Page 9 of Pretty Lies
“We’re going on a honeymoon, dear wife. This time, it’ll be much more pleasant than the first one…well, for me at least.”
I think I’m going to be sick.
He steps forward and squats in front of me, his hands sliding up my thighs as his eyes slide over every inch of me in such a pervy way that I want to gouge out his eyes and shove them down his throat, but I force myself to stare at a point above his head. Suddenly though, he stills and my eyes flash down to his, seeing that he’s spotted something on the floor.
The zip tie!
He looks back up at me but before he can do anything, I punch him as hard as I can in the throat, catching him off guard and knocking him onto his ass, but it’s all for nothing because I’m still tied and vulnerable.
Alan jumps up, his eyes enraged and burning with all the flames of hell as he punches me on my cheek, gripping my throat and squeezing until black dots dance in my vision.
The last words I hear before I succumb to the depths of unconsciousness are his promises of retribution.
“Don’t forget, doll, I hold the cards and you just folded your hand with that stunt.”
–
I wake up intermittently, flashes of the scene around me burning into my brain with each interval of consciousness. I know that I’m in a hotel, brought in through the side entrance. I tried to fight through the heavy hands of the blackness that kept taking me under, but it was useless, I’d need more strength to fight my way out.
The next time I’d woken up, I heard Alan on the phone with someone, talking about buyers and sessions. I didn’t understand what he meant or what was happening, but it sent a sinister shiver through my soul.
The final time I awoke, I wish I hadn’t. I wish I had never woken up again.
Men I’d never seen before, men who had no rights to touch me, much less rut into me like I’m some sort of paid prostitute, blended together into just one mask of evil. It was then that I understood the meaning of Alan's words as he spoke on the phone. All of these men are the same, all of them as sick and twisted as the last, and all of them paying Alan for sexual sessions with me.
The sun came and went, a day had passed, and I continued to lie motionless on this hellish bed. My arms and legs are bound with wired ropes and a ball gag in my mouth. My mind though, it’s flown elsewhere, to sandy beaches and beautiful architecture. I see Gio there with me, his eyes gazing at me as though there’s no one else in the world who can hold a flame to my inferno. His face morphs to Luce often, a sight that silently shames me, but his mischievous eyes and knowing grin always comfort me in the same way that Gio’s does.
I hear them speak to me often, whispering words of encouragement and praise, pushing me and pleading with me to hang on until I’m free.
And that’s what I do. I fight every second of my torture, every painful minute, I force myself to get through this so that I can see my family one more time.
My mind always comes back to the present when I’m alone. Of course, I’m never completely alone, but sometimes I’m ignored, like I’m just another piece of furniture in this room. I’m currently lying on my stomach, my head turned toward the windows where the shades are pulled closed against the afternoon light. The nightstand beside the bed has a legal pad on it, the hotel’s name printed on the top, but Alan is completely psychotic so I wouldn’t put it past him to set up a damn shed to resemble a hotel room.
I can hear Alan on the phone in the next room, perhaps the living room, asking whoever is on the other end of the call to expect some visitors at a bodega.
As his voice moves further away, I lift my head from the bed and squint my eyes, paying extra attention to the sounds around me as I read the handwriting on the pad.
There are seven names written in Alan’s hand, all of them women including my own. One of them stands out to me. Written at the very top in red ink with a big X next to it is Lena. The rest of the names are in black, with a couple of them tagged with an X.
I don’t get much of a chance to carefully examine the names because I hear Alan bark into the phone before the door’s handle jiggles. I drop my head and pretend to be asleep, hoping and praying I’ll be ignored.
But of course, my prayers are left unheard. My mind slips away from reality when Alan’s rough touches leave bruises on my skin, and soon, it’s Gio and Luce’s faces who once again comfort me, their voices saturating my heart like my tears on the pillow case beneath me.
My baby.
My sweetness.
