I opened the bedroom door slowly, not wanting to give away that I was listening to their conversation downstairs.
“But youneedto get out,” Heather said. “That’s the whole point. To be part of society. A stable life. So that you don’t have me following after you anymore.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Hazel hissed.
“You would too. Admit it.”
“You don’t know what’s been going on.”
“Has Grant been hurting you? Tell me.”
They were quiet for a few moments, and my heart pounded. Had I made the situation worse? Was it a mistake to call Heather?
“No. He’s good to me,” Hazel said, almost in a whisper.
After a few more minutes of hushed discussion, footsteps crossed the threshold. “Tell Grant it was nice to see him.”
Hazel didn’t say anything. She closed the door behind her sister, locked it, and slumped onto the floor.
Yeah. Out of the bad ideas I could have had, I should have known that calling Heather was the worst. I needed a new plan. Something to force Hazel to help herself.
I showered, then put on pants. Hazel needed to get changed too. I went downstairs, and she gawked, her eyes blinking at my bare chest. It wasn’t time for that. Not yet.
“Do you want to change your clothes?”
“Why?”
“Because we’re going.”
I expected her to fight me. But all she did was sigh.
“Do you trust me?” I asked quietly.
“Yes,” she murmured.
I helped her up the stairs and waited for her to emerge from the room. For a moment, a heaviness overwhelmed me. She didn’t want to fight anymore; the fire inside of her was dim. She didn’t even retaliate when we got in the car, and I blindfolded her.
The Afterglow was empty. I didn’t turn on the main light beams and simply left the emergency lights on. The different equipment cast long shadows on the ground. Hazel bowed her head as she walked, the blindfold still around her eyes. We went to the back, where there was a hallway that led to different rooms, to that first room, when she had followed me here. The first time I had tried to give her release.
“This is about facing your fears,” I said. She crossed her arms. I pulled them loose at her sides, eyeing the set of shackles on top of the cage. I eased her back against the metal bars. “Do you trust me?”
She nodded.
“Say it,” I said.
“I trust you, Grant.”
And those words filled me with pride and sorrow. I knew she trusted me, and that she put too much faith in me. But I locked her wrists into the restraints, her arms pulled behind her back. Then I removed her pants and my own belt, using the back of my hand to swat her legs wider. I waited, watching the relaxation flee from her body. This was the part that killed her: not knowing what I planned to do.
I wielded the belt, letting it smack down on her thighs, the band of leather wrapping around her leg in a hiss. She didn’t whimper or scream. She didn’t make a sound. But her legs shook, her knees turning inwards, struggling to stand.
Hazel needed the release of pain. This was one way I could help.
Wasn’t it?
“Your fears,” I said again.
I struck the other leg, and it wrapped around her thigh in the same way. A sharp gasp swelled in her chest. I pulled off the blindfold. She blinked rapidly, then she looked around the room, realizing where we were, and panic filled her, making her pupils dilate.
