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

, she couldn’t handle it. I wish he would just kill me,

she thought, crying harder. It’d be so much easier than this.

Her entire world came crashing down in an instant when Johnny plunged deep inside of her, and whispered, “You're finally mine now . . . all

mine."

THE PAIN SEEMED ENDLESS. There was no escaping it; it was an unbearably dark, never-ending plague that coursed through Skye’s distraught veins. Every fiber of her body felt as though it had been torn apart and set on fire, aching in the wake of Johnny’s overwhelming destruction. Her lungs burned from the harsh, bitter sobs that had shaken her body just moments before; her breath came out in unsteady, fleeting breaths.
But her body wasn’t the only thing that hurt: her once beautiful, innocent soul was now shattered, broken to pieces from the blunt, disturbing assault it had received. Despite the repulsive reality of the situation, she was having a hard time grappling onto the fact that it really happened, and was happening. She tried to push it away, to block it from her mind, but when the climax of Johnny’s abuse came, everything crushed her all at once.
She’d been shattered; having overwhelming grief squeeze the life out of her, she could only feel disgusted, used, and worthless, as if nothing could ever fix her. When will this end?

she thought bitterly, whimpering as Johnny pulled out of her. I can’t do this anymore; I can’t live through much more of this.

Vaguely, as if it was trapped in the fog of her cloudy mind, she could still hear his grunts and moans as he’d stolen the only thing she had left away from her.
Defeat rushed over her, making her feel small, weak, and hopeless, only left to wish she’d have the chance to escape. But even if she did escape from Johnny, he’d always still be there with her. In the back of her mind she’d always remember the horrifying memories of his wet tongue bathing her face, his filthy hands invading every inch of her body, his dark, wicked eyes promising she’d never forget, and the haunting words he’d whispered in her ear, like an eerie reminder of what he’d taken from her: “Don’t worry, Princess, there was protection.”
She gagged, choking on her own vomit, as Johnny sighed on top of her, falling into her chest. His heavy body crushed her into the bedding, and she shivered—his bare, sweaty skin a reminder of what he’d just done.
She couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, could hardly breathe, pain and fear numbing her shaky body. Her heart hammered inside her ears, but she barely felt it, too overwhelmed by the consistent flashes of her worst nightmare come to life to notice. Every time she closed her eyes she experienced it all over again, like one of the worst horror films she’d ever witnessed before.
Johnny pulled her face in his hands, and she grimaced, recoiling in disgust. She closed her eyes, trying to avoid looking him in the eyes, but then a scene flashed in the darkness and she screamed, blinking her heavy eyes. “Shh,” he cooed, wiping away a stray tear. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you again. Everything’s going to be okay.”
She tried to scream at him, tell him he was dead wrong, but couldn’t. Her throat was too dry, her thoughts too scattered to do anything more than whimper. She wanted to spit in his face, to laugh in mockery at the sincerity in his voice, but again couldn’t. She was just a fragment of herself, so insecure, so destroyed

; it was as if she was just a ghost in the room, floating in the darkness.
Johnny’s hot, haggard breath bathed the side of Skye’s face as he whispered, “You were amazing though, sweetheart. If only it could have been done when you were ready.”
Her stomach convulsed, and an icy chill coursed through her veins. She shook her head, ever so slowly, and desperately fought off the image of his body above her as he took her. A tingly pain stretched from her stomach all the way to her throat, and she whimpered, feeling sick.
And before she could add to the humiliation by vomiting in front of Johnny, he’d already disappeared from the room, leaving her covered in blood, sweat, tears, and vomit. The putrid smell intoxicated her nostrils and, along with the realization that he’d just taken her last bit of frayed innocence, she came to the conclusion: Why doesn’t he just kill me now?

VICTOR WAS LOSING IT. Sitting in Skye’s home, watching helplessly as Leah and Jules talked to the Sheriff about the possibilities of her whereabouts, was tearing him apart. He couldn’t help but feel restless there as he waited for crucial information, and his hammering heartbeat and pounding headache weren’t helping at all. His stomach was reeling with a knot of frustration, and every time he glanced at the clock—which happened very frequently—he felt as if he was going to be sick.
The last time he checked, they had thirty minutes. But time wasn’t on their side and now they were only left with ten. Ten minutes to find Skye before she disappeared out of their lives—forever

.
His hands clenched into fists, angst and desperation boiling inside of him. “Are you even working to find her?” he blurted out furiously, and got back on his feet. “She’s out there right now—somewhere—and she needs our

help! Can’t you do something

more than stand here and argue?” His voice cracked as he swallowed the urge to cry. He couldn’t figure out where all of his irrationality was coming from, but he didn’t have time to figure it out. All he had time for was finding Skye.
The Sheriff turned to look at him. “We’re trying to find her, son. We’re doing everything we possibly can, but the problem is Johnny put a lot of thought into finding the perfect hiding place, and without any evidence it’s taking a while. I assure you we’re doing everything we can.”
Victor glared at him, fighting the urge to snap an ugly retort. In a feeble attempt at controlling himself, he took a deep breath and focused his gaze on Jules. His heartbeat faltered when he saw the tortured look on his friends face.
“We have hardly any time left,” Jules said softly. His eyes were rimmed with dark circles and his shoulders slumped; he looked miserable and heartbroken, as if he was barely hanging on by a thread. “But we can’t act irrationally. Something will come up. There has to be a lead somewhere.”
And right as he finished speaking, the house phone rang. Leah rushed over to it and picked it up with shaky hands, saying, “Yes?”
Victor ran a hand through his hair, anxious. “Who is it?”
She murmured something into the phone and held it out for the sheriff. “They have news. It—it has something to do with Rachel. She’s awake and speaking more now.”
The sheriff nodded and held the phone up to his ear.
Victor’s head was spinning. They had news. About Skye. Possibly. Anxiety pulsed through his entire body, like an electrical surge of energy coursing through his veins. He waited impatiently, clenching and unclenching his fists with each fleeting breath he took.
When the Sheriff finally hung up the phone, he had a glazed over look on his face, and his lips were set in a straight line. “We have a lead.” He glanced at Leah. “Apparently Johnny had said something about a cabin up in the woods to Rachel, and she has a feeling that’s where he took Skye. She also said that you’d know where it is, Leah. Do you?”
Leah’s mouth was agape, her eyes wide. “Yes,” she whispered. “It’s about twenty minutes away. Skye and I used to go up there every winter, but eventually she grew out of it and we stopped going. We’d never gone there with Johnny, though. How could he possibly have known about it?”
The Sheriff sighed. “Did you ever talk about it with him?” She shook her head. “Then he must have been watching you both before you had any idea about him. And if that’s the case, then Skye is like an obsession to him, and he’ll be sure to flee as soon as possible with her. We must hurry.”
Victor’s heart dropped into the pit of his stomach.
There wasn’t enough time. They had five minutes before the clock stroked four and Skye was gone forever. In his own aching desperation, he whispered, quietly enough so that he was the only one who could hear, “Hang in there, Skye. We’re coming

.”

WHEN JOHNNY FINALLY came back into the cabin’s room, Skye, in a dizzying state of desperation and fear, had managed to gather her thoughts together enough so that she could plan her own feeble way of escape. The way she saw it, she had no other options. No one was coming to help her, Johnny had already had his way with her, and death had never sounded so horrifying. She didn’t want to give up; she’d fight until her very last breath.