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No, god, no, please, no, I survived Christopher.
I survived my abuser!
How can I die like this, in a strange bed, in a strange man’s room, alone? With this woman shoving a pillow over my face? How is this happening? I suffered so much, I took my beatings, I did everything right, I got away.
I survived!
How am I going to die now, after everything?
Chapter54
Evander
Ihear the scream as I come up the steps, a bag of breakfast sandwiches in one hand and a carrier with two coffees in the other. I’m humming to myself, floating on a cloud. I figured I’d treat Camille to breakfast from my favorite local spot not too far away and wanted to take the drive myself to clear my head.
Last night’s debauchery still lingers like a comforting blanket.
But that scream has my body pounding with adrenaline.
I know that sound. I know that tone. It’s a scream of pure, utter horror, of an animal trapped in a life-or-death struggle.
And it’s coming from my room.
I drop the coffee and sandwiches as I sprint down the hall. My heart’s racing, my brain working. I released Alonzo early this morning, told the kid to get some rest—which means Camille is alone.
Nobody else would go near my wing of the house, not this early in the morning.
She’s alone, all alone, with no weapons, no protection, nothing.
Fuck, I shouldn’t have left her, but I thought my enemies were busy fighting each other—
Except I forgot about the enemies in my own house.
The scream rips into my chest one last time before it’s abruptly cut off.
A strangled, desperate roar releases from my throat as I reach my door and try to yank it open, but the fucking thing is locked. I slam my foot once, twice, three times next to the handle until the frame buckles. I keep kicking, desperation ringing in my ears, and finally the door slams free. I’m barrel into my sitting room, looking around wildly.
But it’s empty.
And the door to the bedroom is closed.
I ram my shoulder into it. The door flexes. It bends but doesn’t snap. I hear someone talking inside, but it’s muffled and distant. I kick again, slamming over and over, roaring like a lion now. I feel one of my toes crack, but it happens at a distance, like somebody else is controlling my body.
Camille is in there, my Camille, and someone is trying to hurt her. That was her scream, her pain, her terror.
Someone is inmy room, hurtingmy wife, and I can’t get to her.
I can’t get to her fast enough.
Fuck, I have to get in there, I have to help her, but this fucking door won’t break.
A thousand thoughts run past me in a flash. If she dies, if I lose her, if I never tell her how I feel, if I fail to keep her safe, if I’m worthless, if I can’t even hold on to one decent thing—
The door rips open in a spray of splintered wood after one last desperate heave of all my strength and I stagger inside, knocked off balance by the sudden buckling.
It takes a half second to take in the scene.
A person kneels on the bed, leaning over someone else, a pillow shoved down hard over the prone figure’s face. The attacker’s wearing a hat, running shoes, yoga pants. I sprint over, covering the distance in a breath, and understanding hits me like a monsoon.
