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ChapterTwenty-Seven
NAVY
Someone was shaking me. I wanted them to stop. My eyes felt heavy, as if lead weights sat upon them. The shaking continued. I slowly opened them to find Morgan looking at me.
“Wake up,” he said. My head pounded, and I grabbed it. Only it didn’t feel like my head. Maybe it belonged to someone else. He sat me up. “Wake up,” he repeated harshly.
I looked around. The lantern was back, and the thin light cast a soft glow in the room. What room, I wondered, trying to remember where I was. Then it came to me. I was in the garage.
Bryn was dead.
The memory returned as scattered thoughts sifted through my mind. Her body was no longer slumped on the ground.
Someone had removed it.
“Get up,” Morgan said, helping me to my feet. My legs wouldn’t hold me, so he picked me up. He had drugged me. I remembered the syringe and the prick of the needle as he pushed it into my arm. He carried me into the house and up the stairs, setting me on a bed.
I couldn’t talk. My tongue felt too big for my mouth, and I wasn’t sure how to voice the words that sat just to the side in my head.
He went into the bathroom and started the water, filling up the bathtub. Then he came back and began to undress me. First, my shoes and socks and then my pants, until I sat only in my bra and underwear.
He stood me up, put my arm over his shoulder, and guided me into the bathroom. I tripped over my own feet as my legs struggled to hold me up. In the bathroom, he put my hands on the counter, and I leaned on it as he removed my thong and unclasped my bra. I didn’t fight him. There was no way I could. Picking me up, he carried me over to the bathtub and carefully set me in it. The water was hot, burning my skin and the scrapes on my back. Maybe it was the temperature shock, but it helped revive me. My vision cleared, and with it came the horror of my situation.
He squeezed a dollop of soap from a bottle onto a washcloth and began to rub it over my back. “That’s it,” he said. “Let’s clean you up.”
“Did you drug Anwen, Mary, and Bryn too?” I asked, my throat dry and cracked.
“I didn’t have to drug them. They cooperated.” He rubbed the cloth over my shoulders and down my arms. “They knew I was taking care of them, and they liked it. Not like you.”
“Not like me.”
“No, you’re a fighter. I misjudged you in the beginning.” He pushed me back against the tub, running the cloth across my breasts and stomach. I tried not to flinch. I didn’t want to give him the pleasure. “You weren’t sad. But I’ll change that. In the end, you will need me too.”
“They didn’t like it. They were scared of you,” I said.
“No, they told me I saved them. I loved them.”
He brought his hand between my legs, rubbing the cloth along my thighs and my sex. “That’s it. I’ll make you all clean.” My stomach turned, and I sat up, wrapping my arms around my knees. He washed my hair and rinsed it by pouring cup after cup of water over my head. Then he stood me up and handed me a towel. I wrapped it around me and stepped out of the tub. He took my hand, led me back to the bedroom, and tried to remove the towel. My hand wrapped around the edges, holding it closed like a vice.
“Let go,” he said. His voice was low and menacing.
“Fuck off,” I spat.
That earned me a slap across my face. Tears sprung to my eyes. He ripped the towel off me. “Let’s try that again.”
Morgan took the towel and roughly wiped my body with it, drying me off. “It doesn’t have to be this way. If you cooperate, I will be gentle,” he said.
“You’re sick. You’re no savior.”
He slapped me again and pushed me onto the bed. I scooted myself back against the headboard, putting as much space as I could between us.
“They all cried the first time but didn’t fight me, and I held them afterward. It was beautiful. My precious girls,” he said. His face softened, and he smiled, caught up in the memory. “You won’t cry, though, will you?” he asked bitterly.
He grabbed my legs, pulling me to the side of the bed. His fingers dug into my skin. I kicked at him, but his grip was firm, and he put a knee between my legs, prying them apart as he struggled with the zipper on his pants.
I screamed.
“There it is. The fear.” He laughed. “You’ll be begging me soon.”
