“Show me,” he says without needing to say anymore.
“It’s nothing.” I don’t want Cal to see the bruising on my body. Hell, I don’t want anyone to see the bruising on my body.
“Lucy, let me see.” Cal steps forward and takes both of my hands in his, gently, conveying to me that it’s okay.
You can do this, Lucy. It’s the first step.
I move my hands and pull the bottom of my shirt up, exposing my midriff, exposing the big bruises that cover me.
“Jesus,” Cal says on a breath, his eyes widening as he takes in the purple splotches on my skin. His hand reaches out, but I don’t flinch. His fingers lightly move over the bruising. I cry pitifully, embarrassed that he is seeing me this way.
“Turn around,” Cal whispers, and I do. He lifts my shirt a little higher, so it’s near my shoulders. I close my eyes, imagining how fucking weak he probably thinks that I am. His fingers continue to trace my skin, like he’s trying to soothe the pain.
Next thing I know, his arms wrap around me lightly, my back grazing his chest, his lips going beside my ear.
“Don’t let him think that you can’t win, Lucy. Don’t ever think that I am going to give up on you. I’ve loved you since we were kids, and I’ll love you until I take my last breath.” I let out a loud cry from his words, but he doesn’t stop talking. “One day, we’ll be sitting on our porch, holding hands, sipping our morning cup of coffee, together, in sync, and so fucking happy that it hurts in a good way.
“I never should have gone away, Lucy. I never should have left you, and I never should have been scared to tell you how much you mean to me.”
I turn in his arms, my eyes colliding with his, and I know that there is nothing but fucking truth in his words. This is Cal giving me his heart and soul, but I’m scared that mine is too damaged to accept what he’s saying.
“You are the strongest woman that I know. You can get through this, we can fight him together, and we can make sure that we nail his ass to the fucking wall.”
That hope that stirred in my chest when Cal first walked in here is now exploding like a firework inside of me.
“I know that you’re scared, I know that you think that you’ll never be free of him, but you will, Lucy. You will come out of this and be the fierce fucking female that I know you can be. You’ve been hurt and betrayed, you have doubted yourself and your ability, but that stops. Right here, right now, it stops.”
I nod my head at him, biting my lip, clinging desperately to what he is saying.
“We’re going to build a case against this asshole, we’ll have enough proof to make sure that he goes down for a long fucking time. I won’t stop until he’s locked away.”
I see the determination within him, I feel it and I want it. I want the same determination inside of me, and with Cal’s help, I can get there. He believes in me, so I have to start believing in myself.
“Okay,” I whisper.
“You ready to do this with me?”
With me. Not alone. Together.
“Yes.”
Cal smiles, the most beautiful, breathtaking smile that I have ever seen. With a renewed purpose, I don’t even bat an eyelid as he pulls his phone out of his pocket and clicks on his camera.
He needs pictures of my body. Evidence. Proof.
Can I really do this?
Can I risk this all going horribly wrong?
It turns out that I can as I undo my shirt and let it fall to the floor. Cal sucks in a breath and begins to photograph me. Every visible part of me that has been tainted by Michael is being captured on camera.
This is how I escape.
This is how I begin the end of my terrifying journey.
This is how I save myself.
Cal stops taking photos and puts his phone away. I pick up my shirt, put it back on and sit down in my chair. My hands are shaking, my body trembling, but I have a renewed hope inside of me.
Cal.
He’s giving me hope.
He’s showing me the light.
I see the pain in his beautiful royal-blue eyes, and I hate that he is hurting because of what I am going through.
“I know you, Lucy, and I know that you want more than these pictures as proof, but this will do something. These pictures will help the police see what you have been going through.
“Come with me now. Leave him. Let me look after you.”
His words cause tears to fall down my cheeks.
“I can’t, Cal… It’s not enough,” I say between my sobs.
“It is, Lucy, it is enough,” Cal urges.
“It’s not,” I say with a shake of my head. “I want him to suffer for a long time, not just for a few months.”
“You don’t know that it would just be for a few months––”
“Yes, I do. I’ve read up on cases like mine. I’ve read about how others live in fear because they only get to breathe a short sigh of relief, if they are lucky. I need to know that he isn’t going to be free after only a couple of months of being locked away, if he were to be locked away in the first place. I need him gone for a long time. I don’t want to always be looking over my shoulder, Cal.”
I probably sound ridiculous, but I’ve done my research. I’ve read enough to know that I need several incidents to get a conviction. It’s not fair, but then nothing about this situation is fair.
“But I will be right beside you. You won’t be alone,” Cal says, the desperation in his voice making me ache.
“You can’t be with me twenty-four-seven.”
“Don’t make me leave here knowing you have to go back with him,” Cal whispers, his hands finding their way to mine.
Statistics don’t lie. The cases I have read about show that most abusers get to walk away because so much evidence is needed. This is why I have to stay and get as much proof as I can. This is why I can’t just walk away now. This is why I have to endure more fucking pain, because the system is just as fucked as I am.
“Cal, I––”
“He’s coming,” I hear Kim shout as she bursts through the door.
“Fuck,” Cal says as he stands, his hands going to his hair, his fingers tugging the strands. He looks pissed off, whereas I am just fucking panicking.
“Go,” I whisper.
“Lucy,” Cal says as he comes back to me and hugs me gently. “I don’t want to go, but I know I have to because we’re out of time. Never forget that I love you, and I’m here. Always.”
“Quick,” Kim says, her eyes wide, the tension in the room ratcheting up a few more notches.
“I love you guys,” I say as I gently push Cal away from me.
“We love you too,” Kim says. “Now come on, he’s going to be coming in here any minute now.”
“Never forget,” Cal says before he disappears, Kim following him, and me waiting to face the music once more.
Chapter Twelve
Upping his game
The rest of the week goes by without incident.
Michael doesn’t hit me again.
The pain in my body starts to subside.
I haven’t seen Cal since the other day.
Kim doesn’t try to talk to me or acknowledge me.
The hope that I felt is slowly starting to diminish.
I’m worrying about the photographs that Cal took.
What if someone else sees them?
What if he loses his phone?
What if Michael finds out about them?
What if Cal decides that this is all too much for him?
What if, what if, what if.
The questions continue, and I have no answers to any of them. I never do.
I sit on the sofa with a cup of coffee whilst Michael takes a shower and gets ready for a night out. He is meeting an old friend for a drink, but I barely showed any interest, so he didn’t give me many details.
I couldn’t give a fuck what he does, I’m just glad that he is going out and leaving me here.
It is the firs
t time that I will have been in the apartment on my own for a long time, and with no way of contacting Cal, my only plans are to watch television and have an early night. I don’t want to be awake when Michael comes back here drunk.
Michael emerges from the bathroom and disappears into the bedroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, showing off his physique. It does absolutely nothing for me.
I busy myself by making a small salad and heating up some leftover quiche. I tidy up as I go along so as not to anger the fucking beast that I live with. I know full well that he will do a quick inspection of the kitchen area before he leaves. If I leave it messy then I’ll be in for it. I’ve made that mistake before, and it resulted in me being treated to a whole evening of mental torture about everything that was wrong with me. I don’t wish to experience that again any time soon.
I may be trying to numb myself to his scathing comments, but I’m only human and his words still have an effect on me.
“What do you think?” Michael asks as he enters the kitchen, holds his hands out to the sides and does a twirl. He’s wearing black suit trousers and a crisp white shirt, complete with black jacket and polished leather shoes.
“Nice,” is my only reply. I don’t have any interest in complimenting him.
“Nice? Can you not do any better than that?” he retorts, clearly put out by my bland response.
“What do you want me to say?” I reply with a shrug of my shoulders.
“Well, maybe you could show a bit of fucking interest in me? You know, be a bit more forthcoming.”
Sometimes I really do wonder whether Michael has a genuine mental illness. I mean, he can hardly expect me to fall at his feet after his abuse of me, can he?
“You look smart.” It’s the best that I can do, and even saying that makes me feel sick. I pick my plate of food up off the worktop and make my way over to the sofa, but Michael stops me, clearly having something else in mind.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he snarls, his anger at my refusal to douse him in adoration ratcheting up a notch.
“Nothing.”
“Then why are you so fucking ungrateful?”
Oh God, here we go again.
“I just want to eat my food, Michael.” Wrong thing to say as he seizes my plate and hurls it across the room. The plate connects with the wall and smashes into pieces, bits of china and food flying everywhere.
“Michael,” I say in shock, not knowing what he might do next.
“What?” he replies, abruptly.
“Why did you do that?”
“Your focus was not on me. Your focus should always be on ME!” He shouts the last word and I flinch. “I look after you and you can’t even give me a few minutes of your precious time to tell me that I look good?”
“I’m sorry,” I say, my go-to response.
“You’re always fucking sorry.” Spit flies into my face from each word. I want to wipe it away, scrub my skin to rid myself of him, but I don’t. I’ll wait until he has gone.
He grabs hold of my wrist and pulls me roughly towards the bedroom.
“Michael, please, you’re hurting me.” My words have no effect on him, I knew they wouldn’t, but the panic flowing through me led to me voicing them. When we enter the bedroom, he throws me on the bed. I try to sit up but before I can, Michael is on top of me, pining me down. He pulls something out of his trouser pocket and my eyes widen as he holds a pair of handcuffs in front of me. I struggle against him as realisation dawns on me that he is going to handcuff me to the bed.
He’s going to imprison me, so I don’t go anywhere.
“Please, Michael, you don’t need to do this, I’m not going anywhere.” I repeat the words over and over, but the sound of the cuff locking around my wrist signals that once again I’m losing.
Once again, I am the fucking puppet that he pulls the strings to.
My struggling comes to nothing as the first cuff locks around the headboard, and then he does the same to my other wrist.
“There. Perfect,” he comments as he takes in his handiwork. “Just making sure. You understand, don’t you, Lucy?”
I can’t look at him. This is a new low that I never thought possible.
“You haven’t earnt back my trust yet, and until you do, this is how it is going to be. I can’t run the risk of you thinking that you have wings, Lucy. You don’t get to fly.”
I can’t answer him. My mouth has become useless. I want to scream and shout, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing that.
“I don’t know how long I’ll be,” he says as he moves off of me and walks to the bedroom door. “Aren’t you going to tell me to have fun?”
My silence causes him to laugh as he shuts the door. I hear him leave the apartment a few minutes later, and only then do I allow my tears to fall.
Chapter Thirteen
Beg me
The only light in the room comes from the alarm clock on Michael’s bedside table. I have been staring at it for the last two hours, watching the minutes go by.
Michael went out at eight o’clock, and it’s now eleven-forty-two.
I have been handcuffed to the bed for nearly four hours. The first hour and a half was wasted away by me trying to get out of the fucking handcuffs, but all I achieved was cuts to my wrists. The metal bit into my skin as I tried to reach the beside tables to get something, anything that could possibly help me, but my position on the bed meant that I couldn’t reach, and Houdini I am not. I screamed, shouted, cried, but no one came to my rescue. I never expected them to, but the shouting helped to channel some anger outwards.
Once my throat started to hurt, I gave up. With no drink to soothe the soreness, I shut my mouth, laid on my side and watched the clock. My arms have gone numb from their position, but I don’t have the inclination or the energy to move. Michael has done some horrendous things to me but being handcuffed has made me feel more disrespected than anything else. I wouldn’t treat an animal like this, yet he thinks that it’s okay to do this to a human. And not just any human, but someone that he is supposed to love.
Deep down I think that he must hate me because he sure as hell can’t call this love.
Love means possession to Michael.
Possession and control.
Eleven-fifty-one. I hear the front door open. I hold my breath and listen intently. Footsteps walk towards the bedroom door. They stop outside for a few moments before the door swings open and the light from the hallway streams in. I blink rapidly as my eyes adjust and try to get rid of the stinging sensation.
“Well, well, still where I left you.” Michael chuckles as he walks over to the bed. I want to ask him where the fuck he thinks I would have gone, but I clamp my mouth shut. I thought that I despised him before, but now it’s on a whole other level.
He stops beside the bed and looks up and down my body, his eyes roaming, making me feel dirty.
“You know, you look so beautiful like this. At my mercy, waiting for me to come rescue you.”
He sounds so pleased with himself, whereas I just want to vomit from his words.
“Helpless, desirable, and mine. I may have to handcuff you to the bed more often.” He winks, and my blood runs cold at the thought.
He’s stepping his reign of terror up.
I guess the usual mental cruelty and beatings aren’t enough for him anymore.
“Do you want me to unlock the cuffs?”
I nod my head in response.
“I can’t hear you.” His voice booms around the room, echoing off the walls.
“Yes, please,” I say quietly, hating myself.
A deep, low rumble bubbles up from his chest. “You’re going to have to do better than that.” He smirks. I have no idea what he wants from me, but he soon enlightens me.
“Beg.”
“Beg?” I whisper.
“Yes.”
“Please, Michael, don’t do this.”
“That’s not begging, and unless you do it properly, you
won’t be moving from there.”
His eyes are cold, his tone icy. I swallow down the lump that has formed in my throat.
He wants me to beg.
Like a dog.
He’s breaking me.
Chipping away at my self-esteem.
Asserting his control.
“Clocks ticking, Lucy,” he says as he taps his wrist-watch to show me that I am on some sort of countdown.
I do as he asks, and I beg.
Whiny and pathetic.
He laughs.
I cry.
And when I think that he can’t humiliate me anymore, he tells me that my effort is weak, and he climbs into bed, promptly falling asleep. Hot tears spill down my cheeks as I sob silently.
I hate him, and I disgust myself.
Chapter Fourteen
I need you
“Lucy… Lucy, baby… Wake up…”
My eyes flutter open, squinting against the sunlight streaming through the window.
“Hey.” Michael’s voice is soft as he sits on the edge of the bed.
I feel dazed as I feel him reach across my body. Every urge within me wants to push him away, but when I hear the click of the handcuffs opening, I refrain from doing anything. One wrong move from me and he might decide to leave the fucking things on.
Michael gently removes the cuffs from around my wrists, so gentle it’s like he thinks that I might break, and I begin to cry. The pain as I try to move my arms is searing. Burning, aching pain.
I let my emotions overwhelm me as I sob for my plight. Michael tries to soothe me by telling me that it’s all okay as he rubs my wrists tenderly. I feel no relief. I feel nothing at all. He has brought me to a dark place, one that I am scared I will never escape from.
“I brought you some breakfast,” he says as he gestures to the bedside table where there is a plate of buttered toast and a mug of coffee.
Breakfast? He expects me to feel hungry after the night that I have just had?
I’m even more convinced that he is insane. At least there would be a reason for his fucked-up behaviour.
Taking Control (The Control Duet Book 2) Page 4