by Pamela Ann
All these questions swirled in my head, getting me angry at myself. How did I get on with life with nothing going for me? How had I let my fear of people cripple me?
This was all my fault. If I hadn’t refused therapy, if I had simply kept on trying to get better and hadn’t secluded myself from the world, I wouldn’t be so incompetent.
As much as I hated what Doug was doing to me, I hoped he was going to be okay. I still needed him.
+++
“Doug?” I had woken up from a loud slamming of a door.
I cocked my ears to listen for his footsteps, and when I didn’t hear any, worry settled in. After a couple seconds of contemplating, I decided to check if Doug was back and why he was back so early. Sliding of the bed, I groggily made my way out the door.
With my bare feet, I slowly walked down the stairs and went straight to the main door, peeking out the small side window to check if Doug’s truck was parked outside. True enough, his blue Explorer was there.
“Doug?”
Where is he?
I was starting to worry as I wandered into the kitchen. When I strode past it towards the living room, I finally found him sitting on the couch, staring into space, lost in thought. He looked strange, like he was scared, though at the same time, torn about something.
“Hey… You’re back,” I stammered, not sure if I should step away and let him be just in case he was having an awful night, or if I should go sit with him and wait until he was willing to talk about it.
“I had to be,” was all he said, which only kept me guessing.
My eyes checked for bruises or cuts, but I couldn’t find any.
“Did you eat?”
He shook his head, glancing my way. As those dark orbs found me, they looked empty. “We need to talk.”
It was past midnight. When someone said they needed to talk around that time of night, nothing ever good came out of it, most especially when it was coming from Doug.
Fidgeting, I was reluctant to go to him. I could sense that, whatever it was he was about to say, it had something to do with me. With Hunter. Those words he had parted from me with, “I’ll be back for you,” didn’t help the nauseating feeling I was having at the moment.
My breathing was choppy as I walked towards where Doug was waiting for me. My heartbeat accelerated the second I sat on the suede couch, afraid to glance at him, to hear what he was about to say.
“I owe money,” he started in a mere whisper. “A hell of a lotta money.”
How? I hadn’t seen him with anything new or flashy. How much money was he talking about here?
I was starting to become hopeful that this conversation wasn’t going to be about me, however the instant he opened his mouth again, he crushed the tiny bit of hope I had left.
“And I need you to pay these dues for me,” he finished saying, looking withdrawn. Yet his voice was succinct, sending chills down my spine.
My face fell, wondering what he truly meant by that. “Pay with what?” I had no money to speak of. Did Doug not know this? Of course he did, so that only left me with one answer. One I didn’t want to acknowledge or think about because it was beyond the thinkable.
The look he gave me was enough. It went from piercing into my own gaze before it wandered below, telling me exactly what he needed me to do. Doug was one thing; pleasing another man to pay his debts was taking it to a whole new level of toxic debauchery.
I stood, glaring at him with protest. “That’s not happening—” My hands were bunched up together, about to punch him, when he cut me off, looking like a man not to be crossed.
“He’ll fucking kill me!” he roared, looking like he was ready to choke the life out of me.
At that moment, I knew he probably was capable of doing so. But what he’d said, that Hunter was going to kill him, got my undivided attention. Was the guy that gave me the creeps yet managed to make me orgasm capable of killing this dead beat of an ass? Without a doubt.
Did I care if Doug died? I wouldn’t go to that extreme. I mean, I hated the man, but I didn’t wish him dead—for now. Besides, what good would he be to me dead? I would be left alone, with nothing to survive on, with no one to run to.
“Look,” he tried to grab my arm, meeting his eyes. “One night. It’s all he’s asking, then I’m clean.”
“How much are you in debt for?”
“Twenty grand.”
“What? How in the world did you manage to steal that much money from someone?”
“Not money. Drugs.”
The stuff that he’d been using on me was stolen crap? How stupid could you be to steal from drug dealers anyway? They wouldn’t bat an eyelash before killing someone.
“You’re fucking stupid! How could you get me into this? How could you even think for once that you—”
His palm lashed out, striking my cheek. “You’re going to do as I tell you! You’re fucking mine! Mine to say who you fuck. Mine to say who you talk to. Mine. Mine! Mine! So if I say, ‘go fuck Hunter,’ you go fucking fuck him, no questions.”
I sobbed in pain when his hand wrapped around my delicate neck, gripping, stopping my blood from flowing, cutting the air from my lungs as he slowly lifted me off the ground, looking like the evil, cruel person he was.
“Do we understand each other?” he asked in a hair-standing whisper.
Choking as I tried to unlatch his hand around my neck, my eyes were bulging out of my head. My tongue hung out as I tried to breathe. The more I wiggled around to get his hand off me, though, the harder it was to breathe.
“Do we fucking understand each other?” he asked again. I barely managed a nod, gasping for what little air my lungs could muster.
The small white stars started to appear. I blinked once, twice, before darkness embraced me.
Chapter 11
“Wake up, bitch!” Doug’s yelling, accompanied by his heavy-handed slap to my face, pulled me out of the darkness.
Resurfacing to consciousness was a strange experience. Anyone who had been knocked out, only to be woken up by being slapped hard while their attacker raped them, would feel all sorts of emotions.
Opening my eyes was a hardship. When I did, I wished I hadn’t. My eyes felt like they were glazed. Everything was a blur, even Doug’s face looked odd. Everything was in slow motion. My hearing was the same thing. Everything was amplified times ten. It felt like I was going deaf from my ears ringing, as if he had been yelling directly into my eardrums. Most of all, I felt drugged, though this time, I wasn’t sure what he had injected in me because I sure as hell hadn’t experienced anything like it.
Concentrating was difficult, but flashes of the conversation I’d had with him before he started choking the life out of me started to run through my mind.
Swallowing the heavy lump in my throat, I croaked out my plea, “Please, stop.”
“You gotta learn who’s the fucking boss in this house!” He slapped me again, yelling into my face, while his breathing became labored at the same time as he picked up his pace.
Doug was telling me something, but the more I concentrated on what he was yelling and screaming in my face, the deafer my ear went.
My eyes were barely open as I pleaded, “Please, stop… no more, Doug. Please.” I gasped for air. “No more.”
His demonic, cruel laugh rang in my ears. The hollow, high-pitched tone should have made me stop, but I kept on begging, saying it like it was a mantra.
It seemed, the more I said it, the angrier he became. His face was almost beet red before he landed another blow to the side of my head.
Maybe it was from the heavy blow, but his face seemed to be shifting, changing, to a man that looked like Bob, my stepfather.
The psychedelic change only made me more confused. When I tried to blink again, the Doug I had met for the very first time—the younger version—surfaced. The shift from older Doug to Bob then to a younger Doug kept on, giving me a disgusting hallucination.
When began to choke me for the se
cond time, my body didn’t fight to hold it together anymore; it gave out the moment my airways were blocked.
Darkness enveloped me, blanketed me with its warm embrace, cradling me like an infant that needed protection. It kept the dangers at bay so no one could reach me. Hurt me.
Darkness became my ally, my companion, while I tried to hide away from the ugliness of my reality. I wanted to bask in it, to stay in it for a while until my mother could find me again and protect me from all these abhorrent situations that had been laid out before me.
How long must I wait? The question spun about in my head, taunting me until my mind could no longer hold onto mocking me through my dreams.
A split second later, my own voice stopped and a familiar one came through, unleashing a heavy pain of longing before I saw him again.
“Ana?” My father’s voice came through the intercom in the basement where I was at the moment, painting what I remembered from our Easter egg hunt hours earlier.
“Yes, Daddy?”
“You okay down there, princess?”
I giggled, knowing my father was the best, better than the rest. “I’m a-o-kay, Dad. Busy painting. You’ll see when I’m done.”
“Can’t wait, sweetie. Don’t forget dinner’s in an hour.”
“Yup. One hour.”
My painting consisted of large, brown and white bunnies with different colorful eggs planted across the lawn. It was a sunny day with a clear sky in the horizon. The varied assortment of pastel colors on the eggs brightened the canvas.
Today had been a fun, exciting day for our family. It was one happy memory I wanted to always remember with my mom and dad.
Five past the hour mark, I scanned my artwork, pleased at the outcome. It was a hobby I had inherited from my father, one he’d taught me at a very young age. I knew my color wheel before I started learning my numbers.
Smiling as I placed my brushes aside, I scrambled to my feet and started my way upstairs where my father was waiting with dinner on the table. Mom had night shifts, as a result it was always dad and I sharing a meal together.
When I got to the door, the smell of a home cooked meal greeted my grumbling tummy. Dad was an amazing cook. When I said my father was the best, I meant it. So did my stomach. It pledged to whatever Dad made.
As always, Dad was seated at the head of the table, watching his news on a small portable screen while he waited for me to come out of hiding. Once he saw me approach him, he lowered his glasses, giving me that “you’re late” look.
“You’ll see why when I show it to you later,” I promised, hoping it would be a good enough excuse to get me out of trouble. Usually, whenever painting was involved, Dad always encouraged me to keep my spark going.
“Hmm,” he said, turning off his tiny screen as I pulled out my chair to join him. “What are you working on?” he asked in a serious tone, like I was a real painter. An adult, not the eight-year-old that had too many wishes and dreams.
I liked this about my father. He always took me seriously. He never failed to encourage me to follow what my heart wanted to pursue. Be it my one crazy year obsession with Barbies, planting vegetables in the garden, learning how to play the drums, or clipping rainbows from magazines; he continuously supported me just like a good father should.
So, for a good hour, we ate pasta as we chatted about what we would be doing next weekend. We liked to plan ahead, and this time, we agreed to go camping.
After dinner, I took his hand and dragged him with me downstairs. Giddy excitement rushed through me at the thought of showing him my latest piece.
Once we got to the bottom of the stairs, I quickly ran towards the canvas, standing next to it as I presented my art.
“Ta da!” I even went along with both arms wide, shaking my fingers to give added effect.
“Wow. Very pretty,” he said as he inspected it closely with a warm, proud smile pasted on his lips.
One thing I also liked about my dad was he never told me my work was bad, ugly, or any other harsh criticism.
“You’re getting better, princess.” He looked at me, eyes shining with pride. “You make beautiful art.”
We talked about what had inspired me to paint the picture before things became serious. Not only did his tone change, but his eyes portrayed something that made me really look at him and pay attention to what he was about to tell me.
“Life is not going to be as colorful as this,” he murmured as I watched him sit on the stool I had used earlier then inviting me to sit on his lap. He waited to continue until I was quietly seated, both of our attention on the recent work I had done. “There are times where it will you throw you into the gauntlet with no armor, with nothing to fight through it other than your will. Your perseverance. Your truth.”
“I don’t understand.” How could my painting make my dad so sad?
He kissed my head before messing my hair a bit. “One day, you’ll find out, and when that day comes, always remember to stay true to yourself.” His forefinger tapped on my chest where my heart lay beating a steady rhythm. “This will never fail you.”
I looked down at my chest, noting the obvious. “It’s my heart.”
“Don’t let it stop believing.”
Dad wasn’t making any sense, but most old people liked to talk about serious stuff—things I had no idea about, like this.
“If you say so, Daddy,” I sighed, glad this weird conversation about armor and truth was over.
“I know so, princess.”
Chapter 12
“Don’t you mess this up for me,” Doug murmured his warning, glancing towards me as we drove off to meet Hunter somewhere. He’d never mentioned where he was taking me, so I was in the dark.
There was a lot going on in my mind the second I woke up from being abused again by Doug. It felt like the fight in me was diminishing as the hours passed, draining me with nothing to hold on to. However, hearing my father’s voice and seeing him in my dream for the very first time since this had happened to me had given me a little courage to toughen up inside. Doug or any other man could only possess my body, but never my soul, my heart, and what I believed in. If I could cry, I would after seeing my father again. He’d made me feel that I wasn’t all alone, that he was there.
My mental state was on the verge of being shattered. Even though the drugs were taking up residence in my body and making me addicted to them, I wouldn’t let any of these circumstances take my identity away. After all, it was all I had left. Like people who were being held captive in wars and tortured by enemies, I had no other choice except to strengthen my determination and endurance, hoping tomorrow would bring freedom. I would fight until I couldn’t anymore, but unlike them, I had no one to free me, no one to bail me out of this ugliness.
And as for Hunter, I wasn’t sure what he wanted from me. Apart from the obvious—sex—I had no idea what I would be walking into once Doug handed me over for a weekend with his boss.
One thing that worried me was Georgie and her threats. Would she find out about this? What’s more, if she did, would it matter that I had been forced into the situation and hadn’t done it willingly? I had no attraction to Hunter whatsoever, but with Georgie’s crazy attitude, I could only hope for the best; that she wouldn’t go ballistic if she did find out. After all, she hung out wherever they went.
I just hoped that, whatever was going to happen, Hunter wouldn’t hurt or abuse me like Doug did when he was going off kilter. From what I could vaguely recall of my last encounter with him, he was gentle, caring almost. Of course, associating the word caring to a drug boss would be unseemly. Furthermore, if it did turn out ugly, all I could hope for was him injecting me with something to keep me from having to deal with the horror of what he was doing to me for his own pleasure. Then I could just let my mind float away, indifferent to the atrocities I had to endure.
When Doug exited the freeway after forty minutes of driving, my hands started to sweat.
Since we had left in a rush tha
t I merely shoved clothes in my bag without thought, I hadn’t had the chance to take some pain medication, subsequently my body was throbbing from Doug’s attack last night while both sides of my head hurt like hell. My neck was also sore from being choked too many times. And my thighs, God they were swollen from being stretched too much, I supposed. The bastard hadn’t even given me the opportunity to shower, so I had his scent all over me. Hopefully, if Hunter was nice enough, he’d let me shower in his place.
After a few turns, Doug started to slow down the car before he parked at a curb next to an old-looking house.
My heart was palpitating. I was tremendously afraid of what was to come with Hunter.
“Get out of the car and go ring the bell, knock, or something.”
Aghast, I stared at Doug, hoping he wasn’t serious. “You’re not coming with me?” This was his problem, he was handing me over to clean up his mess, and the fucker couldn’t even waste a minute to accompany me to the door?
“What the fuck for?” He shrugged, past caring. “Get the fuck out.”
I sat immobilized.
“Go!” he demanded again.
Timidly, I opened the door and started climbing out of his vehicle. Doug had no redeeming qualities left in him. He was simply cruel and nasty. He didn’t even have the decency to show he was grateful for whatever wretchedness I was about to embark on to get him debt free.
Once I stood on the concrete, my legs immediately became shaky. I was past nervous. Without looking back at Doug, I heard his car rush past me, driving like a maniac. Swallowing the heavy lump in my throat, I started walking slowly towards the driveway path leading to the front door, the loose gravel crunching against the weight of my foot.
Once I got to the door, I anxiously licked my lips, staring at the doorbell. But before I was about to press it, the door instantly opened, surprising me.
Hunter appeared, wearing an all black outfit. He was raising his eyebrow, staring straight into my eyes, waiting.