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The tears stop. She’s still overwhelmed but nods as I go over the plan.
FOURTEEN
Kaye
I callmy friends and tell them it’s urgent. Unfortunately, Carmen and Rosalie went to Napa for brunch. It’s four in the afternoon before they come home. We all gather in the living room. They sit on the sofa while I pace. Zeb leans against the wall.
I have yet to get a hold of Barbi. Almost five, I’m getting more and more worried. If we’re not out of here soon, Scott will come looking for me.
“What’s up?” Carmen picks at lint on the arm of the sofa, while Rosalie keeps looking between me and Zeb. She knows something’s up, but waits for me to explain.
“Have any of you heard from Barbi?” I look to my friends.
It’s not unusual for Barbi to be out all night. She’s a party girl and enjoys single life. This wouldn’t be the first time she stayed out all night, but she’s usually back by now.
“I’ll text her.” Carmen pulls out her phone and taps on the screen. “Meanwhile, what’s up?”
I rub my palms on my jeans, trying to find the courage to speak.
“You’ve got this.” Zeb flexes his biceps and that poor shirt strains over the muscles of his chest. There’s a potency about him. An air of strength and power restrained only by his will.
It’s different with Scott. He doesn’t carry himself with the same confidence that oozes from Zeb.
With Zeb, I know he’ll look after my well-being above his own. With Scott? It’s exactly the opposite.
I can’t describe it any other way.
“Well, one of you needs to start speaking.” Carmen glances at her phone, frowns when there’s no text from Barbi, then looks to me. “What’s up, Kaye? Spit it out.”
“It’s Scott.” I know what needs to be said, but I don’t know how to begin.
“What happened?” Carmen leans forward.
Rosalie tenses but doesn’t speak. She’s still figuring out her place with us.
“Show them.” Zeb gestures with a flick of his chin. His eyes zero in on my wrists.
I stare at the bruises and cuts, sick to my stomach that I allowed it to happen.
“Show us, what?” Carmen scoots to the edge of the couch. “What’s he talking about?”
I glance down at the long-sleeved shirt I wear. When Zeb told me to dress, I moved like a robot, methodical and half-aware of what I was doing. Evidently, some part of my brain knew enough to toss on something that covers the bruising.
Slowly, I roll back my sleeves. First on the left. Then on the right. Words fail me as I extend my arms and reveal the ligature marks on my wrists.
Carmen gasps and hops off the couch. Rosalie looks from me to Zeb, then to Carmen and finally back to me.
“Scott did this to you?” Rosalie slowly rises off the couch and comes for a closer look.
“What did he do?” Carmen grips my hands and flips my wrists back and forth.
“He used Zip Ties.” Rosalie’s voice is flat, with zero emotion. “That’s how the women your…” Her voice catches, but she clears her throat. “That is what the wrists of the women your father imprisoned looked like after a night of…” Her voice trails off as if she can’t continue, but Rosalie doesn’t need words. She takes one look at my neck, then pulls back the collar to expose my skin. “He strangled you. For pleasure?”
A wave of intense shame overcomes me. My entire body trembles with the sensation. My face heats with shame. I don’t know if I can do this.
“He did, what?” Carmen raises her voice, alarmed. “When did this happen?”
Rosalie doesn’t appear surprised. She turns to Carmen and takes her hand. Then reaches out to hold mine.
