Aimee Taylor - Dont You Tell

Dont You Tell

Aimee Taylor

Martin Sisters Publishing

Published by

Martin Sisters Publishing Company

www.martinsisterspublishing.com

Copyright 2015 by AimeeTaylor

The unauthorized reproduction or distributionof this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyrightinfringement, including infringement without monetary gain, isinvestigated by the Federal Bureau of Investigation and ispunishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of$250,000.

Names, characters and incidents depicted inthis book are products of the authors imagination or are usedfictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales,organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidentaland beyond the intent of the author or publisher.

No part of this book may be reproduced ortransmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,including photocopying, recording, or by any information storageand retrieval system, without permission in writing from thepublisher.

All rights reserved. Published in the UnitedStates by Ivy House Books, an imprint of Martin Sisters Publishing,LLC, Kentucky.

Smashwords Edition

ISBN:

978-1-62553-076-9

Literary/Mainstream

Editor: Kathleen Papajohn

Cover Artist: Wendy Blubaugh

Printed in the United States ofAmerica

Martin Sisters PublishingCompany

Dedication

Dedicated, with love, to my family and bestfriend.

As always, I dedicate this book to mygrandparents whose love, now shining from Heaven, continues tobrighten every aspect of my life. I miss you desperately.

Acknowledgement

Thank you to Martin Sisters Publishing andeditors, Kathy Papajohn and Aaron Draper for your wisdom andexpertise in making Dont You Tell the best that it can be.

The Dont YouCry series is meant to be an acknowledgement of casemanagers, protective investigators, supervisors, guardian adlitems, foster parents, adoptive parents, and all other childwelfare professionals across the country who have dedicated theirlives to abused and neglected children and theirfamilies.

On the difficult days, may you remember thatyou are needed, appreciated, and above all, invaluable.

In the mosaic of life, each choice is atessera, colored by emotion and shaped by personal experience. Itis not until you take a step back to see the completed picture,thereby changing perspective, that the role of each individualpiece can be understood.

Prologue

He knows that she can sense him coming forher.

On the nights that he cant fight hiscompulsion, he busies himself with idle reading, waiting for theprecise time. He always knows when its safe. When the large houseis lit only by the soft light of the moon, and everyone inside hasreached unconsciousness, oblivious to the sounds of hisdepravity.

He is unbelievably quiet when on the prowl,pleasing himself each time he successfully goes undetected. He haseven memorized which of the floorboards squeak and darts aroundthem as if they were landmines waiting to swallow him whole. Hearrives at her door and pauses one last time, trying to keep hisarousal at bay as he listens for the slightest sound to echothrough his 6,000 square foot mansion.

Hearing only silence he slips into her room,careful not to open the door more than a quarter of the way, whichinevitably causes it to creak. He loves it when he gets to wake herup. Shes so warm and snuggled into her bed. So innocent.

Well, shes not so innocent anymore.

He creeps toward the bed, pulling hisflannel Calvin Klein pajama pants down before he gets there,freeing the throbbing source of his immorality. He doesnt want tobe like this, he was simply born this way. The battle forrighteousness was lost long ago. ShouldntI get some credit for trying? He was cursed; cursedwith devilish good looks, fierce intellect, inherent wealth, and aproclivity for beautiful teenage girls. His handsome face was aperfect mask for the demon within.

He approaches what he has always consideredto be the throne of his castle: her bed.

He can sense that her skin prickles,feeling the repulsion of his touch before it happens. He doesntknow why that excites him further, but it does. Knowing that shedoesnt want him to touch her, to do the things that he does toher, is part of the compulsion. She can fight all she wants, hewould welcome that actually, but in the end she has no choice.She will submit tohim.

She is turned on her side, pretending tosleep as she always does, as if he would simply turn and leave toavoid waking her. She does this every time and it almost makes himlaugh, but he doesnt want to take away from the intensity of themoment. It must go a certain way to satiate him, to feed the beastinside, so that he can go about his charade of a normal life for afew days.

He looms over her, watching her for a fewseconds before he reaches for her shoulder and gently turns herover.

She squeezes her eyes shut, now anexpert at acting .

He can almost read her mind. Her verythoughts are exposed to him, just as her body will be.

Maybe hell think Im deadmaybe I wouldrather be.

Dont you cry is all that hewhispers as he begins his perversion. He doesnt need to say it.She never cries anymore, but like everything else, it feeds thefantasy that drives him.

*

She doesnt hear him coming. Instead, shefeels his presence outside of her door, a radio frequency that onlyshe is tuned into. Her eyes fly open and her heart rateaccelerates. She cocoons herself in the thick down comforter,making sure that every inch of her body is concealed and locked in,as if that will protect her. She waits.

There is a ritual to his abuse. When itsabout to happen, he becomes increasingly sweet to her during theday, acquiescing to her every request and treating her as if she isthe center of the universe. When she was younger, thirteen, sheenjoyed the extra attention and endless gifts bestowed on herduring that grooming period; but then again, she didnt understandthe price she would pay for his generosity. As she grew older, shethought it was because he felt guilty. Now, at the wise age ofsixteen, she knows its his sick version of foreplay.

She can feel him standing over the bedwatching her. She thinks briefly about kicking him, clawing at himmaybe, but knows that he would probably get off on her struggling,so she resists the urge.

She feels his hand on her shoulder. He rollsher over, pulling the comforter away as easily as he had herchildhood.

He whispers in her ear. His breath iswhite-hot and burns into her like steam, her skin grows cold in itsabsence.

Why does he always tell me not to cry whenhe climbs in my bed? Doesnt he notice that I dont cry anymore?That Im numb to this by now?

But then she realizesits all part of thegame he has playing out in his mind.

She is drawn back to the present as shespushed into the mattress by the weight of his well-toned 62 frame.Her arms are pinned above her head, his expensive watch is digginginto her forearm as he holds her there, chipping away at her soulwith every thrust. She is caught between right and wrong. The hazyexpanse between moral and immoral where she has come to reside.

And just like that, her mind remains aneffective barricade, having the power to keep him from fullyseeping into her. She knows that if she completely gives in to him,just one time, her soul will be lost in darkness forever, theconsequences reaching into every facet of her future. Her mentalstronghold may not last much longer.

She knows what people would say ifthey found out: shes sixteen: why doesntshe fight him off, or drive herself to the police station andreport him? Hell, she wonders this herself half thetime. The answer is far more complex, or maybe farsimpler.

She doesnt want to.

Everyone else in the world thinks heswonderful. She notices how women act around him, flashing theirsmiles and flipping their hair. They laugh at all his jokes andstare into his eyes when he talks to them, trying to lure him intotheir snare.