Page 4 of Palingenesis

“For?”

“That you won’t sue for any damages you might find after I leave since you purchased this place sight unseen.”

Makes sense to me, though Henry’s fake-tanned complexion glows a cherry red.

“Is that not what the inspection I paid two grand was for?”

Marge teeters her shoulders, her smile firmly in place despite his accusatory tone as she inches closer to the door.

“Just to cover the bases! There was a fire in here at one point, but it’s all been fixed now. That was years ago.” She waves a dismissive hand, her body already halfway through the door–the creaking door.

Gotta fix that.

“Oh, and don’t forget to stop by the fountain in town square. This is the best time to drop the offering.” She wiggles her fingers, though there’s something in her eyes that seems suddenly… sinister. “Keys are in the bowl!” And then she’s gone.

A heavy silence falls over the space, almost ringing in its intensity.

“Did she say offerin—”

“Jesus Christ, Shannon.”

My gaze flicks to meet the dullness in Henry’s, the arms across his chest making him look bigger, darkening the air around him. And anything strange about the realtor’s words goes forgotten as my stomach tightens.

“What?”

He shakes his head and whispers, “I’m so fucking glad it’s not my name on this dump.”

Ouch, okay.

It’s not a dump. It just needs some tender love and care. Like most broken things, a little TLC from someone special goes a long fucking way. But I don’t think those words were meant for me to hear, because he beckons me over with one hand and undoes his belt with the other as soon as they’re off his lips.

“Now come suck my dick so I can forget that you’ve dragged me to the middle of nowhere.”

And as sad as it is, I go to him with an echo of hope in my steps that maybe he just needs some time to get used to it. Maybe he’ll adjust to this with me, and we’ll grow together like we used to talk about over coffee dates and after risqué fucks in the park bathrooms.

But as I sink to my knees and his cock comes out, I know I’m only fooling myself.

Fresh starts are for stories meant to continue and ours? It died a long time ago.

Chapter 3

Shannon

My throat burns, even after stepping out of the steam-filled shower twenty minutes later. It was quick, just enough to rinse off the drive and the cum from my hair since my overnight bag is still in the truck, but it wasn’t enough to ease the ache of bruised tonsils like I’d hoped.

I didn’t even have a towel or change of clothes.

Sighing, I settle against the kitchen counter next to the stove, water dripping from my hair and onto my shirt. The baking sheet is tossed on top, a few of the cookies scattered like they tried to jump ship in the assault. Which is a feat considering all the times I’ve tried to bake some and they stuck to the metal.

Even through the steam dissipating on my glasses, I can see that Henry didn’t bother to try one.

Knowing I’m going to regret attempting to eat with the way my throat aches, I snatch one anyway and nibble at the side out of obligation and respect for Marge’s family recipe. As I suspected, it crumbles but not in the crispy way. The thing practically melts in my mouth, rushing my tastebuds with a sugary-rich sweet taste and a hint of bitter chocolate.

My throat vibrates with the groan I let loose, my stomach rumbling a moment later.

Oh, yeah. It’s been hours since I ate anything.

I guess it’s been about twelve of them since I stopped for a drive-through burger and a nap, but despite the long drive and the shitty attitude, I find that I’m more wired than I ever expected.