by Tara Hart
He turns to Leila. “None.”
He takes one step toward me and then another. His fist hits my face once and then twice.
“Fucking kill me already,” I shout at him. “Do it you pig.”
He bends down and looks me square in the face. His eyes are dark and his jaw is set. He barely looks like my father, much less a civilized human being. He resembles a wild dog about to kill its prey. I’m his prey.
“I thought about how I could hurt you, Callum.” His words carry so much hatred, so much contempt. “Sure, I could beat you with my own hand, but I thought physical pain was not punishment enough for you.”
He straightens his body, shoving his hands in his pockets he pulls out a pair of silver handcuffs. The metal rings loudly as he reaches for my free arm.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I fight against him, but with only one arm it’s useless.
He pulls my arm to the opposite side of the bed and cuffs it to the thin metal rail. “What the fuck,” I let out again. He smiles at me, an unsettling smile that makes me fear what’s to come.
He casually wanders to the head of the bed where Leila is huddled. I throw a glance over my shoulder, waiting for his next move. He reaches for Leila. She shrinks inwardly when he touches her. She looks so small, so helpless.
“I asked myself, what would make Callum feel,” he drags out the word feel, with so much emphasis on that four-letter word.
He traces a finger along Leila’s bare arm. Her whole body trembles and for a brief moment her gaze meets mine.
“What would make Callum regret ever double-crossing me?”
He raises his hand and snakes it around Leila’s neck, drawing her close before he slams his lips against hers. Leila fights against him, her body struggling to place some distance between them, but he’s too strong. He ends the kiss, pulling away while sucking her bottom lip into his mouth, biting the flesh before releasing it.
She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Blood smears her skin as it seeps from the inside of her bottom lip. I pull against my restraints, trying to free my arms so I can stop this scene from playing out, but they don’t budge.
He stands upright and lets out a loud, sickening laugh that echoes through the basement.
“I knew this would hurt you. I knew that me touching this little whore would be your ultimate punishment.” His words are laced with anger, a tone I know too well.
He takes a step away from the bed and I breathe a sigh of relief. Leila is safe, but instead of turning his attention back to me, he reaches for his belt. He unbuckles and lets his pants fall from his hips, the clasp of his belt ringing loudly against the floor.
“I don’t know why you like this little slut so much,” he seethes. “She’s not as good in bed as your Italian beauty, surely.”
Leila scurries to the other side of the bed, away from my father, her eyes wide with panic as if she knows what’s coming next.
He follows her, first with his gaze and then with his body, but there is little urgency in his movements. He looks like a man in control, a man who knows what he wants and exactly how to get it.
He grabs both of her ankles and yanks her to the edge of the bed. She lets out a cry as his fingers dig into her skin. In one swift movement, he rips her panties from her body and throws them to the floor.
He hovers over her, his breath fast and uneven, his gaze never leaving her body.
He runs his hand from her hipbone to the inside of her thigh. Leila instinctively clamps her legs shut causing him to raise his hand in the air and slap it against the side of her thigh.
“Don’t fight it,” he warns. “You know what happens when you fight it.”
Leila’s face falls to the side. Her eyes glaze over as tears fall freely from their depths.
“Don’t do this,” I plead. I pull against the rope that has my left arm pinned. The bed moves slightly, but the rope doesn’t provide much slack.
“Get ready for one hell of a show, Callum,” my father seethes. “This is your fault. Everything that happens from now on is your fault.”
He leans forward, trapping Leila’s body beneath his own. He doesn’t hesitate before driving inside her. An unbearable grunt escapes from the back of his throat with the first thrust. I can’t watch it. I have to look away, but I can still feel the bed shake as he pumps into her again and again.
He was right, he found a punishment that is worse than any beating. A punishment that will last long after it’s over.
I hear Leila’s pained cries muffle together with his grunts of pleasure. I shuffle my body forward, but I can still feel his thrusts reverberating through my arms.
“You feel that, Emmy?” my father grunts, using the name he once called my mother. “You feel that pain? That is what my son has caused you.”
“You’re a sick fuck,” I yell.
Leila cries out again, this time louder as the bed shakes violently behind me. I can’t look, but I know Leila is suffering. The air in the room is heavy, like a giant cloud is hovering above us.
He pumps into her again and again. Leila doesn’t make another sound and I don’t look at her. I can’t look at her.
He lets out a loud grunt as he grinds into her one last time. His release finally comes along with a disgusting sequence of moans.
He breathes loudly and for a moment it’s the only sound to fill the room.
I feel the bed move as he stands, pulling his pants up and fastening his belt.
He walks around the bed to look me square in the face. “That is your punishment. What happened to her is your fault.”
I don’t recognize him. This man isn’t even a shadow of the man I used to know. He purses his lips before he chuckles loudly. I can’t take much more. I’m breaking. I can feel it.
He takes a key from his pocket and throws it to Leila who is motionless on the bed.
“Maybe you can use the handcuffs on the little whore later,” he says before turning his back.
“Just fucking kill me,” I shout. “Grow some balls and kill me already.”
He turns at the foot of the stairs, his gaze holding mine with such intensity that I want to look away, but can’t.
“Killing you would be far too easy,” he says with such hatred that it sends a chill down my spine.
He ascends the stairs slowly, his feet announcing each step like a big fat exclamation point. He slams the door before securing the lock.
The basement is silent once again. I can’t bring myself to look at Leila. She’s crying. I can’t hear her sobs, but I can feel the bed shake as the tears silently fall.
“Leila,” I whisper, but she doesn’t answer. “Leila,” I say once more.
But all I hear is silence.
Chapter 30
Leila
I pick up the key and rush to Callum’s side.
“Leila,” he whispers.
I’m so close I can feel his breath hit my skin. I can’t handle how close he is. I shuffle my body along the floor to place some distance between us. Inserting the key in the lock, I turn it. The cuff falls from Callum’s wrist and bangs loudly against the bedpost.
“Leila.” He reaches for me, but I fall backwards, my ass hitting the floor with a thud. I scramble to stand as my feet wobble beneath me.
I meet his eyes long enough to see the sadness in them. He will never look at me in the same way again.
I rush to the bathroom. I hear him let out a gentle sigh behind me, but I don't turn back. I reach for the faucet and turn it to hot. It takes me two seconds to strip out of my clothes and step into the steaming alcove.
The water runs over me, but it’s as if it doesn’t touch my body. I scrub at my skin violently, but no matter how hard I wipe, I don’t feel clean. My skin turns red raw, both from the heat of the water and the aggressive attempts to scrub myself clean.
During my time here I can’t even guess how many times I’ve been raped, but this time it was different. This time he took something else from me,
something that I may never regain.
I fall to the floor as the water continues to pelt against me, this time my face taking the brunt of the spray.
My tears merge together with the water as the sobs threaten to erupt from within. I bite into my fist, stifling the cries I need so desperately to release. He cannot hear me cry.
I bring the loofah to my thighs and rub at the skin until my flesh is red and raw and I can no longer take the burn. I throw the cloth to the floor and summon the energy to stand.
Shutting off the water, I reach for a towel from the rack and gently wipe it over my body. As I dry the tiny beads of water from my skin fresh goose bumps take their place.
I risk a peek through the archway and spot Callum huddled on the floor like a dog. He has one cushion propping up his head. His eyes are closed and I assume he’s asleep. I breathe a sigh of relief.
Slipping on some fresh panties and an oversized t-shirt, I curl up on the sofa and force my eyes closed. I can’t sleep in my bed tonight. The smell reminds me of him. It reminds me of being raped in front of the man I care about more than any other.
I feel as though I’m dying from the inside out. I can feel the death ripping through my body at such a rate that it scares me. And yet, I don’t want to stop it, for this time, I hope death will save me.
Chapter 31
Callum
“Bring me a phone,” I yell. “Hand me your phone for two minutes, I beg you.” As usual, she places the tray of food at my feet without looking at my face.
“Fuck, Rosa, what do I have to do to make you talk to me?”
Without acknowledging me she goes about her business and then hurries upstairs. When I hear the door lock I let out a frustrated cry. “Fuck.”
I look at the tray she left behind, scrambled eggs with sausages, bacon and a croissant. It’s hardly peasant food, but the rope fastened around my wrist reminds me that I’m still in prison. The plastic cutlery telling me how much of a threat he thinks I am.
“She won’t talk to you,” I hear her say.
A voice has never sounded so sweet.
It’s been three days since Leila last spoke to me. Ever since my father raped her, she has remained mute. Each night she spends hours in the shower, literally, hours.
I assume she’s trying to wash the memory from her skin. I can hear her sobs from the bathroom, but I can’t check on her, my arm is still tied to the bedpost. Maybe it’s better this way. Maybe she needs to be alone. After all, there is no way I can take the pain away from her.
For the past two nights she has slept on the sofa, not her bed. I miss being close to her, but I understand why she’s avoiding this side of the room…and me. When she finally speaks, I welcome her words and can’t hide the smile from my face.
“She won’t help us, Callum,” she says.
Leila walks over to me cradling a cushion in her arms. She sets the cushion on the floor and sits next to me.
“Hey.” I try to act casual, but I can’t keep the enthusiasm from my voice. “How are you?” I ask the question and then instantly regret it. How do you think she is?
“I’m—I’m fine.” She chooses the word carefully, her lips lingering on those four simple letters.
My body aches all over from sleeping on the concrete for three nights straight, but if Leila wasn’t going to sleep on the bed then neither was I.
She surprises me when she reaches forward. Her hand lands behind me as she pulls a throw rug from the edge of the bed, laying it over our legs.
“It’s like camping,” she tells me.
Her hair falls over her face, shielding her eyes from me. I fight every impulse not to lean forward and tuck the loose strands behind her ear. As if reading my mind she brushes her fingers through her hair and flicks it over her shoulder.
“Are you going to eat?” she asks as she gestures toward the tray of food. “You haven’t eaten much lately.”
She’s right. I haven’t been eating much at all, my appetite diminishing with each day that passes.
“Hand me the tray.”
She passes me the full platter and I start shoveling the food into my mouth.
“It’s good to see you eating.” She smiles.
“This is nothing. Wait till you see me eat when I have two hands.”
I wink at her and she smiles again, crawling over to my arm that is tied to the bedpost.
She tries to loosen the rope, her fingers working on the knot, but it won’t shift.
“It’s too tight.”
I shrug my shoulders. “I know. It’s not going to come undone.”
She looks at me with a thoughtful expression on her face. “Have you ever wondered why he doesn’t tie me up?”
I swallow, giving myself a chance to think about her question. “Well, I guess he doesn’t see you as a threat.”
She looks confused.
“I might fight back,” I explain. “But he knows you won’t.”
Years of being locked down here have taught Leila there are boundaries. She’s learned that the hard way and something tells me I don’t know the half of it.
When my stomach can take no more I set the tray aside and down the remainder of my juice.
“Leila,” I murmur, but she interrupts me before I can continue.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she says, preempting my words.
“That’s okay.” I can handle that.
“Please just talk about something else. Anything that doesn’t remind me of being here.” The solemn expression on her face tells more than any amount of words can.
She scoots closer to me, leaning against the bed.
“Tell me about the beach where you’re from,” I say, letting my head fall against the bed frame.
“Maceió?”
I nod.
“What do you want to know?”
“Tell me what it’s like there, what the sand feels like under your feet, what the water feels like on your toes.”
She smiles. It’s the first genuine smile I’ve seen in days and it warms my insides. “It’s the most magical place. The water is warm and clear and it’s so pure and blue, like the color of your eyes.”
I glance at her. “My eyes?”
She’s embarrassed. The color of her cheeks a dead giveaway. She lets her head fall on my shoulder, resting it there as she continues speaking. I savor the moment, breathing her in subtly. She smells like spring.
“Do you miss it?” I ask. I want to keep her talking. After days of silence, her voice is what I need to hear. It gives me something to live for.
Her words come out at the tail end of a long exhale. “I miss the beach.”
“And you miss your home?”
“Yes.” There’s no hesitation. She responds without a second thought. I wish I experienced the same feeling when I was in Italy. I wish I had an undeniable desire to return to my American life, but the only thing I wanted was to get away from Sofia and the only way I could do that was by returning home.
Leila brings my attention back to her.
“My mother works at a resort in Maceió. Sometimes I would visit her at work. I would lie on the sun lounges and pretend I was a guest at the hotel. My mother didn’t like it, but I told her I could dream.”
I sense the sadness in her voice, when she mentions her mother.
“I can’t wait to visit,” I say.
She peeks up at me from under her lashes. “You will visit Maceió?”
“Of course,” I respond as if it’s a no-brainer. “Once we’re out of here you have to show me where you grew up.”
Leila bites on the corner of her lip. It causes my heart rate to hitch just from that one innocent gesture. Her lips are so beautiful, so kissable, reminding me of the night when our lips met and her body was pressed against mine. I feel myself getting hard just from the memory.
It shocks me when she closes the distance between us, her face just inches from mine. She moves to sit in front of me, her back resting against
my chest, the curve of her ass settling between my legs.
I struggle to breathe for the slightest moment, the unexpected contact surprising me. I wrap one arm around her middle and when she doesn’t shy away from my touch, I loop my other arm around her.
She tangles an elastic hair band in her fingers as she continues talking casually. “Why do you think he chose me?”
It takes me a moment to understand the question. Why did my father choose her? “I don’t know.”
She is silent for a second, her words teetering on the edge of her tongue before they tumble out of her mouth. “Do I look like your mother?”
I feel tears prick my eyes. The question startles me. My mother’s face pushed to the forefront of my mind. Her mousy brown hair framed her face effortlessly. Her lips forced into a smile, revealing perfect and unnaturally white teeth. Her skin was pale and her eyes sad. I’d never noticed that before, the sadness in her eyes.
I shake my head. “You are very different from her.”
“Then why me?” she asks.
I look down at her in my arms. Her deep brown hair swept over her shoulder, her pink lips pouting without her trying, her brown eyes looking up at me as they sweep over my face.
“Because you’re beautiful,” I say simply.
You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
“There’s nothing more to it?”
“Sometimes there isn’t. It’s purely about looks.”
She sighs and then flicks the hair band from her fingers shooting it across the room.
“Sometimes there isn’t,” she repeats the words and I wonder if she understands them. My father chose her and it wasn’t the other way around.
She turns at the waist to look at me. Her eyes are dark and her face serious. The way the subtle light hits her face makes her skin look much darker than normal and her eyes are no longer that chocolate brown color. They are darker and far more intense.
“The other night…” she starts, but I interrupt her.
“Don’t.” I press a finger to her lips.
I know exactly what night she’s referring to. That night hasn’t made me feel any different about her and she needs to know that.