She collapses onto her stomach with me falling on top of her, my cock still firmly planted inside her ass. I give her tiny kisses on her neck, on her shoulder, on her upper back.
“You’ve got a hidden vixen inside this innocent body of yours,” I pant as I regain composure.
“You bring it out in me.” She giggles as goose bumps cover her skin caused by my kisses. “I liked the wine. It made me… hungry.”
I chuckle as I finally pull out of her and roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling. “Clearly.” I turn my head to look at her wild hair and satiated eyes. “I’m going to make sure the wine cellar stays fully stocked.”
10
Ember
We sit across from a reporter with Rolling Stone. Christopher tried to prep me the best he could before today, but I know he doesn’t think I’m ready. He never thinks I’m ready, and maybe he’s right. But I can only speak my truth. He told me that the reporter will see right through me if I lie. He told me the reporter will eat me up and spit me out if he even for a second feels I’m not being genuine. He also told me that if I’m uncomfortable with a question, then to simply say I’m not comfortable answering, but if that were the case, I wouldn’t answer a thing. I can’t see how I’ll be comfortable speaking about my father who everyone thinks is a villain, and who I think is either haunting or stalking me now.
“Hello, Ember, Christopher. Thank you for joining me today.”
Rolling Stone doesn’t usually do television interviews, but they decided to shoot the interview as well in case they want to sell the story to a network to air. They’re covering all their bases. From what Jason told us, there’s going to be a bidding war from the networks.
We’re surrounded by large lights, big reflectors, and three different cameras placed in strategic areas to get all three of us as we speak. I’m happy Jason took hours prepping Christopher on what exactly to say and what not to say. I could tell it frustrated Christopher, but I know I needed it. This entire process scares me. I don’t want to mess it up for us. I want to be able to move on, and Christopher believes this is the only way to do that.
“Do either of you have any questions before we start?” he asks.
“Let’s just get this over with,” Christopher says as a woman runs a makeup brush over my cheeks and the tip of my nose again.
When another man by the camera signals it’s time to start, the reporter begins by introducing us and giving a brief description of our story. I try to tune out all the words he’s saying the best that I can. I hate hearing how Papa Rich hit Christopher from behind with a mallet, kidnapped, and chained him up in the cellar. I also hate that they refer to him as a serial killer who murdered dozens by pushing them to their deaths in the acid pits of the mill. It sounds so awful and makes him worse than the devil. And though I know deep down he’s all they say and did everything mentioned… I still hate hearing him spoken of in this way.
He tells the story of how we burned down Hallelujah Junction, and I’m ashamed we destroyed something so beautiful and so rich and full of history. That town was there long before us, and yet we ruined it all. I can’t help but feel that it was the most selfish act we could have done. I know we were escaping, but I hate the fact that those ashes left behind are because of me.
“So, Ember. Let’s start with you. Is it true you lived with Richard since you were five years old?”
“Yes,” I say softly but then remember Christopher coaching me only minutes ago to speak loud and clear. To show confidence, even if I’m not feeling it. “I went to live with him when I was five. My memory is fuzzy around that time.”
“Did he kidnap you?”
“I don’t think so. I don’t remember being afraid or feeling like I was kept against my will. But like I said, it’s all a bit fuzzy around that time. It’s like another lifetime ago.”
“Did he change your name from Amber to Ember? Isn’t your real name Amber Jennings?”
“I guess so, maybe?” I say with a shrug. “Or maybe I told him Ember. I don’t really remember, to be honest. I’ve always known my name to be Ember, and I never knew what my last name was.”
The reporter pauses as if he’s carefully watching my every move and analyzing my every word. I feel like he’s waiting for me to mess up somehow so he can pounce and not have to be so polite with me. He finally continues with “When he kidnapped you, did he keep you chained in the basement like he did Christopher?”