Stikkimikki

There are levels to survival. Things you swear you’ll never accept—until you do. Until you have to. Honor was supposed to mean something, wasn’t it? But honor doesn’t quiet the cries of a child in the dead of night. Justice doesn’t pay the bills piling up on the counter. Morality doesn’t patch together a home that’s already frayed at the edges. So, the lies were swallowed. The shame. The betrayal. The late nights filled with secrets and cold, hollow excuses. The chains of addiction that dragged everything further into the dark.

Obsession was a five-letter word. Ten years in the making. And her name was Emily. But the real question was who was I? When my pretty little pet leaned forward, offered me a view of her cleavage, and tried to make a deal, I said why the hell not? Five days. Thirty minutes. She could ask me anything to her heart’s content. Anything but my name. She had to figure that one out on her own.