“Are you going?” a woman behind me asks.
I hurry into the cubicle, and I close the door behind me. I turn to face the toilet when a sudden stab of alarm and horror rips the breath from my lungs.
All I can smell is piss and vomit.
All I can feel are the four walls closing in on me.
My whole world tilts to the side and wave after wave of terror makes my heart hammer painfully.
I sink to the floor and scoot back on my ass until I hit the toilet. I squeeze my body into the small space between the toilet and wall, and I press my face into my knees.
“No,” I croak in fear. “They’re not here.” I keep saying the words over and over, trying to fight the nightmare that’s enveloping me in its tormenting claws.
Depraved and ruthless memories rip through me. I can’t fight them off, just like I couldn’t fight the men off.
I hear a loud bang, and I cover my head. I start to hyperventilate as I wait for the disgusting hands to claw at me, to rip me to shreds.
DAMIAN
I keep one eye on the toilets and the other on Jean.
“Who’s the girl?” Jean asks.
“Nobody.” I take a sip of my drink as I take a good look at Jean. She looks tired. It looks like this way of life is starting to catch up with her.
“So listen,” she says, and she moves closer to me. “There’s something I need your help with. Is it okay if I come by tomorrow?”
I’ve known Jean for a couple of years now. We fucked a couple of times, so she’s been to the house, but now Cara is living there too.
“Not to fuck,” she says, reading my mind. “I need your help with a problem. We need to talk where I know the walls don’t have ears.”
I never turn down work, and I can’t stop working just because Cara will be around. “Sure, stop by.”
Jean reaches out to me and gives my hand a squeeze. “Thanks.” She nods to the stage. “I gotta get back.”
She downs the rest of her beer and then makes her way through the crowd. My eyes go back to the toilets, and I frown. Cara’s been gone a couple of minutes.
I get up and make my way to the toilets. I don’t care what the women might think. I slam the door open and go in.
“Take a shit at home!” a woman hollers, and she slams a fist against one of the cubicles.
“Yeah, we all gotta piss!” another yell.
I scan the small space, but there’s no sign of Cara. Fuck. There are only two stalls. The one closest to me opens and a woman comes out.
“The bitch still in there?” she asks the woman who’s banging on the door.
“Yeah, the cunt thinks she can take her sweet motherfucking time!” the woman shouts, her face going red.
I stalk to the stall, and it’s only then the women notice me. “Hey, go get your dick sucked somewhere else!” I shove her out of the way, not caring where the fuck she goes, as long as it’s away from the door.
“Cara,” I call, but there’s no answer. I slam my shoulder into the door once, and the flimsy piece of wood gives way. I slam it all the way open, and then my heart sinks.
“Fuck, Cara,” I breathe.
She’s somehow wedged her body into the small space between the toilet and door. I rush in, wondering how the fuck I’m going to get her out.
I touch her jerking shoulder lightly, and it sets her off. She screams and rears back even further. Her arms swing out and her tiny fist connects with my chest. Her face is wet with tears and snot, and her breaths are strangled gulps.
I grab her face in both my hands and hold her steady. “Open your fucking eyes,” I bark at her, and they snap open. There’s no recognition in her eyes, only terror.
“Cara, it’s Damian,” I try a different tactic but it doesn’t seem to work.
Her eyes jump wildly around the small space, and the pain I see on her face eats at me like a fucking cancer.
“Cara,” I say in the neutral tone I used when I first found her, “you’re safe. I’ve got you.”
Two seconds pass before her eyes flick to my face. “Damian?” she squeezes my name out in a pathetic whimper.
“Come to me,” I say, my voice gentle.
She starts to struggle in the small space. Fuck only knows how she got herself in there. I grab her shoulders, and I yank hard to get her out. Rather the quick pain than another panic attack because she’s stuck.
She comes free, and with a broken cry, she slams into me. Her arms go around my neck, and she clings with all her might. I pick her up, and when I turn around, the women scatter back. I give them a dark glare. If they were men, I’d beat the shit out of them for what they did.
I stalk out of the toilets, and I don’t stop until I reach the car. I quickly unlock it and place Cara on the passenger seat. She doesn’t let go of my neck, and I have to pull her arms back. I put on her seatbelt and then close the door before I run to the driver’s side. I don’t care about speed limits as I race home.
My heart is pounding hard, and anger burns through my veins. I’m angry at myself for pushing her to go out. It was too soon. Fuck, I’m an idiot. I’ve just undone all the hard work of the past month.
I glance at her small frame where she’s curled up on the seat. Her whole body is jerking, and every few seconds a lost sob shudders from her.
All the rules I’ve lived by fly right out the window. None of them work for Cara. She’s not just another package. I don’t know what she is, but she’s not a job anymore.
CHAPTER 8
CARA
My head is pounding as hard as my heart. I feel drained of the little life I’ve managed to get back over the past few weeks.
I feel filthy.
Disgust swallows me in thick smutty swells.
I’ve been poisoned by their vulgarity and cruelty, and it’s killing me fast.
I’m not going to make it.
The car jerks to a stop, and it only takes seconds for Damian to open my door. He yanks the seatbelt off and then he pulls me out of the car. My body feels numb as he presses me to him. My arms hang lifelessly next to my sides while his are steel clamps that are holding me, so I don’t shatter to pieces.
“I’m sorry, Cara,” he whispers. When he picks me up, I’m thankful, because I can’t make my legs walk.
He moves fast and only once we’re in the house does he slow down. He kicks the door shut and then he sits down at the bottom of the stairs. He cradles me on his lap, and again, he holds me.
I rest my pounding head against his chest, and fresh tears warm my cheeks. It feels like I’m going to explode, but instead, my voice is empty when I whisper, “It never stops.”
“Come on. Let’s get you in bed,” he says. He gets up, never letting go of me. My tears wet his shirt, but I don’t care.
When he walks into my room, he doesn’t put the light on. The darkness is only broken by faint moonlight streaming in through the window. His movements are nothing like when he first found me. It doesn’t feel clinical anymore.
He sets me down on the side of the bed, and then he walks over to the cupboard. I watch him take something out and then he comes back.
“Shirt off,” he growls, but the bite is gone again, and it makes him sound caring.
I take hold of the hem, and I pause. Damian tilts his head. “Should I leave?”
I shake my head quickly and then strip the shirt off. He holds an old t-shirt out to me, and I grab it, quickly yanking it on. It falls to just above my knees.
“Are you going to sleep in the skirt and boots?” he asks.
I quickly strip the skirt off and then the boots. Standing in front of him in only a shirt and panties makes me feel way too vulnerable.
“Get in bed,” he commands softly. I sit down on the edge of the bed and then scoot back. When he takes off his shoes and socks, my heart all but stops.
I make a strangled sound, and somehow I manage to squeeze the words out. “You’re going to sleep by me?”
“Yeah, move ove
r.”
When his shirt is halfway off, my breath slams into my throat. Half of his chest is covered with the same tribal marking I’ve seen on his arm. I get a full view of him, and it looks like a claw is worked into the design coming from his shoulder and spreading over his chest as if it’s ripping his flesh off.
He throws the covers back and sits down. He stretches his legs out and places a pillow behind his back, and then he leans back against the wall.
I move back a little more, so there’s plenty of space between us. He stills when I move, and I glance at his face for the first time since we got home.
His eyes are dark on me. He reaches out, and then his fingers close around my arm. My stomach dips with uncertainty. “Come lie down, Cara. I’m just staying to make sure you’re okay. Come sleep.”
I inch a little closer and then lie down next to his side. I make sure we don’t touch as I curl into a small ball.
Seconds pass, and then he brushes some hair from my face. “Sleep. You’re safe.”
His hand disappears, but I keep my eyes wide open.
Minutes pass and not one of us breaks the silence. He doesn’t move, and soon my eyes grow heavy. I’m physically and emotionally drained.
I lose the fight against sleep, just like I’ve lost every other fight in my life.
I wake up in that exact position, but there’s something heavy on me. Somehow Damian has folded his body around mine. I lie with eyes wide open, not sure how I feel about this.
“How do you feel?” he mutters into my hair. He sounds a little angry.
“Okay,” I whisper.
He gets up and leaves the room in his silent manner. I quickly glance over my shoulder, and when I see the door is still open, I pull the covers over me and stretch my body out.
I finally drag myself out of bed around noon. I take a quick shower before I go down to the kitchen.
When I walk into the kitchen, Damian turns from where he’s standing by the back door. I feel his eyes on me.
Only when I’m done making myself some coffee do I hear him leave. Good, I need the silence. I can’t deal with anything right now.
The backdoor is still open, and I go sit on the top step. I sip at the coffee while my eyes scan the backyard.
Since I had the panic attack, it’s been harder to suppress the emotions. I keep smelling the piss and vomit. I keep hearing the lock being opened. I keep feeling them, not the punches and kicks – I feel their hands groping at me. I feel them inside of me, and it makes everything in me cringe with disgust.
I feel filthy.
At first, the sound doesn’t register. My heart rate spikes and the hair on my body rise slowly. The sound of the wheels crushing over the gravel outside finally registers. A car!
My legs move, and I run for the attic. I don’t knock and slam the door open.
“A car.” The words are only a gasp. “There’s a car.”
Damian pushes the chair back and gets up quickly. The chair keeps rolling for a couple of inches as he makes his way to me, and I take it all in – the maps on the walls, the laptop, the phones, the cabinets and then I see it – the camera and memory cards.
He brushes by me and closes the door. I don’t move as he goes down the stairs to see who’s here. I keep staring at the closed door. I hear him talking with someone.
I open the door again and go in. At first, I only stare at the three memory cards. My hand trembles as I reach for them. They’re marked from one to three.
I open the laptop and press any random button. The screen lights up, and then my blood turns to ice.
The screen is frozen on my face. There’s blood, so much blood. My eyes skip to the other person on the screen, and I see Steven’s revolting face. A strangled growl pushes its way up my throat as the darkness closes in on me.
“Shit, Cara!” I jump back as Damian moves in front of me, blocking my view of the screen. He slaps the laptop closed, and I watch his shoulders heave heavily as he breathes. “Why the hell did you do that?” he shouts. He never raises his voice at me – never.
I don’t think. I just turn and run.
I run from the room that holds my pain. I race down the stairs and keep going, straight out the front door.
Gravel crunches under my feet and then an arm grabs hold of me, yanking me back. I open my mouth to scream, but instead a broken cry is all that hurts my throat.
Damian takes me to the ground, and I fall flat on my ass. His arms clamp around me, and he yanks me back. The gravel scrapes at my hands.
“You don’t get to leave,’ he growls against my hair. I can feel his chest heaving against my arm. “You don’t get to leave me,” he repeats.
Sobs build up, and no matter how hard I fight, I can’t hold them back. They rip through me, and hot tears spill down my cheeks. My body sags against him, and I don’t even cover my face. For the first time, I let all the pain out, and I scream. It’s a horrible wailing sound that robs me of my breath.
He holds me until I calm down, and then he gets up and leaves me alone outside. I know he wants me to come back on my own… and I do because it’s the only place I’m safe.
I don’t know whose car is parked out front, so I keep my head down as I walk back into the house. I close the front door and race up the stairs to the safety of my room.
I stay in my room until I feel calmer. I can’t build my wall back up. It’s as if something has smashed it to smithereens. Everything feels raw and dark.
I can’t stay in the room any longer. The vile memories chase me to the bathroom, where I quickly splash some water on my face. I avoid looking in the mirror.
I walk to the stairs. For the first time since I’ve come here, I feel like a guest in his house.
I hear hushed tones drift up the stairs and I start my slow descend. I take a breath before I peek into the lounge. The singer from the bar is sitting on a couch with a man next to her. She’s crying.
“You know if I do this, there is no turning back,” Damian says to them. He’s not asking them, he’s clearly making a statement.
My first thought is that they will come and live here, too. The woman lifts her eyes and sees me. We only look at each other. She might be pretty as she smiles at me, but I can’t find it in my heart to like her. She’s a threat to me. She’s a threat to the small amount of peace I’ve come to know.
Damian’s head flicks in my direction, and he gets up. He takes a few steps in my direction before he stops. “Karen, this is Jean and her friend Shawn.” At first, I frown at Damian, but then I realize he’s calling me Karen, not Cara. He doesn’t want them to know who I am.
I give them a lame wave and mumble, “Would you like some coffee?” My insides feel all scrunched together.
“That would be nice, thank you,” Jean answers in a wavering voice.
I turn and leave so I don’t have to see them a second longer. I take my time making coffee. It’s something to keep myself busy with. I don’t have to think. I think spoons, cups, sugars, and coffee and then I buy myself even more time by taking one cup and a bottle of water first. I’ll have to go back for the other cup.
I place it down on the coffee table and walk out without looking at them, quickening my steps once I’m out of sight. I spill coffee on the tiles and place my cup down. I have to come back to clean it first. I take the other cup to the living room and place it on the table, and then I turn to leave.
“You’re not having any?” Jean asks.
“Kitchen,” I say. It’s what I’m thinking at that exact moment, that I have to get back to the kitchen. “It’s in the kitchen. I just need to go wipe up the floor. I spilled some.” The sentences come quickly as I retreat to the door, and as I turn, I bump my shoulder into the side of the wall. I bounce back, and I don’t even rub at my collarbone to ease the sting away. I just shoot past the damn wall to get to the kitchen.
I grab paper towels and drop to the floor. I wipe at the spilled coffee. I wipe even once it’s all gone. I keep wiping
until the paper starts to crumble into tiny pieces. I stop and stare at the mess.
“Get a grip on yourself,” I hiss. “Shit happens to the best of us.” I quickly pick up the pieces of tissue and pour the cold coffee down the drain. I straighten my spine and lift my chin. “And it will keep happening. It’s how you choose to deal with it that makes the difference,” I repeat the words Damian once told me.
They stay for dinner, and I warm up two extra frozen dinners. I don’t feel comfortable being in the same room as Shawn. He makes my skin crawl.
I take their plates to them, and then quickly go back to the kitchen to eat dinner.
“Can I help with the dishes?” Jean suddenly asks behind me, almost giving me a heart attack.
“No!” I say way too fast. Her face falls, and then she leaves. Shit, did I hurt her feelings?
I just don’t want to be around people. I don’t think it’s that I’m scared of people. I think I’ve lost my ability to like people.
I stand in my dark room and watch the car leave with great relief. I do a lot of standing at this window, but it’s the first time I have something to look at. I don’t want them to come back here, but I know I have no right to want that. I stare for long at the place where I last saw the tail lights disappear.
I feel him come into the room. I feel the dominance pouring from him, warning others in advance to not even try their luck.
“Why did you keep it?” I ask, not turning around.
“Evidence,” he says, and we’re back to the neutral tone.
“Evidence for what?” I push.
“Careful what you ask me,” he warns, and I swing around. He takes a step closer, and the air crackles between us.
“Don’t give me that crap, Damian!” My voice pitches. “You kept those memory cards of me being beaten and … and.” I can’t say it, and instead, I lunge at him. I slam both my hands flat against his chest. He doesn’t even flinch. “Did you watch them?” My voice climbs more, bordering on shrill.
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