things up. Jules probably hated him, and he couldn’t imagine Skye thinking any better of him; even if she’d been the only one who’d truly ever given him a second chance.
“I shouldn’t have let her slip away,” he said softly, like a whisper in the wind. “I went much too far, and I’ll probably never get her back.” He sighed, shaking his head. “And now I’m talking to myself, too. Jeez, I’m a mess.”
His lips crept into a smile as the realization of what he’d just said checked in, forcing him to put aside the burdens he was carrying for a quick moment. He stopped on a sidewalk a little ways down from Skye’s house, looking up towards the sky. Clouds drifted in front of the stars, blocking them from view, and he sighed again, suddenly torn.
He thought of Skye again, this time reminiscing back to when he’d first approached her that night, noting the way she’d acted—like something terrible was bothering her—and wishing he’d realized it sooner. Wishing he’d realized sooner that something must be wrong.
Before he fully registered what he was doing, Victor took off in the direction of Skye’s house, going over the possibilities of what could’ve been wrong in his mind. She’d looked like she’d been crying, and there had been undeniable fear in her eyes, so whatever the trouble was, it deserved undivided speculation.
As he hurried along the sidewalk, beads of sweat running down his forehead, he racked his brain for some kind of explanation. And it wasn’t until he’d made it to the house, standing before the front door as if in a dream, or in this case nightmare, that he revealed an answer that had the power to change everything.
Skye had been in contact with Johnny

.
He remembered seeing that same kind of fear when he’d found her with trapped in her room with Johnny. He’d never seen someone so afraid.
Swallowing the bile that threatened to choke him at the mere thought of Johnny’s hands on her, abusing her, breaking her down until there was little of her left, he pulled out his cell phone with shaky hands, mentally pushed away the image of Skye’s horror-stricken face, and dialed her number. All he could hope was that she’d answer it; although he knew there was no chance of her answering it even if she had heard it.
After four rings, no answer.
He punched the buttons in again, breathing heavy. His heart was thudding inside his chest; his mind was buzzing with hopes and fears; his body was shaking erratically; everything about him was thoroughly unnerved by the situation.
He listened again—still, no answer.
Desperate, he tried again, but it never rang, and instead only went to her voicemail. He began to think he was too late, that something had already happened, and slammed his fist against the side of the house, breaking down at the thought of Skye hurting, stolen away by a sick, sadistic man. His chest heaved, angry sobs threatening to break free. He couldn’t bring himself to imagine what he’d do to Johnny if he ever got his hands on him. Skye was a sweet girl; she didn’t deserve the torment she’d been through.
After calming himself down a little, Victor straightened up and rapped his knuckles on the door. He didn’t want to wake everyone, only Jules, but he had no other choice. Skye could be in danger, and after everything he’d done, Jules would never answer his call.
He waited a moment before knocking again, feverishly pounding on the door. “Please,” he whispered. “Someone, please answer the door!” His weak voice cracked.
After a few more agonizing moments, pounding on the door, longing for an answer, the lock clicked and slowly the door was opened, revealing a flustered Jules. “Jules—” Victor started, and leaned one hand on the door, panting.
“What do you

want?” Jules groaned, rubbing his face. “Did you come by to beg for forgiveness? Because now is not

the time.” He started to close the door, ever so slightly. “I think it’s best if you go home, now. Goodnight, Vic.”
“No, wait!” Victor snapped, supporting his end. “Is Skye here? Please tell me she’s here.” He swallowed, hard. “It’s important I know that she’s okay.”
Jules frowned. “Of course she’s here.” His brows furrowed in confusion. “Why wouldn’t she be here, Vic? It’s after midnight. A little late for her to be taking a stroll, don’t you think?”
“She’s in danger, Jules,” Victor said, with as much desperation as he could. “I think she’s been in contact with Johnny. And if she has—things could go very badly. Please just make sure she’s here, safe. You love her, right?”
Jules seemed to think about his proposal for a few moments, at a loss for words, before raking a hand through his hair and opening the door wider. “Come in. I’ll go make sure she’s okay.”
“Where is she?”
Jules headed up the stairs, saying, “In the bathroom.”
As soon as Jules disappeared from his sight, Victor noticed Leah standing at the top of the stairs, watching him. She asked him, “What’s going on?”
“I just wanted to make sure Skye’s okay. She wasn’t answering her phone, and when I was here earlier she seemed a little upset, so I figured I’d drop by.”
“It’s late. She’s been in bed for hours.” Leah began descending the stairs, eyeing him with an intense glare. “Wouldn’t it have been better to wait until morning? She’s had a long day.”
“I know, ma’am—and I’m sorry—but I just have a really bad feeling there’s something going on that’s beyond us. I’m afraid morning would’ve been too late.”
“You’re right, Vic,” said a voice from the top of the staircase, drawing Victor’s attention away from Leah and towards a tormented looking Jules. “Morning would’ve been too late. In fact, right now is too late.” His voice cracked. “Skye’s gone.”
Victor’s worst fear came to life at the sound of those two haunting little words.

WHEN SKYE STIRRED from her deep, heavy slumber, everything seemed fuzzy. Her vision was cloudy, her body numb; she felt deprived of something, although she couldn’t be sure of what. Blinking her heavily lidded eyes, she looked around the distorted room, searching for some kind of explanation.
All she found was warm walls, earth toned furniture, a ceiling fan, window, and two doors that gave away nothing but the fact that she was no