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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Unlike down in the red tunnels when life ran away without me noticing, being back here—whereverhereis—I’m not only aware of the days, but the hours and minutes, too. There’s a clock on the wall, but my body just knows. I don’t need to look at the time to understand how much is passing. Ifeelit. Every tick.
I’m reliving my nightmares all over again, and I can’t stop it. Milton’s gone. I don’twantto believe it like last time, but it’s almost been a week. A whole week, and he hasn’t burst in here like some phantom ready to purge the souls of my captors. Hoping it would happen got me through the first two days, though after that, I let go.
I let go, and it killed me to do it.
Blake gave Nicolas the job of watching me, making sure I don’t try and pull another suicide attempt like I did in front of his men. I’ve heard Nicole fight with him about it, their arguments so loud, there’s no escaping it. “You better not go near her!”
“What are you talking about, Nicole?”
“You. And the way you’re looking at her. She’s not yours—I am. I’m your wife.”
“Is that what you tell yourself when you fuck other guys?”
She cackles. “Is that what you tellyourselfwhen you fuck guys, too?”
“Fuck off!”
“No, you fuck off!” she screamed back. “I hate you! I hate you all! Especially that ungrateful bitch in there that you’re all pussy whipped over!”
I could hear her stomping off and then Nicolas cursing and going after her, yelling that it wasn’t over. Knowing he was no longer guarding the door, I could’ve tried to escape, but my stomach was still cramping from Blake’s kicks. I hadn’t been able to move much without the risk of doubling over in severe agony. And it’s not like I know where I am—we could be in the middle of some desert for all I know.
The monster hasn’t come since. He’s not slept in the bed with me like he used to, and it makes me wonder if it’s because he fears for his life. Maybe he can see in my eyes that I’ll rip his throat out with my bare teeth if the opportunity arises and sleeping beside me would be too risky. My mouth even waters at the thought, and I know that whatever Milton’s turned me into would do it.
It’s Saturday when Blake finally makes an appearance. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just leans against the door with his arms folded while I sit on the bed like I’ve done all week, only getting up to shower and change clothes. All my belongings are still here from last time, including new stuff I haven’t looked at.
He walks inside and closes the door.
“Do you like your new room?” I don’t reply, which just makes him smile with amusement. “I got you some new things. I thought you could wear something nice for tonight’s welcome home party.” He goes over to the wardrobe and pulls out a black latex dress that I know will just about cover my privates and nothing else. “One of the new girls will come and make you nice and pretty, and then you’ll show those guys out there why you’re mine. None of that crazy shit, you hear?”
Putting the dress on the bed, he leans over until he’s just inches away from my face. I lift my eyes and stare into his, getting bolder, even though I’m ready for him to snap any minute like the last time I challenged him. Lifting his hand, he goes to touch my face. I jerk back.
He breathes a laugh and drops his hand. “Ah…I’ll make you fall in love with me again, baby girl. You and me forever.”
Turning on his heel, he walks out of the room, slamming the door behind him. My bottom lip shakes, but no tears come. I’m all cried out. Fuck, I miss Milton so much. I don’t want to be here anymore—I want to be with him, down in hell where it’s warm in his arms.
A few hours later, a young girl knocks on the door. She’s about seventeen, maybe younger, and nervous. She’s pretty, kind of reminding me of Florence.
“Hey, there,” she greets me in a thick, Southern accent. “Blake sent me to help you with your makeup?”
I don’t have the heart to tell her to go away—not when I know Blake will probably hit her if she doesn’t do as he asked. “Oh…sure.”
Coming over to me, she’s wearing a hot pink crop top and black mini skirt—clothes far too skimpy for her age. It just looks wrong. I stare at her as she sets out products and makeup brushes on the bed, facing me finally.
“Thank God you have amazing skin,” she sighs, moving my hair away so she can dab moisturizer on my face. “You have no idea how painful it is to try and cover bad skin. Especially the gals who are on meth.”
I don’t hear her. Instead, I’m wondering when I was able to stare a victim in the eye? When did that happen? Her hands shake as she puts foundation on, and I take the blender off her. “Sit down.”
Breathing out, she sinks onto the bed next to me without a word. Her shoulders shudder with a silent sob as I blend in the blobs of foundation on my face using her compact mirror. “Are you okay?”
She shakes her head. “He…He just doesn’t care.”
I grab some bronzer. “Who?”
“My papa.” She sniffles, though she’s not letting her tears fall. “He said it’d be different this time, but it’s not. It’s the same shit, different town. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say all of this—”
“It’s okay,” I tell her, putting the stuff back down on the bed. “People not caring…it gets easier to deal with it.”
