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Slade’s eyes are glued to her butt. He has the same smoldering look in his eyes that Matthew gets when he’s looking at me. I wish I knew why he keeps her at a distance. He obviously cares for her a great deal, and by the way he looks at her, I know he’s attracted to her. Hannah is so in love with him that it’s painful to watch her heartbreak with every rejection.
“I baked your favorite,” Hannah says cheerfully as she puts a perfect square of piping hot brownie on a plate.
Slade grunts in response.
She hands the plate to Slade, and there is so much hopefulness in her eyes that he will giveaway how he feels. He takes the plate and grunts a thanks then leaves, escaping back to the office.
Hannah’s face falls, and her eyes swim with tears and rejection. “I’m going to… uh… laundry. Yeah, I think I’ll do some laundry.”
I let her leave without a word. I’ve tried to talk to her about it in the past, but she’s made it clear she doesn’t want to discuss it. I know what it’s like not wanting to talk about painful things, so I don’t push.
I clean up the brownie mess and decide to make dinner. Matthew should be home soon and keeping busy is a good idea right now. I’m mixing pancake batter when he comes up behind me and wraps his arms around me. I don’t think I react. The bowlful of batter crashes to the ground, and I scream, struggling against the suffocatingly tight grip.
My mind breaks from reality, and I’m shoved headlong into another time and place.
I’m stirring eggs. It’s three in the morning. I had just gotten to sleep when Mr. Perfect pulled me from my bed by my hair and demanded I make him eggs and bacon. I limped behind him to the kitchen, my whole body aching from tonight’s client.
Heat trickles down my thighs, and I gag. Usually, after I instantly shower, scrubbing myself clean until my skin is raw. Not tonight. Tonight was Mr. Brown’s night, and he uses me like he wants to kill me. Part of me thinks he does, that same part of me wishes he would. At least then this would all be over.
Arms wrap around me from behind, and Mr. Perfect’s alcohol-laced breath surrounds me. “Such a dirty fucking tease. You’ll fuck anyone and everyone, but I never get my piece.”
He grinds against my aching backside. I cry out as his zipper digs into my skin. I want to scream at him that I don’t have a choice. It’s his fault that I’m forced to endure the life of a whore. He stole me away, and there’s no escaping.
I whimper when he bends me over the counter, the egg mixture falls to the floor in a crash of broken glass and egg. Mr. Perfect jumps back and curses. His hand whips out and backhands me so hard my vision blurs. “Stupid fucking bitch. Look what you did!”
He grabs my hair and yanks me down to my hands and knees. Glass digs into my palms, ripping open the skin. “Clean it up.” With a booted foot, he shoves against my backside, sending me crashing to the floor, unable to keep my balance on the slippery eggs.
“Rose!” A panicked voice breaks into the memory. “Stop, sweetheart. You’re going to hurt yourself.”
I blink and realize I’m on the floor on my hands and knees in front of the spilled pancake mixture. Matthew crouches in front of me a horrified look on his face. I look down at my hands and see the tiny cuts from the broken glass. A broken sob is ripped from my very soul.
“Oh, God. I’m sorry.” I wrap my arms around myself and rock back and forth, chanting sorry on repeat as I cry brokenly.
“It’s okay, love. It’s my fault… I should’ve known better than to sneak up on you like that.” I cry harder at the brokenness in Matthew’s voice. I did that to him. He should be able to sneak up on his girlfriend and wrap his arms around her.
Instead, he has me. He would be so much better off without me. I cause nothing but heartache wherever I go. I’m not good for him. No good for anyone.
“Can I pick you up?” Matthew asks calmly. “We need to get that glass out of your hands.”
I spread my palms out in front of me and see the little pinpricks of blood where the shards of glass cut into me. Words fail me, so I just nod. He lifts me from the ground and cradles me like I’m the most precious bundle in the world. After he cleans my hands and puts a bandage on the worst of the cuts, he carries me to the living room and sits me on the couch.
“I’m going to clean up the mess. Will you be okay here for just a minute?”
I nod again even though I’m not okay. The darkness is back, and it’s swallowing me up like quicksand. Numbness has already set in, and everything outside of me feels other. I don’t exist in the now. I’m nowhere and nothing.
Lost in a fog, unable to sit still while my brain is replaying nightmares that I can’t seem to shake. Maybe some fresh air will help, I think idly. Between one blink and the next, I’m on the balcony. I don’t remember moving from the couch. The wind whips around me, bringing the scent of stale cigarettes from the rooftop. One of the maintenance workers spends his breaks up there, smoking like a chimney. The smell is one reason why I don’t spend much time out here despite the amazing view.
I pace the length of the balcony, trying to escape the stale cigarette smell, but it’s no use. I’m thrust back into another memory.
I’m blindfolded and bound to my bed. I can smell stale cigarettes, sweat, and his putrid breath. I can feel fat, probing fingers cruel and unyielding. I hear his vulgar descriptions of what he’s going to do to me next. My mouth is dry, and my throat is sore from screaming. The blindfold is soaked with my tears. I’m thankful for it… maybe if I can’t see, I won’t remember.
I was wrong. So very, very wrong. Scene after scene plays out in my head until I’m drowning in them. I can’t handle it anymore. I have to make it stop. No one should have to live with this. I won’t survive it again… not even if it’s just in my memories.
The memories are worse than the actual physical act of what happened. The bruises fade away. The memories? Those never go away. They torture me with the abuse over and over again. Making me relive it on a vicious loop.
I thought I was getting better. That I was moving past the horrors of Red House, but now I can see that I’ll never be free. I’ve been happier than I ever have been these last months with Matthew. Even at my lowest, it was still better than anything in my past. I have friends. Hannah, Slade, and Kisten treat me like family. I just wish it was enough. Red House twisted my mind, leaving a broken shell behind.
No matter how much happiness I find here with my new-found family, it will never be enough. The damage is done.
