by Voss, Deja
“I’m sorry,” he says. “Once we get to where we’re going I can have it changed back, but this was the only way I could lay low for a little while. We’ll have to get you a disguise too.”
“I thought they found you in Mexico, Arthur. This is quite the surprise.” I’m speaking as calmly as possible, trying not to let my voice waver, trying not to make any sudden movements. Something about him is so serene. I expected him to roll in angry, to want revenge like a normal human being. Instead, he’s smiling at me, scaring me even worse than if he was waving a gun in my face.
“And I thought you’d be happier to see me. It’s been so long, Sloan. I’ve been counting down the days.”
“I just… sorry…” I stumble for words. “I’m just not proper,” I tell him, motioning at the towel wrapped around my body. “Let me get dressed so we can catch up.”
This can’t be happening. This nut job definitely has the wrong impression, but that is typical of him. He always assumed he knew what was best for me, and if I didn’t fall into that role submissively, he had other ways of making me comply.
“You don’t have to be shy, Sloan. It’s me, love.” He moves in on me, planting a kiss on my cheek. I’m completely repulsed, my body rejecting anything he has to offer. I try to fight the look of disgust but my skin is crawling. If I can get us out of this windowless closet, I have a lot better chance of getting out of this situation unscathed.
“I know,” I say. I catch the gun bulging out of his waistband and I take a deep breath. “I just missed you so much, I’m kind of speechless. Can we go in the bedroom so I can get dressed?”
“You’re right. We’ll have plenty of time for all that on our honeymoon.”
I go into my empty bedroom, and grab a pair of boy shorts and a t-shirt for sleeping in that I had laid out on top of my duffle bag along with clothes for tomorrow.
“I’ve noticed over the past few weeks you’ve been getting rid of all your stuff. What’s going on? You moving or something?” he asks, wandering around the completely empty bedroom. All that’s left is my bag and a sleeping bag.
God, this timing couldn’t be any worse. I already told the only person who cares about me in this world that I’m leaving on a road trip for three months.
“I’m moving in with Olive,” I lie. “My lease runs out tomorrow. Most of my stuff is at her house.”
Where the hell did I leave my cellphone? There’s really not many options. Kitchen counters? Bathroom sink? Ever since the incident where it was stolen from me months ago, I’ve guarded that sucker like a hawk.
“So we have to move fast, then. That’s ok, I have everything you need here ready to go.” His blue eyes are staring right through me as I try to maneuver my clothes around under this towel. I don’t want this man seeing my body. He took it away from me once, and I’ll die before I let that happen again. “Our trip is all set up. Just gotta give you a little makeover.”
“Our trip?” I stutter.
Where did I leave my cellphone? My best option, my best chance at saving grace.
“Sloan, why are you acting so weird? I thought you wanted this. I got all your letters while I was in prison, about how you were sorry and that the police forced you to turn on me and how you were just scared. I knew it all along. I knew you would never do anything like that unless it was completely out of your control. I forgive you, Sloan! I know you got my replies. Are you drunk or something?” he asks, coming in closer and closer, wrapping his arms around me, kissing the top of my head.
I’m going to be sick. It takes everything in me to suck back the bile forming in my throat, to casually hug him back. His gun presses into my hip. I gulp and just let him play with my hair, let him enjoy the closeness to me that he feels so entitled to.
I’m really fucking confused.
I never once wrote him in prison, and I certainly never apologized to him.
“I know it took me a lot longer than I said it would, but I dreamed about this day from the moment I escaped. It was nine months of sheer torture knowing I just couldn’t come by and scoop you up in my arms and take you with me. But now, now everything is going to be ok! I have passports, IDs, the whole nine. Totally new identities for the both of us. It’s time for chapter two, Sloan.”
Fucking Officer Scott Brighton, corrupt asshole. It makes perfect sense that he would bait him here so he could scoop in and rescue me, looking like the hero cop. Unfortunately his stupid plan backfired and I’m face-to-face with this crazy asshole who is now brandishing a box of blonde hair dye and a pair of scissors.
“Arthur, I can’t use that dye,” I tell him, trying to buy some time. “My hair is damn near black. A box won’t work on me. It’ll take a month of trips to the salon to get me that color. Why don’t you just let me run out and grab a wig?”
He shakes his head, and for the first time in six years I see that look. The look that screams “You think you’re so smart”. It’s disappointment mixed with amusement. It’s enough to make the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
“Getting cold feet, are ya?” he sneers.
“No. I just know how much you like my hair. I don’t want to ruin it. What if it grows back all weird? What if it all falls out?”
“Let’s just try the dye and see what happens. Worst-case scenario, we’ll just chop it all off. You’ll be fine. Once we get across the border, you can do whatever you want. I just need to make this work.” He holds up a passport. Vivian Jordan. She looks like a nice girl, but only a little bit like me. This could work out to my advantage. There’s no way in hell I’m going to make it across the border with that ID. If all else fails, I just have to keep myself alive until then.
“Alright,” I agree. “Let’s do that.”
Dying my hair could potentially mean buying some time. Time to find my phone. Time to figure out what I can use as a weapon. Maybe if I leave it on long enough he’ll fall asleep. Or get hungry. I’m grasping at straws here, and I might end up bald, but I’m better off hairless than headless.
“The light is better in the kitchen, plus the sink is higher,” I insist, not wanting to go back into that dungeon of a bathroom with him. He has the upper hand. Gun, scissors, bottle of dye. I’ve seen what the creative fucker has managed to do with a teakettle and I imagine prison has probably only enhanced his ability to figure out ways to maim me with everyday objects.
“I’ll be honest, Sloan; I have no idea what I’m doing. What comes first? Cut or color?”
“I don’t know, Art,” I tell him. “I haven’t dyed my hair in years, and I usually just trim it myself while it’s wet.”
“I’ve always loved that about you,” he says, touching the small of my back. “You’re just a natural beauty. You don’t need anything to get a man’s attention. Love that about you, and hate that about you. I bet you’ve had a hard time keeping them off you while I’ve been gone.”
I just try my hardest not be visibly disgusted by his touch, even though everything in me wants to kick him in the balls and make a run for it. Not a horrible idea if that’s what it comes down to.
“You have been pure since I got locked up, haven’t you, Sloan?” he growls in my ear, cupping my chin in his face from behind.
“Of course,” I say.
“You promised you’d wait for me. I hope you kept your word.” He’s tracing his hand up my inner thigh, resting his fingers just below my crotch. “There’s ways I can find out if you haven’t been, you know.”
As a doctor, I can attest to the fact that that’s absolutely false, but I’m not going to try and wait around and see what kind of exam he plans on subjecting me to. I brush his hand aside.
“Sorry, I’m on my period,” I lie. It had always worked in the past for me. He’s a scary drug trafficking thug, but afraid of a little menstrual blood. Then he started monitoring my birth control and things got bad again.
“That’s ok, love. We don’t have time for that right now anyway.”
“Right,” I say, breat
hing a secret sigh of relief. “My hair. Let’s get my hair taken care of so we can get out of here. I think we should cut it first. I don’t think one box of dye will be enough for my whole head if I keep it this length.”
There’s not a chair for me to sit in, so I kneel on the floor in front of him while he takes his time butchering my locks with a pair of common household scissors. Just the sound of the chomping on my locks is mortifying.
Just keep him happy, just play pretend like you did all those years, I keep reminding myself. It’ll all be over soon. As soon as we leave this apartment, I can easily get away. I just need to go to my happy place, my place of freedom, and ride this wave as long as I need to. The clumps of my brown hair scatter across the floor and I can’t fight back the tears. It’s like a huge part of my identity is being stripped away from me.
“You think that’s enough, Art?” I ask him. “Once it dries, it’s gonna be a lot shorter.” He tousles it between his fingers and gives it a hard tug, wrenching my head back towards him.
“Why are you crying?” he growls.
“I’m just so happy, I guess.” God, it sounds ridiculous. Even he has to see right through that. But he doesn’t. He kisses me on the lips and I shudder. Trying to pretend like I want to kiss him back makes me want to throw up in my mouth.
“That’s my girl.” He smiles, his blue eyes clear and frightening, taking me right back to the place he used to keep me. That place where I just shut down and drifted along with whatever was happening. “Let’s get the dye mixed up.”
I nod and join him at the sink. He pulls his gun out of his waistband and makes sure I see that it’s just out of my reach, pointed right at me on the countertop. I help him put on the gloves and we follow the directions to mix up the platinum blonde dye. I have tried to go lighter in the past and it’s always resulted in some nasty washed-out bright orange. The more attention I can draw to myself the better when we do actually leave this apartment.
Chapter 38
Gavin
“You want me to come with you?” Olive asks, chasing me down the driveway.
“Nah, I think I’d rather lick my wounds alone when I get there and she tells me to fuck off,” I say.
“I’m really not sure what she’s going to tell you. Could go either way. But you are a good guy for doing this. Especially in the middle of your housewarming party.”
“It doesn’t feel right without her, Olive. You hang out here. Get my dad good and drunk so he’s passed out by the time we get back.”
“Gavin, you know I’m not going to be able to do that for the rest of you twos life together. You’re just gonna have to man up and tell him how it is. Nobody is going to try and stop you.”
I walk past my bike to the garage at the end of the road and she struggles to keep up.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m manning up, Olive,” I tell her. “If we’re going to make this work, we’re loading up the truck and she’s moving in tonight.” I can’t quite read the expression on her face but it isn’t what I expected.
“Maybe you should play that part by ear,” she suggests.
She’s right. This could go either way. It could go any way. But whatever happens is going to be the right way. I am going to do my best to sweep her off her feet, beg her to stay, and promise her the life I know I can offer her. It might not be much, but I will make sure that I will never do anything to intentionally hurt her.
“Good luck,” she says, hugging me. “I hope I get to see you both soon.”
“Thanks, Ollie. You look extra pretty tonight by the way. Trying to impress someone?”
“What, with this old rag?” she laughs, smoothing her slinky black strapless dress. “I’m just doing me.”
I hop into my big black truck, revving the engine and putting it in gear. I’m nervous as hell as I pull out of the driveway and start the long journey down the side of the hill.
* * *
Her car is still parked out front, and I’m relieved. The last time I was here was when everything started unraveling, and I still to this day want nothing more than to get those assholes Scott and Jarvis in a dark alley alone sometime.
I give myself a quick once-over in the rearview mirror. My beard’s a little excessive and the bags under my eyes are darker than ever, but I’m fairly certain that’s not going to be the deal breaker. The deal breaker is going to be the fact that I’ve ignored her and avoided her for nine months. I thought I was doing the right thing. Turns out, we both suffer from the same sort of condition: running from our problems, hiding out instead of facing things head on. The suffering I’ve felt is worse than anything I could’ve imagined, worse than anything my father could’ve brought down on me if I decided to work things out with her then and there.
Now’s my chance to make it right.
I knock on the door, softly at first. I can hear footsteps across the floor and what sounds like a man’s voice. I press my ear to it, trying to figure out what’s going on.
“I swear, Arthur, I wasn’t expecting anyone. You have my phone.”
There’s some soft murmurs that I can’t make out. I knock again, louder this time, more determined. Something is definitely not right. What could he possibly be doing here? Last I heard, they found him in Mexico and sent him back to federal prison. There’s no way he’d be here on her own volition.
I need to act fast. I try to come up with the most logical story I can fathom. She can either send me away or send me a message, but I have to make sure she knows I’m here to help her.
“Sloan, I know you’re in there!” I yell. “This is your landlord, Bill. I need to do an inspection so I can get you your security deposit back.” I hope she knows it’s me. I hope with all my heart that she recognizes my voice and knows I’m here to help her.
More murmurs and shuffling. My heart is pounding. I will break this fucking door down if I have to. My heart stops beating when I hear the door unlock. I don’t know who I’m going to be greeted with, but my pistol is loaded and ready to go.
She pulls the door open just far enough so that I can tell the security chain is still hooked. All I can see is an inch or two of her face, but the look of horror in her eyes tells me something bad is about to happen.
It hits me all at once how much I care about her, how stupid I was for ever letting her go. I don’t know what else is on the other side of that door, but now’s not the time to try and swoop in like some sort of blind idiot.
“Let me in, now,” I order.
Sloan
Holy shit. I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to rip open the door and throw my arms around him, but I have a gun trained to the back of my head, pressing into the base of my skull, so I’m going to have to be a little more discreet. I don’t know why Gavin is here, but I’ve never been so thankful to see someone in my entire life.
“Help,” I mouth silently.
“Sloan, will you please let me in?” he says from behind the crack in the door while keeping a little distance. “I need to make sure you made the repairs I asked you to so I can give you your security deposit back.”
God, he’s so smart. I hope he can read into what I’m about to say.
“I didn’t,” I say, seriously as possible, trying to sound convincing even with wide eyes and trembling hands. “I didn’t do the repairs. The fire escape is still broken from the last time I had to climb in the bedroom window when I locked myself out. Just keep it to cover the cost of the fire escape.”
I slam the door in his face.
“It was only two hundred bucks.” I shrug. “Not worth risking our covers. Now can you please stop with the damn gun?”
“I’m sorry,” he sighs, his hands trembling as he lowers the gun to his hip. “I guess I’m just so scared of losing you again.”
“So scared that you’re going to kill me?”
“If I have to, I will.” He shrugs casually. “Please don’t make me have to.”
I know he’s serious.
Most of my life with Arthur was waiting around for the day that he actually decided it was time for me to die. I had convinced myself I was already dead. I had nothing I really cared about, nothing I wanted to live for, I just drifted about. But now, after seeing Gavin, I realize I have so much to live for, so much that I care about in this world. My life is just getting started, and I’m not going down without a fight, even if it means sucking it up and trying not to gag while I make this monster in front of me think I’m in love with him.
I am trying not to blatantly stare at the bedroom window, trying not to draw attention to the fire escape that is actually in perfectly good condition, although I have had to use it multiple times to break in when I forgot my keys. Instead, I focus on the task at hand. I need to disarm him. I need to find something to keep him busy. As terrified as I am, there are two people’s lives at risk now, and if anything happens to Gavin by the hands of this asshole, I will never be able to live with myself.
“Do you think it’s been forty-five minutes?” I ask him. “We should probably try and get this stuff off my head before it burns my scalp.”I hope to God this is going to be enough to distract him. I say every prayer I can remember while he holds my head under the faucet, massaging the dye from my scalp.
“You were right,” he says disappointedly. “This didn’t work. Your hair is kind of orange.”
“Oh shit! Well wash it all the way out and we can try another round,” I say, motioning towards the half empty bottle on the counter.
And suddenly, there is he is. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch his tall dark figure through the bedroom door.