Chapter 7: Octavia - Pack of Mine

I wake up to the sound of my phone buzzing and I force my heavy eyes to open to check the time.

2:32 a.m., great.

It’s Monday, my night off from the bar, and I’m desperately trying to get some extra shut-eye. I frustratedly shove my phone off of the wooden nightstand and roll over in bed. Surely it’ll stop buzzing soon enough.

Attempting to drown out the world, I pull the soft covers over my head and dig my face into the pillow. I sigh deeply in relief at the quiet, finally.

Bzzzzz. Bzzzzz.

My phone starts vibrating again.

In my half-awake state, I decide to ignore it yet again. It’s probably just a butt dial. The comforter and pillow drown out enough sound to let me fall back asleep.

Bzzzzz. Bzzzzz.

Jesus Christ.

I reluctantly climb out from under the duvet, grab the annoying chunk of plastic on the ground and put it to my ear.

“Someone better be fucking dying to call me at this hour. Who the fuck is it?”

I hear a light laugh on the other end of the line and then a click. My eyes half open, I glance at the recents in my call app.

“No caller ID, huh.”

I put my phone back on the nightstand and brush it off. Probably some kids doing a prank call to get a good laugh.

As I drift back to sleep, I think of Connor. I’m angry with him, I even hate him a little, but a small piece of me misses him. I miss the weight of another person’s body in bed with mine, the smell of a man on the pillows next to me.

Memories of us laughing together, having fun and driving around town, doing dumb shit like throwing rocks off the bridge and watching them splash into the river all play like a movie behind my eyelids.

How could someone who disappointed me so frequently make me miss him?

All of my relationships have been this way – utterly disappointing.

I rub my fingers in my eyes and try to swipe the memories out of my head so I can fucking sleep, but it doesn’t work very well.

Then goes a hard knock at the door.

I jump about six inches off the bed. I don’t scare easily, or at least I think I don’t, but the situation at hand is questionable.

No woman living alone wants to hear a knock on their door this late unless they called for a dick appointment or a DoorDash munchies order.

Knock, knock, knock.

Shivering a little at the loss of my comfy duvet cover, I slowly climb my way out of bed and throw a t-shirt from the floor over my head, peeking out my bedroom window.

Nothing to see there, no groups of thugs or strange cars with their lights on in the parking lot.

Knock, knock, knock.

My eyes lock on a wooden baseball bat near my bedroom door and I tiptoe out of the room slowly. My fingers wrap around the handle and my feet hesitantly carry me towards my front door. I feel like I’m going to be sick.

Knock, knock, knock.

Whoever is on the other side of the door obviously wants my attention. I pull the bat up above my shoulder and take a deep breath, preparing to swing.

Maybe it’s Connor, maybe he’s come back to hurt me more. Or maybe he’s coming to apologize, to beg me to forgive him.

My hand shakes as it reaches for the doorknob and against all primal instinct, I pull it open towards me. I squeeze my eyes shut and wrap both hands around the bat to swing, but suddenly I can’t move it anymore.

Stunned, I peep open an eye and see a tall older man with grey streaked hair through his head and cleaned-up beard. His chiseled face cuts through the low lighting in the hallway and his scruff looks like it would scratch my thighs perfectly if his head was between my legs. Silver hoops hang from his ears and chunky rings cover his fingers. He’s gotta be at least forty years old.

Damn, hello handsome.

His veiny arm rips the bat from my hands and throws it on the concrete hallway ground, the sound making me jump again.

“Special delivery for Miss Octavia,” he grunts out.

His voice is deep and sultry, but almost monotone. He reaches into a brown leather bag attached to his thigh and gestures for me to put my hand out in front of me as if he’s going to drop something into it.

“I’m sorry, but who did you say you were?”

He grabs my hand in his and spreads my fingers open. I kind of enjoy the touch of this mysterious stranger, but I’m still suspicious as to what he’s doing or who he is.

Pulling his hand out of the thigh bag, he drops something cold and squishy in my palm.

I squint my eyes and look closer to inspect what I’m holding now. It resembles a chewed-up hot dog with bite marks all over it.

“What the fuck is this? It’s disgusting.”

There seems to be blood on it and something sticky. I drop the item to the floor and wipe whatever was on it that’s now on my skin on the t-shirt I’m wearing, leaving streaks of white on the cotton.

The unknown man looks me up and down, like he’s inspecting me for something. His eyes are a soft grey color that makes me want to step closer and touch him to watch them dilate.

I don’t know him from anywhere, but if I met him at a bar or on the street, I’d definitely invite him home. Older men are always a good time, and when they’re this good-looking, they usually have charm as well as looks. Bonus points if they’ve been married before.

“Connor won’t be a problem anymore.”

He continues to look down at me, emotionless eyes staring into my soul. His face is completely still, looking absolutely unbothered.

“Huh? What did you just say?” I look back down at the phallic object at my feet.

How does he know Connor? Maybe I misheard him.

It’s been a few days since I heard from him anyway. I figured he was just respecting my space and decided not to be a prick. Looking back, I should’ve known he wasn’t that nice. A girl can only dream.

“Is that… a penis?”

I look up at this sexy stranger at my doorstep with confusion, but I already know what he’s going to say if he opens his mouth.

“Is this Connor’s penis?!”

The man doesn’t respond, he puts his hands in his pockets and turns to walk down the stairs. His boots thump and squeak against the floor as I watch him walk away.

After a few moments, my eyes find their way back to the flesh on the concrete in front of me and I feel my stomach churning.

Connor… he’s probably dead. Did that man kill him? For what? Because I told that freak Skyler from the bar that he hit me?

Oh my god.

I slam the door shut and run quickly into the kitchen, hand covering my mouth and profusely spew my guts into the porcelain sink.

There’s no way. He must’ve forgotten to pay his dealer or something, or this is some kind of fucked up way for him to get back at me. It’s gotta be a prank.

“Special delivery for Miss Octavia” replays in my head.

No, this was definitely intentional. It was done FOR me. Does that make me a fucking accomplice?

I open the front door again and kick the chewed-up flesh down the stairs. Maybe a stray dog will enjoy a nice treat.

Well, what now?

He’s dead, he’s totally dead. I shut my eyes and remember the worst times of us together – me screaming at him at the top of my lungs, throwing plates at each other and ignoring him for days. I think of all the times when I wished he was dead, when I actually said to him, “I hope you die.”

In the heat of an argument, I didn’t think about my words. I didn’t think about the weight of them or how they would feel later. To be fair, I also didn’t think he was actually going to fucking die.

I stand in my kitchen debating whether to call the cops or puke bile into my sink again.

Holy fuck, I’m a terrible person.

After a few moments of staring at the peeling paint on the wall, I decide to call the one person who will give me the answers I’m looking for. I know Skyler put his number in my phone when he stole it from me.

I pace around my apartment and scroll through my contacts until I find it. His name is under “Daddy Skyler.”

Charming.

The phone rings a few times before I hear a man’s voice that sounds almost like he’s smiling.

“Yes, Kitten?”

“I told you to stop calling me that.” I sigh and gulp, suddenly feeling the urge to puke again.

The words that I was ready to scream at him struggle to find their way out of my mouth and I bite my lip in frustration. I don’t want to say it out loud.

“Did you… Did you do what I think you did? All for what? Because he hit me? You don’t even fucking know me!”

I feel my heart rate picking up and sweat starts to form on my brows.

“Are you upset, Kitten?” I hear a deep but subtle chuckle. “I thought you’d be on your knees thanking me.”

Oh hell no, this guy’s insane.

“I’m supposed to be grateful that you fucking killed my ex?! Are you fucking insane?!”

Tears begin to pour from my eyes and I debate trying to find my way to his house again to show him how angry I actually am.

“Fortunately for you, I am insane.” His voice is so intentional, so rich with malice.

I hang up the phone, pacing even faster around my living room and my hands begin to shake like leaves in the wind.

The anger consumes me. The pain, the loss, it’s too much for my tiny body to handle all at once.

I run my hands through my hair and squat down.

Shit, I never should’ve got that drunk. I would have never bumped into this psycho and I never would have ended up in his beautiful mansion with his fingers knuckle-deep inside me…

What the fuck am I thinking?

The room spins around me and my eyes stream water faster than I ever thought they could. My lungs can’t get enough air and I choke on my own saliva when I try to take a deep breath.

I sniffle and wipe my nose with the back of my hand, the other one picking up my phone to make another phone call.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

I can barely get the words out to the operator.

“I think, no, I know… I’m sorry I can’t think straight right now.”

I stand up and walk around my living room, unable to sit still. The beat-up couch, the stained carpets, the rats running around in the walls all laugh at me as I wipe my runny nose again.

”Ma’am, are you in danger?” The operator has a feminine and calm voice.

“No, no I’m not. But I… I need to report something.” My heart feels like a prisoner breaking out of its cell. “I’m sorry I’m having a hard time saying it out loud.”

Oh fuck, my stomach is bubbling again.

“Ma’am, take a deep breath. You’re okay. Can you tell me what’s going on?”

Before I can open my mouth to say anything else, my front door suddenly busts down with a loud bang. Dust flies around the kitchen from the impact and clouds my vision.

I scream and my phone drops from my hand as I whip my head quickly to see Skyler standing in the doorway with two men behind him. One of them is the older stranger who delivered my “package,” and the other has fluffy blonde hair, not quite as tall as him and skinnier.

“Is everything all right? We heard a loud noise.” The female operator continues to pry.

I grab my phone from the floor and b-line straight towards my bedroom door.

“Please help me! I live at 1005 Bellingham Drive-”

My words are cut off as I feel a hand wrap around my ankle and my phone goes flying across the room before I fall flat on my face. I wince at the sting of my chin slamming into the ground and I hear multiple men laughing behind me.

“No, please!” I cry out and hope someone can hear me.

The giant hand drags me backwards and away from the call while my nails dig into the floor and scrape lines into the vinyl.

“I thought you would be a good kitty. Why’d you have to misbehave and call the cops?”

A muscular body leans down over me and pins me in an impossible escape. My hands are pulled behind my back and tucked under his waist. A large hand pushes my cheek to the floor where I squish into a puddle of my own tears.

I have nowhere to go.

Through my eyelashes full of salt water, I see a man’s boots walk over to my phone where the 911 operator is barely audible and he quickly clicks the call off.

“I’m not a good guy, Octavia.”

Skyler’s voice sends electricity through my entire body.

He pulls something out of his pocket with one hand while holding my head down with the other. I feel the fight-or-flight instinct kick in and I thrash under his body weight, but I’m too weak. He has me pinned down so hard that every move I make tires me out more and more.

“You never should’ve served me that beer.”

Fuck, now it’s my turn to die. At least I can slap Connor back in the afterlife.

I hear Skyler whisper to the man standing behind me, but I can’t make out what he said.

“Skyler, let me go. We can talk about this. Please…”

I beg for mercy. My wailing adds to the growing puddle below my chin. I can barely breathe under the pressure of him and I cough, saliva flying everywhere in front of me.

These can’t be my final words. It’s so over.

“I’ll do anything, please…” I try to make words come out through the sobs.

“Anything?” He sounds tempted.

“Anything. Please, please don’t kill me.” Tears burn the back of my throat and I try to swallow them down.

“How about being a good pet for Daddy?”

He brushes my long hair out of my face while I comprehend what the fuck he just said.

“Wha… what?”

His veiny hand leaves my face and shoots towards his back pocket.

“No, I’ll do it, I’ll do it, I’ll be your pet! Please!” Anything to prevent my death, even if it’s being a fucking whore for this freak.

He pauses for a moment and I can feel every second of anticipation. A hard phallic object inside his pants runs up and down my ass cheeks as I’m pinned under him. Is he fucking hard right now?

Not only is he crazy, but he’s also a pervert.

“It’s time to take your medicine, Kitten.”

His hand comes flying in front of my face and a small cloth covers my mouth and nose. I thrash my body around and scream into his hand.

“I’ll be your pet” cannot be my last words. Absolutely not. I try to speak, but the cloth goes further into my mouth.

A sweet smell fills my nose and my eyelids feel like they weigh hundreds of pounds. I’m losing this fight and I know there’s no hope for me.

As my eyes close, I see visions of Connor’s torn-up, dead body rotting out in some dense woods.

I take a deep breath of the sweetness, shed one final tear and my ears ring loudly. I try to open my eyes, but blackness covers my vision.

It’s so over for me.