No. No. No! I scream inside my head. On the outside I remain unflinching, praying to God if I don’t fight, if I don’t let him see the fear threatening to pour off me in waves, maybe he’ll lose interest.
“Ai’ght,” the nameless hick says, digging in his pocket and pulling out a baggie with white rocks in it. Both Earl and Bubba snicker and open the door.
“I’mma lock ya in,” Earl says. “I’ll be out here when you’re done. Just don’t kill her; all that matters is she stay alive. Fuck her up as much as you want.”
The door slams closed behind them. The lock slides in place. And that disgusting man is already wiggling his pants down.
I hate him. I hate every last one of them.
Do I fight? Why make it worse on myself?
I lie back on the bed, angry with myself for being so weak, but is it weak or is it a will to survive against all odds? Is this weak of me to take it, or is it a strength to accept that nothing I do will stop this? He was just told not to kill me, so I can’t hope for that. No, if I fight, he will hurt me, but not end me. It will make it worse, so I make peace with the fact that love is a lie, that all people are cruel and terrible, and that I—just like I was told when I was nine years old by the man who destroyed me, shoved me into the darkness—Iamunworthy of love.
The second he grabs my thighs and forces them apart, I close my eyes and turn my face to the side to try and avoid the rancid smell of his breath. Just like I did all those years ago, I pretend this is not me. Time and time again, I used to sing songs in my head, sometimes screaming them out loud to drown out my cries. But that won’t work now, because as a child you aren’t able to actually comprehend what is happening, at least not the first few times. There is a buffer of innocence that protects you, where you think surely this can’t be what is happening because people are not this evil. But each time you are forced into this position, that innocence is stripped.
I was stripped—and when it was finally all scraped away, that was when I realized how terrible it all really was. I have no innocence to protect me here, so I pretend this is some terrible movie where all you can do is see the poor girl in a dark room, hear her stifled cries and the vile grunts of the piece of shit doing his business on top of her.
Over the course of my life I have learned that if you tell yourself something enough times, you will start to believe it, so I tell myself I’m in hell. Hell. Because then I could comprehend why all of this is happening to me. Everything fades to black and I will my mind to forget everything. But I know I won’t…
He climbs on top of me. My heart is hammering too hard, adrenaline too high. And turns out, old habits are hard to break, so I sing. I sing “Unsteady” to myself because it makes me think of Max, and I cry like the weak victim I am, wondering what in the fucking hell is wrong with me. What is so wrong with me that things like this keep happening to me?
I ignore it all. Somehow, I ignore it all. And when he’s finished, his disgusting sweat dripping onto my bare flesh, he pushes off of me. He hitches his pants back around his waist, then slaps me hard across the face. “I came in you.” He laughs.
And I’m sucked right back into this horrid nightmare. Everything inside of me shakes, my stomach turns and twists, flips and winds in on itself before I sit up and vomit on the floor. My stomach keeps lurching, and I heave again. I can’t get the feel of him off of me—out of me.I try scratching at my skin over and over, and it takes a minute for me to realize I’m screaming. I hate myself. I hate him. I hate every-fucking-thing. I just want to die.
The man knocks on the door. “Let me out. I’m finished with her…” He glances over his shoulder at me. “For now at least. I’ll come back forthatagain. An ounce ain’t shit for pussy like that.” He smiles and his rotted teeth make my stomach turn again. He bangs over the door once again. “Earl? Bubba? Let me out now, guys. I’m done I said.”
There’s no sound.
“Aw, hell.” His fist bangs over the door again and again. And I find myself searching the room for something I can kill him with. I just want to kill him. I want to watch him bleed. I want him to cry. But there is nothing. Not one damn thing.
The lock slides open and I yank the covers over my lap in a pathetic attempt to cover myself up. He tore my clothes off of me so they are now useless. But the door doesn’t slowly creak open, it bangs against the wall with a loud thud.
Max rushes in, his face red and fists clenched. He takes one fleeting glance at me before he grabs the man around the throat, picking him up and pinning him against the wall. He leans in to his face. “I’m going to fucking kill you, you worthless piece of fucking shit.”
The man scratches at Max’s hand to no avail. Max uses his free hand to punch him in the face before he releases him. His body crumples to the floor and Max kicks him. The man blocks his face with his hand, flinching when Max squats in front of him.
“Tell her you’re sorry,” Max says in a growl.
“Sorry, I’m sorry.” His tone is thick with fear and it makes me smile.
Without another word, Max reaches inside his pocket. I barely see the glint of the blade before he plunges it into the side of the man’s flabby neck. Blood spurts out, spraying both Max and the wall behind him with crimson drops. The man clutches his neck, eyes wide as he falls on to his side, gasping. A gurgled noise fills the air, and although I want to look away, I can’t. I watch him bleed. I watch the blood shooting out from his neck with each beat of his heart. I watch it puddle on the floor under him, and I’m happy. I’m happy he’s dead because he is a bad person.
Max stands and turns to look at me, his face and chest covered in blood splatter. His brow furrows with concern as he quickly approaches the bed where I’m huddled against the wall.
“Fuck,” he shouts, dragging his hands through his hair. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” He paces for a second, the bloody knife still clutched in his hand. “He fucking…” He hurls the knife across the room and drops to a knee, grabbing onto me and dragging me against his chest. His hold on me is so tight, and I can’t help but find comfort in his embrace. It’s not until I throw my arms around his shoulders that I notice I’ve clawed at my skin to the point of drawing blood. I just wanted the feel of that man’s touch gone from me. I just want it gone. I close my eyes and shake my head.
“This was not supposed to happen,” he says, his voice low. He holds me closer and rubs his hand over my bare back. “Fuck.”
Opening my eyes, I stare over his shoulder, my gaze locked on the man’s lifeless body in a heap on the floor. My brain attempts to make sense of this all. It wants to forget the feeling of that man on me. It’s screaming at me to get away from the one holding me. Max is angry and remorseful. He is bad, but he is good. I know it makes no sense and my mind keeps repeating to let go of him. To get away. To hate him because that would be right. But my heart…my heart is telling me to cling onto him with everything I have because when in hell, the only person who can hand over the key is the devil.
26
Max
Slowly, the tunnel vision dissipates. My heart is still clanging against my chest like it’s going to break out at any moment. I can’t catch a good breath. I am coming down from blind rage. When I came into the house. Earl and Bubba were smoking crack by the back door, and I panicked because Jeb wasn’t with them. His ratty-ass truck was parked outside, but he wasn’t with them. The second I got to the foot of those cellar steps, I heard him and I nearly had a coronary right there and then. And just that thought sends my pulse into another unbearable sprint.
Ava buries her face in my shoulder, and I rub my hand over her back. I swallow. I try my damnedest to calm myself down before I say anything to her. Hell, I am trying to figure out what to do now because this game has shifted. Lila is dead. I have no purpose here any longer with the exception of Ava. I care about her, I can’t deny that. And all I can think about is putting a bullet in both Earl’s and Bubba’s heads right now for letting that piece of shit in here. Closing my eyes, I rest my chin on the top of her head. There is a certain comfort I find with her, from her scent, and I take all this in in an attempt to calm myself down for her.
