Page 51 of Grace

While Chase was preparing the bathwater, I stopped in front of the mirror and took a look at my face. It was disgusting and dirty. My nose wasn’t broken, but it was swollen. My eyes were puffy. My skin was bruised all over. I ran my eyes over my body. The ropes had left burning marks where their rough fibers had chafed against my porcelain skin.

I knew the warm water would sting against my skin, but I wanted to get clean. I stepped into the enameled bathtub and slowly lowered my body into the steaming, scented water. The mirror was covered with a thin layer of moisture, and the air was heavy.

Chase pulled an old wooden stool next to the bathtub and sat down. He dipped the small sponge into the hot water, then drew it down the deep valley between my breasts. For a second, I held my breath, then inhaled deeply. My breasts lifted, and my heart fluttered like a bird in a cage. Chase traced delicate circles around the cones of my sensitive nipples, then led the sponge down my flat, trembling belly.

I was watching him as he was cleaning my body. I watched him rub his own perverted filth off me. I watched… but didn’t say anything.

He cleaned my face and hair carefully, then wrapped me in a clean towel. I didn’t speak because speaking would only have made my heart ache even more. I just endured his gentle touches in silence.

After bathing me, he led me to the living room, where he dressed me: he gave me a shirt that hung down to my knees and slid my black cotton panties up my legs.

I sat down on the couch while he was warming up the soup. I was staring at the door, the locks, and the bolts.

He put the steaming soup on the small table in front of me, but I was lost in contemplating my prison.

The worn sofa sank next to me. I looked at Chase, who wanted to take care of me. I was hungry, my stomach rumbled—but my throat was dry. It was burning, so I couldn’t force down a bite.

I stood up, walked into the bloody, dirty, dark room, and closed the door behind me—but before I entered, I cast a withering, contemptuous look at the man who had been keeping me imprisoned and abusing me for years.

I wanted to be alone and cry.

If someone loves you, they don’t hurt you. If someone hurts you, they don’t love you.

If someone begs you for forgiveness after they have beaten welts into your skin—they are manipulating you. Because whenever he beat me, he left presents in my room afterward. A chocolate, a flower, a plush teddy bear…

I destroyed them, just like Chase was destroying me. I didn’t eat the chocolate—I left it there until hairy mold grew on it. I tore the flower to pieces and tore the head off the teddy bear.

However, the next time he gave me a present I could not hurt: a tiny ginger kitten, meowing in a brown cardboard box.

I couldn’t hurt her because she reminded me of my own sorry life: she had also been torn away from her mother and siblings. She was lonely too.

I named her Poppy.

August 2007

For weeks, all I could think about was what Nikky had said to me. In those moments, I relived our first kiss and our passionate lovemaking with Chase. But then… there was also the abuse. The first time he raped me, the time he pulled my teeth out, the time he killed Poppy in cold blood…

A memory from 2004

Four years after kidnapping—I was 19

I was playing with Poppy in the living room when he staggered in through the door as if he were completely wasted. I watched, wide-eyed, as he could barely take two steps from the pain. His T-shirt was torn and bloody. He furrowed his brow angrily, then stumbled into the bathroom. I put Poppy down on the floor and walked after him. The door wasn’t fully closed—I put my palm on the hardboard, then pulled it back. My heart was beating in my throat. I hesitated. Then, finally, when I heard such painful hissing and breathing that it made my heart twist, I opened the door.

I was instantly horrified when I saw him. His torso was covered in ugly bruises, and there was a huge, red, swollen, sensitive area on his ribcage. He wiped the blood trickling from his mouth with the back of his hand.

“What happened to you?” My heart was in my throat because I didn’t know which version of Chase I was talking to.

“My older brother,” he moaned, then spat bloody saliva into the sink.

“You have an older brother?”

“Yes.”

“And does he know about me being here?”

He fought through the pain wracking his body, stepped in front of me, and grabbed my throat.

“He won’t save you, if that’s what you’re curious about,” he growled in my face. Fear made adrenaline surge through my body. “If you aren’t really worried about me, stop this act and leave me the fuck alone!” he hissed. His grip on my throat relaxed. When he took his hand away, I rubbed my reddened skin.