Chapter 52

My blood runs cold, like finding out he had my journals, and my eyes fly to his, glued to them in wide-eyed horror. Fear that he didn’t just know of the existence of those things, but he watched them or looked in the folders and piles of disgusting media I knew Rick kept. It’s one thing to read about those vile acts and another entirely to see it visually.

I feel sick to my stomach, instantly paling and hit with a dizzy spell that has me clutching the table edge to steady myself.

Why would he tell me this? I was stupid to ask, to push.

I remember well the hysteria and mess every time that man laid hands on me. He loved nothing more than to document how brutally he used his victims, and most of those pictures show me bloody and broken. Various states of delusion as my brain tried to detach from the horrendous acts befalling and saving me mentally. Sometimes I would float on the ceiling, looking down on my lifeless body and watch him ravage me until I bled. It’s a mi