by Malcom, Anne
Wait, I needed them to notice I was gone. Since I needed them to rescue me.
“Oh Polly, ever the damsel,” I muttered.
* * *
I must’ve dozed off to sleep at some point because the slamming of the door jerked me awake.
I had a moment of panic and confusion at the fact my hands wouldn’t obey me and every one of my muscles screamed. The panic was not because of the burning and immobile arms above my head, or my screaming bladder, or empty stomach. No, it was because I had no memory of why they existed.
I blinked Craig into view and it all came rushing back.
“You’re awake,” he said, rather sheepishly, not holding eye contact.
He looked bad.
His eyes were bloodshot. Shirt was wrinkled and stained with something that looked like coffee. His hair was a mess.
Sweat beaded on his forehead.
“I need to pee,” I said.
Not the first thing that a victim should’ve said to her captor/ex-husband. I should’ve asked why he was here, or why I was here, what he planned on doing with me and if he could please not kill me or do anything else unimaginable and just let me go.
But my bladder was straining to keep under my brain’s control, and I was not going to wet myself on top of everything else.
Craig paused, obviously surprised at my words.
He rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth as if he were pondering whether he was going to grant me the right to meet my basic human needs. It was jarring and humiliating to have someone in control of whether you let go of your bladder while chained to a bed or whether you would be allowed to use a toilet.
Something glinted in Craig’s eyes as he ran them over me, something like satisfaction in that control, something ugly and vile that sent ice into the base of my spine.
He paused long enough for me to think he was going to make me wet myself just for his cruel entertainment. Then he walked over, dug his hand into his pocket and retrieved a small pair of keys.
“Don’t try and run,” he warned, eyes dark.
I shivered at what was behind them. Not a threat. A promise. But there was something mingled with that. Not pure malice. There was a panic. A kind of hopelessness. I knew he was a bad person. But what turned a bad person into an evil person was that hopelessness. With nothing left to lose, evil bred.
“I’m not going to try to run because I’m currently trying not to wet myself,” I said truthfully.
It was funny how something as seemingly simple as needing to use the bathroom could surpass needing to know the reason for one’s kidnapping and the fate of one’s life.
He inspected my words and the desperation behind them and nodded once, lifting the keys.
My hands were lead when the metal came off.
They literally thumped onto the mattress, not at all under my control.
I tried to use them to push off the bed, but they wouldn’t hold my weight, they barely twitched in response to my brain’s command. I desperately scooted with the rest of my body protesting at the use of muscles that had long since locked up having been in such an unnatural position for so long. I worried that even now that I was free, I wouldn’t be able to make it from the bed to the bathroom.
My knees buckled when I put weight on them. I half limped, half ran to the bathroom, my arms still hanging uselessly at my sides. I didn’t even have the strength to close the door behind me. Nor could I spare the time.
I had been married to the man in the other room, after all. I’d shared all sorts of things with him. Then he’d hit me, broke me, kidnapped me. So him seeing me pee wasn’t exactly going to be something I was going to dwell on.
I managed to make it to the toilet with great pain.
And the relief itself was so painful I almost cried.
But I reasoned I’d have plenty of reasons to cry as I hobbled back into the bedroom. Craig was sitting on the other twin bed, head in his hands. It popped up as I entered the room.
“I got you food,” he said, nodding to the grease-stained paper bag I hadn’t noticed him carrying.
My stomach growled audibly at the mention of food and spotting the water bottle next to it. I only now realized how painfully dry my mouth and throat were.
I should’ve refused the food and water. That’s what the strong and plucky kidnap victim did, right? Refused to consume anything given, tried to escape at any given moment.
And I was in a given moment right now. I was standing. I wasn’t cuffed. My bladder was no longer in danger of exploding.
But my arms were still little more than useless, it had been an effort to even get my panties down, I was thankful for the fact I was only wearing Heath’s tee.
I didn’t know if my weak legs would enable me to run. My arms certainly wouldn’t allow me to fight.
Craig was watching me. He stood, striding to the bag, snatching it, along with the water and moving toward me.
I instantly backed up, my face throbbing in warning.
Something crossed over his features as he did so. He stopped advancing.
I didn’t stop retreating until my hip bumped against a side table painfully.
He placed the bag on the bed then backed off.
“It’s vegetarian,” he said. “Probably half cold. Not great, ‘cause there are not many options, but it’s something.” He shrugged as if the food was the only thing he had to be sheepish about.
My eyes went from him to the bag.
My stomach contracted painfully once more. My tongue expanded in my mouth.
The paper bag was in my hands before I quite knew my decision had been made and I struggled to try to stuff the fries into my mouth with one almost useless hand while unscrewing the water bottle with the other.
The cold greasy fries hit my stomach and it was both glorious and painful as my body didn’t quite know what to do. The same happened with the water, but I didn’t throw up, so that was a positive.
I ate the veggie burger in silence, trying not to notice the fact that there was no tomatoes or ketchup in it because Craig knew I didn’t like tomatoes or ketchup.
It was a strange thing to have this man treat me so brutally and then do something as considerate as to make sure my burger didn’t have the condiments and vegetables I despised inside.
He was silent as I ate.
“Why did you do this, Craig?” I asked quietly balling the paper bag up and putting it aside.
He jerked as if he didn’t expect me to speak.
Or maybe he didn’t expect my voice to be as low and soft as it was.
He stood, snatching up the handcuffs.
“Sit back,” he ordered.
The thought of being chained back up like that, hopeless and helpless panicked me immediately. My arms still burned, still throbbed and were already red and raw.
“I won’t run,” I lied. “You don’t have to cuff me.”
He was on me in two strides, he brutally snatched my arm and dragged me up the bed so hard I was sure my shoulder popped out of the socket. The pain was white hot and blinding, it was only the click of the cuffs that told me I was chained to the bed again.
“Why do you have to make everything so hard?” Craig hissed in my face, his breath rank.
I didn’t answer.
I was too busy trying not to cry from the pain in my wrists and my shoulder.
Craig scowled at me and straightened.
He started to pace. There was an erratic, panicked quality to it. One that prickled at my skin. Because there was a desperation to him. People did uncharacteristic things when they were desperate. And punching me in the face was one of Craig’s characteristics. I hated to think what he’d do to me in the clutches of whatever this was.
He stopped to stare at me.
A stare that crawled up my spine like a deadly spider, waiting to strike.
“If that cunt hadn’t bled me dry, none of this would’ve fucking happened,” he hissed, eyes bulging and face red.
&nb
sp; It took me a second to realize the ugly word was being used to describe Rosie.
“She ruined fucking everything,” he continued. “You ruined it. Why did you leave me? I fucking loved you!” He was screaming now.
“Because you communicated your love with violence,” I said evenly, both surprised and proud at my even response. “That’s not love.”
He glared. “Oh, perfect fucking Polly is against violence,” he mocked. “But you didn’t have a problem in sending that cunt after me and taking everything I had.”
I stiffened. “I’m against violence, but I won’t stop her from committing it against you if you use that word to describe her again,” I said my voice chilly. “And she will find me. They all will. And at this point, they’re likely not going to listen to me when I tell them not to hurt you. And I’ll tell them that, despite you hitting me, chaining me to a bed and calling Rosie that vile word. Because you still have a chance to get out of this. But it’s getting smaller by the second. You know my family, Craig. You know my sister’s husband runs the most successful security company in the city, if not the state. You know they’ll find me.”
They’ll save me.
The damsel.
Again.
I pushed away the self-hatred that came with that thought.
The damsel was not all it was cracked up to be in fairy tales. In fact, that was the only place it belonged, in fiction. I needed to learn how to save myself. Which would, of course, start after I was inevitably rescued from this situation. I didn’t like my chances of escaping handcuffs. I would try, of course. But it was good to have a backup.
Because I was Polly.
And I screwed up.
Again.
Craig was scowling at me. “Yeah, I fucking know your family, I know that they meddled in our shit, they didn’t like me from the start. They’re what kept us apart.”
I was surprised at his delusion. Yes, he had shown himself to be an asshole, but I at least thought he was a lucid one. “No, Craig,” I said. “As I mentioned before, it was your fist in my face that kept us apart.”
He started pacing again. I guessed he wasn’t going to acknowledge or apologize for this. Not that I expected an apology. One didn’t kidnap his ex-wife if he planned on apologizing to her.
“It’s all fucked up now,” he muttered. “I need it, the money. I knew if I separated you from them that you’d give it to me.” He faced me, his expression now soft and kind and familiar.
This was the man I’d fallen in love with.
And he wasn’t even real.
Because he wore that expression like a mask that didn’t fit quite right. If you only glanced, not knowing any better—like I had before—then maybe you could be convinced. But upon closer inspection, you could see where it didn’t quite cover the hardness in his eyes, how it was a little too perfect to be genuine.
“But you,” he said, in that perfect soft voice that matched that perfect soft face. He stepped forward. “You, my kind little idiot, you will understand. You’ll give me the money back. Because you don’t want me to get hurt.”
He had made it to the side of the bed and was now gently caressing my face. His hand was soft and gentle over the throbbing bruise he’d created with that same hand.
I flinched inwardly, not able to physically do it because I was afraid of the quick transition from kind to cruel. I knew how fragile his hold on calm was. It was just a precursor to violence based upon my reactions.
“You don’t want me to get hurt, do you?” he asked sweetly.
He didn’t wait for me to answer and suddenly the grip on my face was no longer gentle, it tightened, and my throbbing eye screamed as the pads of his fingers pressed onto the damaged skin.
“And I know you don’t want to get hurt,” he continued, the false veil over his voice slipping. “Because the people that will hurt me will try to do it first by hurting my pretty wife who I love so very much. They will do horrible things to you.” His eyes roved over my body and it was now I realized that Heath’s tee had ridden up high on my hips. And that was the only thing I was wearing when I opened the door because I thought it was Heath, I’d hoped he’d find me wearing it and we’d pick right up where we left off.
Craig’s gaze told me he had something in the same vein in mind. But something that would be brutal, horrific, jarring against the beauty I had last night. It would pollute and taint every touch that was still a shadow on my skin, disappearing by the moment.
My stomach lurched with the gaze and the knowledge of how very helpless I was. Another horror I hadn’t imagined would happen to me became actualized with Craig’s leer. It was tangible. It was real. The brutal act had the possibility to become reality based on the actions and decisions of a man who hasn’t hesitated to hurt me in the past.
My physical wellbeing was now dependent on him. And my emotional wellbeing. Because if that leer became physical. I’d scar. I’d break. On the inside. And I wouldn’t heal like the bruise on my face. I could still recover if this was all it was. I wouldn’t be quite the same, but I’d recover. I’d still recognize myself when I looked in the mirror.
But there was a cold knowledge with the fact that if he did...that, then I wouldn’t be the same. That something would shift inside me and I would never be able to be the person I was before. That I wouldn’t even resemble her.
His eyes yanked themselves back up and I exhaled slightly, I wasn’t stupid enough to think the end of the stare would be the end of the possibility of rape.
“They will do unthinkable things,” he whispered, his other hand trailing lightly over the exposed skin of my leg. “Things that I used to do to you out of love. And you did love them, didn’t you?”
A cold sweat settled on my temples as his finger moved higher.
“You did,” he murmured. “You loved it.”
It wasn’t exactly true. The act itself was meant to communicate love, but it was only physical with Craig. With Heath, it was everything. Every cell in my body responded physically. And every facet of my being emotionally and physically.
Craig’s hand stopped moving and clenched the skin on my thigh roughly, painfully. “But you won’t love this,” he said, voice cold and cruel again. His eyes had that malicious grin that was becoming more and more common as his hold on his façade loosened. “I promise you that.”
Bile crept up my throat.
He let my thigh go.
His face cleared. “Of course I want to protect you. Because I still care for you. You’re such a gentle soul,” he said it like a threat. “So very breakable.” His hand relaxed on my face and the release of pressure was almost as painful as the grip itself. “I don’t want you to be broken. You don’t want to be broken, sullied, dirty, do you, Polly?”
I swallowed. “No,” I croaked.
“Good. It’s decided.”
He stood, and I sank into the bed as it sprung up with the release of his weight. But there was still an immovable weight on my chest.
I watched him move to a bag on the armchair by the window.
He pulled a laptop out, went to sit across from me on the other bed and opened it up.
The tapping of the keys echoed in the room.
I wondered if I’d be able to hear the tapping of laptop keys again and not be reminded of this moment. But that would be a blessing, I told myself. Because that would mean this moment was in the past and I was okay, whole in the future.
“I’ll need your bank login details,” he said, glancing up from the screen. “And then we can arrange the transfer.”
I blinked. “The transfer?” I repeated.
He sighed, long and exaggerated as if he were a tired parent dealing with a sullen child. “Yes, Polly,” he said. “The people I told you about, the ones who want to hurt you. They need money. Money I don’t have because your stupid fucking...” He stopped himself from saying the word that I guessed was his label for women he couldn’t control. “Because I lost it in the divorce,” he said aft
er a beat, his voice shaking from the effort it was taking him to keep it even and pleasant. “Now you don’t need that money. It’s one of the things I love about you. You’re so low maintenance.” He worded it like an insult. “So it’s not hurting anyone by transferring the money. In fact, it’s saving the hurt.”
The threat was painted in the air.
But he didn’t need to keep reminding me. It was carved into my bones.
“Okay,” I breathed. Then I rattled off my bank details without hesitation.
He was right.
It was only money.
What did I care?
Money was fluid. It wasn’t necessary. The abundance or lack of it wasn’t something that changed the core of who I was. But what would happen because of my abundance—I thought of Craig’s stare—that still might happen regardless, was something that would change the core of who I was.
I hoped it was as simple as money and then I could be released. Wouldn’t that be lovely?
There was more tapping.
A loaded pause as Craig’s eyes darted over the screen.
His face changed again.
It was scary, terrifying to see a person change so quickly from one identity to the other. Scarier too when it was someone you thought you loved, someone you once promised to love forever.
But there was only one person I’d love forever.
The man who I’d been forcing myself not to think of because if I did, I’d break down. Because we’d finally, finally, maybe gotten toward where we should be, after all the pain. And now there was this. I knew he’d know I was gone by now. And I knew it’d be torturing him. I thought I was done torturing him, inadvertently or otherwise.
But with love, and with me, it seemed, the torture was never done.
“Where’s the fucking rest of it, Polly?” Craig asked quietly.
“The rest?” I mimicked.
He looked up. His eyes were cold. “Yes, Polly. The fucking rest. I don’t want games. If you’ve hidden it, I’ll find it eventually. It’ll be the whole amount, but I can’t promise you will be quite as whole at the end. You had over three million dollars in the divorce, there’s fifty measly fucking grand in here, where the fuck is the rest of it?”