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What is he doing to her?
My vision blurs as every depraved, fucked up thing he could be doing flits through my mind. Is he whipping her? Making her kneel on the rice again?
Did he take her to the basement?
I grip the steering wheel tighter, the leather creaking, trying to ground myself. Please, please, not the basement.
I can handle anything, but finding her in the basement? Finding her bloody and broken the way he used to leave me?
I can’t—
I shove a sob down. She’s not broken. She’s not hurting.
Because if that’s where she is, kneeling in front of that fucking cross on rice, reciting scripture as he whips her back until her skin slices open…
Shaking my head, I try to ignore the phantom feeling of hot blood dripping down my back.
He’s a dick to her, but he’d never do the things he did to me. He wouldn’t hurt Eve like that. Right?
But with every passing second that I don’t hear from her, doubt starts creeping in. Maybe he is hurting her. Maybe he’s hurt her so beyond repair I can’t fix it.
Then what?
What will I do?
I’ll ruin him, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll fucking destroy him for hurting her.
It’s what I should’ve done when I first saw him touching her. I should’ve pulled her away when I saw them in Savannah. I should’ve saved her.
I should have saved her.
I never should’ve left her.
The drive is a blur, and by the time I make it to the front of the old farmhouse, I’m buzzing. My body is coiled tight as I shove the door open, leaving the car running.
My foot hits the center of the door, and old, rotting wood splinters as it flies open. It’s dark and cool inside, just like it always is.
There’s no sound. No movement.
Nothing.
There’s nothing.
I storm in, my blood humming in my veins, my body begging me to kill him. To take my girl and go home. To leave him and this Godforsaken town in the rearview mirror and never look back.
Never come back.
It’s eerily quiet as I step fully inside, and goosebumps ripple over my skin. I clench my hands into tight, shaky fists. My gaze moves to the bookshelf in front of the basement door, and some of the anxiety uncoils when I see it in its rightful place.
Then I hear something, a barely there whimper, and my head snaps toward her bedroom.
He’s in there.
“Come out, motherfucker!” I shout, banging my fist against the wall as I make my way toward him. “I’m gonna fucking kill you!”
Resurrection
He was delivered to death for our sins and was raised to life for our justification. - Romans 4:25
