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Twenty-One
Dee
I think I’m dead.
That’s the only explanation I can find for the numbness that’s settled in where total fear usually lurks inside my chest. The feeling snuck in on me. Unpacked its suitcases and made itself at home without me even realizing it.
It’s a strange thing. To actually feel… nothing. I’d say it's a relief but that would require more than this measly kernel of paralyzing apathy.
They say our body takes over sometimes during times of excruciating pain. There are times we black out in an attempt to protect ourselves from agony.
Maybe that’s what’s happened to me.
Or maybe I’m dead. Stuck in some sort of purgatory. A ghost meant to walk this plane for the rest of time. At least if I’m a ghost, I can watch Reed have sex without pretending to be sleeping or totally uninterested. See? Bright side.
Kind of.
Not really.
Except in reality I’m alive. I’m awake too. My chest is rising and falling in slow even breaths, my eyes blinking into the never ending darkness. My heartbeat a steady, relentless rhythm. But I’m so shut off from my surroundings, I can’t even speak. I can’t feel.
I only exist.
A sliver of light splits the tenebrous room, the shining fluorescent glow hurts my eyes but I’m not worried about it. I’m not even bothering to squint against the pain. It could be a house fire and I’d let it consume me in this moment. For a quick second, I wish it was a fire to end it all.
“Good morning, Pretty Girl,” the man hums, dropping down to crouch just in front of me, a shadowed outline against the light. His expensive cologne suffocates my lungs and I don’t flinch back when his steady palm pushes back the tangle of hair from my face. His hands are rough like Knox’s but not hidden beneath endless tattoos. “You’re better now. It only took three days but I knew you had it in you. This is strength. This is what strength feels like, Pretty Girl.”
The emptiness inside me dares to disagree but I don’t say a word. Weakness is all that consumes me. Weakness is all I can give. I look straight ahead into the darkness I’ve hated so much for so long.
And for the last three days, it’s all I’ve seen. It’s wrapped around me and devoured me in its bitter cold until it stole away my tears, uncontrollable shivers, and gasping breaths.
Eventually my body just… stopped.
My thoughts circle back to everything that brought me here: Mom, the drug addict locked away in prison, my new home in this house with the darkest basement I’ve ever fucking seen, and a dad who also happens to be a monster, and the boys.
My boys. No, not mine. Those boys. Those cruel, cruel boys who tried to ruin me. Knox, Landon, and Reed. They tried to ruin me to save me. Still, look where that got me. The thoughts are confusing. I blink, trying to push it all away.
In the past three days, I never did black out. Unconsciousness never did come to rescue me. And neither did Knox. Or Reed. Or Landon. No one and nothing came to save my sorry ass.
This room is just a room. Empty with only one door to exit. One very, very locked door. Sturdy too. My bruised shoulder is proof of that.
They left me with no food, no bathroom. A foul smell clings to me from that neglectful abuse.
I thought they left me to die. Eventually, I laid down ready to accept that fate. I was sure that Knox was dead after the blow to his head. That had to be the only reason why he let his dad keep me down in this torment.
But he’s here now. I can sense him with every shift of his shoes against the cold concrete beneath my cheek. Does he feel remorse? Does he feel anything?
I don’t move an inch as the man continues to stroke my tangled blonde hair back from my face.
“Are you ready to talk to me about your mother?”
My mother. Of course, this is her fault.
I should have known.
“After another postponed trial date, I drove into the city this morning to visit her. Again.” His calm voice jars across that single word and it seems to take him a moment to recover, his fingers never stopping as he pets my hair in long strokes of his hand. “She won't see me though. Can you believe that? Can you believe that, son?”
The men's dress shoes squeak slightly against the floor as he twists back. The breath in my lungs halts and I think for a single second Knox might speak for the first time since everything happened. Will he agree? Will he argue? Will he apologize?
