Free Vein Fire by Lucia Adams Page A

in her wallet, in between the other bills. There was a Polaroid camera on top of Hannah’s fridge which he retrieved. He stood back and took a picture of Hannah, naked and sprawled on her couch. A souvenir. He was a little disappointed how the picture didn’t show her scars, or the wet glistening between her legs, but it would do.
    He was about to leave when through the sliding glass doors, he saw something move outside. He crept along the wall and flicked the outside light on. He scanned the back yard. Nothing. He flicked the light off. He looked at Hannah and considered trying to wake her up. Nah, bad idea. Who wants to deal with that? Matt checked the time. Ten at night, one more hour until Jared would have to make curfew at the group home . He sat on the floor by the couch and flicked the TV on. He’d wait.
    At eleven o’clock, the news came on and Matt turned the TV off. He looked at sleeping Hannah. So sweet. So dumb. He lifted her arm and let it drop again. Still, no movement.
    Why not. It wasn’t a question, it was an option. Matt was an opportunist and didn’t pass up chances like this. He moved her so her ass was on the edge of the couch, and he let her legs fall to the sides. He knelt before her and eased inside, not sure how much longer she’d be passed out. She didn’t move at all. When he got a good rhythm going, she still didn’t wake up, although her tits jumped with each thrust. Matt spit on her clit and rubbed it a little bit. She smiled in her sleep. Slut. Each time he’d rub, she smiled, but she never woke up. Although it was an interesting experiment for him, he wasn’t rubbing her when he came. He took no joy in seeing her smile.
    He twirled her legs back onto the couch and dressed. The puddle of cum pooled on the upholstery under her ass cheeks pleased Matt. He locked the door behind him and walked home. It was four blocks away and the air chilled the skin left exposed from him only wearing a t-shirt. He slept better that night than he had in years.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER   8
    Skye
     
     
    There were things Hannah liked to remember, and things that liked to remember Hannah. Her couch had a frowning sag from the weight of her torso after a night of sleeping on it and not moving. Her limbs ached, but didn’t whisper any secrets. Waking up naked smacked her recollection of the previous night’s events.
    As she made her way up the steps, what remained of Matt which hadn’t soaked into her couch, ran down her thighs. Her skin wasn’t able to record where his hands had explored, so she imagined touches in the steam of the shower. Her palms were against the tiles as the water sprayed on the back of her head. She could hear the phone ringing, but she kept her eyes shut and her mouth open as she breathed between the streams finding paths down her face.
    The water began to run cold and she exited, wrapping a towel around her body, not bothering to dry her soaking hair. She slid her feet into shaggy pink slippers and shuffled to the mirror. One hand swiped the condensation from the glass and she could see one section of her body. She undid the towel and bent over so she could see the purple sucker bites on her neck. There were three more than she had the previous night. She held her breasts in both hands and lifted them up, turning to the side. In the fog of her reflection, she was almost pretty.
    She refastened the towel and went downstairs to find her phone. It was still in its cradle, but she grabbed her purse and looked inside—she checked quickly and nothing was gone. The missed call was from a number she didn’t recognize. She dialed it back as she walked upstairs.
    A female voice answered, “Maple House, this is Rhonda.”
    “Um, hello. Someone just called me from this number.”
    “Well, I don’t know who called you.”
    “Uh, is this a business?”
    “Yes. Wait—hold on.”
    “Hello?” a man’s voice answered.
    “Hi, I was returning a call I received from this