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We were both silent for a while, thinking things over. I’d held on to so much hate over the last few months that it hadn’t just caused me to pull away from my dad, but my mom too. And it was her who I’d always been closest to.
“I—”
“Someone’s coming,” Dad interrupted, lowering in his seat.
All talk was forgotten about as I snapped my head around, staring at the house as a man left, then got into an SUV, much like the one that Ace had been inside of ten days ago.
“We gonna follow him?” I asked, already reaching for my belt, then clicking it into place.
“You bet your ass we are,” Dad replied, starting the engine.
I grinned, feeling like everything was slipping into place. I wasn’t on my own in this, and neither was Peyton. We were going to save her, even if she didn’t realize it yet. I just hoped we could get some solid leads before we were too late, because the alternative didn’t bear thinking about.
* * *
PEYTON
The room was spinning so fast I could have sworn I was on a ride at the fair. My eyes were closed, my back flat against the mattress as I kept deathly still, too scared to make any sudden movements. I wasn’t sure what had woken me up, but the moment I started to come around, I felt like I’d been hit by a damn truck.
My muscles ached in places they never ached, my stomach rolled, my head spinning. This wasn’t good.
Slowly, I started to sit up, keeping my eyes closed as I inhaled deep breaths. I didn’t feel this bad after one of Travis’s beatings, which incidentally had only been two nights ago. He was due to lose his shit at any moment, it was just a matter of time.
The longer I’d been alone in this house with him—four weeks at this point—the more I noticed the patterns, the mood swings. The way he would go silent for a while right before blowing his casket on me. He’d been silent for an entire day again, a sure sign his anger was on its way.
“Peyton?” His sleep-ridden voice had my eyes snapping open, my head turning to face him where he was lying on the other side of the bed. The move had my hand pressing against my stomach, vomit threatening to come up. Uh-oh.
“I don’t feel well,” I managed to rush out as I darted off the bed and into the bathroom. The door still hadn’t been hung back on its hinges, and deep down I knew it never would be. That would mean that I’d actually have privacy, and that wasn’t going to happen with Travis anymore. He’d been crystal clear on that.
Travis hadn’t left my side from the moment I’d gotten into his car at the gas station. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wondered why Ace hadn’t said anything about him not being at work, but then, he was probably using me—and my non-existent bad mental health—as an excuse.
I made it to the toilet just in time to empty the contents of my stomach down it, sweat beading on my forehead as the sound of his footsteps came closer. Sunlight was beaming into the bathroom through the window, informing me that morning had broken hours ago. Somehow my sleep had gotten all upside down, the concept of time intermingling and getting lost.
There was no routine, not with it being just me and Travis. Well, that was unless you counted the days between the beatings. That was our new routine now.
“What’s wrong with you?” Travis’s gruff tone told me that he wasn’t happy with what was happening in front of him, but unlucky for him, I couldn’t stop the damn vomit from coming.
“I’m sick,” I managed to say, resting my head on the top of the toilet bowl and giving him eye contact. He leaned against the doorframe, a pair of slacks resting on his hips along with an open shirt. There was something about him when he first woke up that made me remember what it was like when we first got together. How he was kind and caring, and protective, but not in a controlling way, more like an “I want to look after you” kind of way.
That got lost somewhere along the way and in its place was the Travis who had to control and manipulate everything. Sometimes I missed the old Travis. Times like this were when I missed him most. I just wanted the man back who had doted on me. Who had held my hand while we were sitting on the sofa. Who didn’t berate me for everything I did.
A muscle in his jaw ticced as he stared me down, indecision on his face as he stepped forward and searched in the cabinet above the sink.This was the old Travis.“Where’s the Pepto Bismol?” he asked, the sound of bottles crashing against each other ringing out in the room.
“It should be—” I cut myself off as my face went cold, my stomach swirling, and then I was throwing up again. Although, I had no idea how I was managing it because there couldn’t have been much content left to bring back up.
“It’s not here,” Travis announced, his footsteps retreating so that he was just outside of the bathroom. It wouldn’t even have occurred to him to come and help me—not like he would have in those first few months we’d gotten together—but if I was honest, I didn’t want him to.
I wasn’t sure how long passed between throwing up, then resting my head, then throwing up again, but it must have been long enough to make Travis second-guess what was happening because he said, “You need something to settle your stomach.” I nearly laughed at the way he said it. There wasn’t an ounce of concern in his tone, just matter of fact. He couldn’t have me sick, not if he wanted to repeat everything to my body that he’d done over the last few weeks. He’d taken from me over and over again—raped me, beat me. He’d stolen all of my choices, but most importantly, my free will. There was nothing left to give, and maybe this was my body’s way of saying enough was enough.
It needed to end. Whether that was through his hands, or my own.
Standing slowly, I held on to the counter, turning the tap on and throwing some water on my face to feel a little normal again. Not that it worked, but it was worth a try, right? I could see Travis in the reflection of the mirror on the front of the cabinet door, but when I opened it, he was gone.
I searched for the pink bottle but came up empty. And just as I was about to say that there wasn’t any, Travis appeared again, this time completely dressed, his expression a mask of indecision.
“I’ll go get you some Pepto Bismol.” He sounded so unhappy about it, his chest heaving on each breath, but I didn’t have time to think about it, not when my stomach was rolling again and I was darting for the toilet.
I wasn’t sure how long I stayed there, my head feeling like part of the toilet system by the time I finally felt okay enough to stand. But it was as I was swilling my mouth out that it occurred to me…the last time I’d been sick like that was when I was pregnant with Reed.
