HE DOESN’T VIOLATE ME AGAIN that night, and it’s a small solace.
The basement grows dark, so dark, shadowing everything around me. It takes a long time for my eyes to adjust enough to see Dean’s silhouette perched beside me against his pipe. It must be well past midnight, making it Monday—which means, if people haven’t already started questioning our
disappearance by now, they will. I rarely call in sick to work, and I certainly never no-show. It would be a huge red flag to staff and co-workers.
And Dean is a well-respected employee in the union doing road construction. He works first shift. People will definitely start asking questions when he doesn’t show up today.
Dean’s foot slides against the floor, pulling my gaze in his direction, despite the fact that I can’t really see him. I hear him sigh as he adjusts himself and tries to get comfortable.
“You awake?”
His voice is a comfort I didn’t know I needed. “Yeah.”
I roll the back of my head against the pole, back and forth, and tap my bare toes in opposite time. I slipped out of my heels when Earl brought me back downstairs after the bathroom break. The break was short-lived,
unfortunately—he shoved me into a tiny restroom with an oversized t-shirt that reeked of him, then ordered me to change. I climbed out of my shredded dress and replaced it with the white shirt, doing my business, brushing my teeth with a pink toothbrush he left out for me, and joining him
out in the hallway a few moments later. He handed me a turkey sandwich and a glass of water and told me I had three minutes to eat. He timed it.
Then he dragged me back down to the basement, cuffed me to the pole, and did the same thing with Dean.
He hasn’t been back since.
I squint my eyes through the shroud of darkness, trying to make out Dean’s outline. It looks like his legs are stretched out in front of him, facing me. I wonder if he can see me better than I can see him. I clear my throat, running my tongue along my upper lip. “I lied to you earlier,” I tell him, my voice ragged from crying, yelling, and lack of proper hydration.
Dean makes a low humming sound, then replies, “Which part?” “I wouldn’t rather be alone.”
There is a long pause. A resounding silence.
I nibble on the inside of my cheek, wondering if he’s ever going to respond. There is nothing to fix my eyes to, so I just stare off into the dark abyss and wait.
Dean eventually sighs. “The fact that he fed us and gave us water is a good sign. It means he’s going to keep us around for a little while.”
I glance in his general direction, taken off guard by the change of subject. I’m okay with it, though. I’d rather not dive into feelings and grudges and relationship history. I just wanted him to know that. For whatever reason… I wanted him to know.
I nod my head, even though he can’t see me. “I guess. But he’s still going to kill us—I’m sure of it.”
“Maybe. But we have at least a few days to figure something out. We need a plan.”
A plan. What sort of plan can we possibly put together down here, bound and restrained?
My mind wanders, and I can’t help but think about the last “plan” we concocted. My mother put us both in charge of Mandy’s twenty-eighth surprise birthday party two years ago. She wanted it to be special.
That was my mother’s first mistake: thinking anything special could come out of me and Dean Asher working together.
“What is it?”
I poke my chin up at the sound of his voice breaking through my reveries. “What do you mean?”
I think I see him shrug. “You got quiet. That usually means you’re deep in thought or piecing together a creative insult to throw at me.”
I look right at him, and I’m pretty sure we’re unabashedly staring at each other—but since I can’t say for certain, I don’t break away. “I was thinking about the mess we made of Mandy’s party a couple of years ago and how any plan we come up with can’t possibly go well.”
His laugh startles me because it’s real and genuine. I’m not expecting it. “You were definitely in charge of the invitations,” he informs me, as if
this argument hasn’t been dredged up a million times before now.
“Lies. You’ll never admit it, will you? I specifically put you in charge of invitations because you had more involvement with her social life. Plus, I was already in charge of the catering, cake, and DJ.”
“I had alcohol duty. I was clearly overwhelmed with responsibility and under a ton of stress.”
My eyebrows raise with skepticism.
“I still don’t understand why your mom wouldn’t just let us create a Facebook event like the rest of the world,” Dean finishes.
I groan and roll my eyes back. Even though no one showed up to the party because someone forgot to send out invitations, it was still a
memorable night of Chinese takeout and horror movies around the
fireplace. A nostalgic smile sweeps across my face. “At least she got to celebrate this year before…” My voice trails off as I look away. The
lighthearted atmosphere dissipates when the reality of our situation sinks back in. I pull my legs to my chest and press my cheek to my kneecaps. “I’m going to try and sleep. I have a feeling whatever is in store for me
tomorrow will mentally exhaust me.”
I shudder at the memory of Earl between my legs, stealing away my faith in humanity. I’m confident my light will be entirely snuffed out if there is ever an end to this persecution. There is no going back to my former self.
Dean whispers at me through the dark after my words leave a foreboding chill in the air. “Goodnight, Cora.”
My breath catches on the inhale. “Goodnight.” The minutes tick by. I count them.
Six minutes and thirty-five seconds.
It’s too quiet, which means my brain is loud and turbulent. It refuses to rest—and I don’t blame it, really. I swallow down my pride, burying my
face further into the valley between my knees. “Dean?” “Yeah?”
I wet my lips and close my eyes. I can’t believe I’m asking him this, but it’s easier to be vulnerable in the dark… and when you have nothing to lose. “Can you sing to me?”
My belly swims with nerves, and I wonder if my request is too intimate.
Too bold. Maybe I’m asking too much of someone who isn’t even my friend. But the sound of his voice, all gravel and grit, singing my favorite song, lulled me to sleep earlier, and I’m desperate for a few hours of peace. I need to dream myself out of this prison.
Dean is silent for a few heartbeats, and I’m worried he’s going to ignore me. Shut me down. I’m about to apologize, backtrack, tell him to forget
about it, but then he replies: “Any requests?”
A calming sensation washes over me and my body relaxes. “You can sing Hey Jude again if you want. It’s my favorite.”
“I know,” he says softly.
He knows? We’ve never discussed our favorite songs with each other before. I’ve never cared to know his favorite anything, and I assumed he felt the same way. But I suppose when you know someone for fifteen years, whether you like them or not, you’re bound to pick up on little things along the way.
When his voice infiltrates the darkness and fills the silence with rich music, I find myself drifting away almost instantly. It’s something familiar. Something beautiful. Something good I can latch onto, absorb, and get lost in. I hum the verses into my knees right along with him until sleep eventually takes over and whisks me someplace else.
I dream about the ocean again.
The water is lapping at my toes, pulling me in like a magnet. Beckoning me with its depth and mystery. Tempting me with its lifeforce.
I jump in.
And I swim away.
 |
Before I know it, a beam of light is caressing the side of my face and I begin to stir. My neck is stiff and sore, and I almost cry out in pain as I lift my head from my knees. I instinctively try to raise my hand and massage away the kink, but I’m denied the privilege when my cuffs catch against the pole—a sinister reminder of my predicament.
Of my hell.
I roll my neck from side to side, my eyelids peeling open to find Dean staring at me from his corner with the faintest smile touching his lips. I make a sour face. “Were you watching me sleep?”
His chains jingle when his shoulders shrug in reply. “I’m not exactly overwhelmed with better things to do,” he quips as that strange, little smile lingers.
It’s a curious thing to see given our situation. I don’t think I’m capable of smiling—not until my chains are lifted and I am free.
But… will I ever be free?
I shake away the depressing thoughts, stretching out my legs and straightening, then wincing when my muscles protest. The ground is cold and unforgiving beneath my bare legs, adding to the discomfort. I flick my eyes up to Dean. His smile has dissolved, but his gaze is still soft as he
watches me. “How did you sleep?” I ask him. I already know the answer, but I’m not sure what else to say—our assortment of conversation starters is fairly scarce.
Excited for your pee break today? Ready to watch me get sexually assaulted? How soon do you think they’ll find our bodies?
My own morbid thoughts make me cringe, so I swallow them down. “Not as good as you,” Dean says. There’s a distinct twinkle in his eyes
that matches the smile I already miss. “You were out like a light.” “I was drooling, wasn’t I?”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
I almost smile. Almost. Instead, I dip my chin, pursing my lips together as I stare at my shell pink toenails. Mandy and I had gotten pedicures after work on Friday to celebrate the weekend festivities. I realize that today is
her actual birthday. My sister will likely discover that her two favorite people in the world are missing… on her birthday.
Happy birthday, sis. I got you a Fitbit.
I wonder if Dean is reading my mind because he tilts his head to the side, studying me almost fondly. “She was excited for that ice cream cone today,” he tells me, and there is a whimsy to his voice.
Tears well and burn as I nibble on my lip. Mandy and I always celebrate our birthdays together with an ice cream cone at a downtown café. We do our secret handshake, take a selfie in front of the ice cream parlor, and eat our treats on the swings at a nearby park. It’s been tradition ever since we were children when our parents would take us. Mandy’s birthday is in November, so often times we are bundled up like Eskimos, getting strange looks from passersby as we sit on snow-covered swings.
But we love it.
And there’s nowhere else I’d rather be right now.
I wiggle my toes as the memories force a few silent tears down my cheeks. I brush them away with my shoulders and try to suck in a calming breath.
Dean is still watching me, taking in my emotions like a film. “You’ll get that ice cream cone. I promise you.”
I’m not sure why he’s being kind to me. It’s confusing and unsettling, and I don’t know how to respond to him like this. We’re designed to fight— swords of steel, heavy armor, and words that sting and draw blood. Letting my guard down feels an awful lot like surrender.
Unsure of what to say, I just offer him a scowl.
Dean lowers his eyes to the slate gray floor with mild defeat. When he glances back up to me, the twinkle is long gone, replaced by the
hopelessness that is hovering inside these four walls, closing in on us. “I’m
not your enemy down here, Corabelle.” His words carry an unfamiliar weight as they continue to disarm me.
“I don’t know how to see you as anything else,” I admit.
He stares at me, unwavering, daring me to look away. Then the twinkle reappears, and Dean replies, “Because it’s fun.”
“No.”
My defenses flare back to life and I’m grateful for that—because it’s easier.
Comfortable.
Not fun.
“You’re such a liar,” he persists. “And stubborn.”
I narrow my eyes at him, my molars grinding together in the way that they do when I’m preparing to rush into battle with Dean Asher. I cross my feet at the ankles and lean back against the pole. “You sure have a twisted
idea of fun,” I shoot back.
Dean runs his tongue along the roof of his mouth, breathing in deep as he prepares to take me down. I can almost feel his dagger poking at my chest. His head cocks to the side, his eyes blazing blue. “Remember when my buddy from college came into town to take me out for drinks? You told him I had a secret crush on him.”
Ah, crap.
“Then you slipped me fucking Viagra before we left and I had to hide my dick with a bar napkin the whole damn night. But I’m pretty sure he noticed because I haven’t heard from him since, and he deleted me on
Facebook.” Dean is watching my reaction like a hawk. “You can’t tell me you didn’t love that shit.”
Dammit. I completely give myself away when a smile creeps in, pulling at my lips. It’s my first smile in days. I’m not sure whether to be angry and
accusatory, or to keep on smiling.
But Dean already knows he’s won. “I rest my case.”
I turn my head to the side in an attempt to hide the evidence, but the damage is already done. He sees right through me.
We are interrupted when an ugly presence pervades us.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
Those boots stomp all over me before they even reach the bottom of the staircase. I rise to my feet as my heart thunders in my chest with resistance. I’m already shaking—quivering with fear. Dean stands slowly, his eyes still pinned on me, but missing the playful spark I had seen only seconds ago.
I want it back.
“Good morning, pets,” Earl greets us, wearing some kind of black work polo that stretches out over his large stomach, barely tucking into his pants. “How’s my kitten?” His dark eyes shift to Dean. “And the dirty dog.”
I swallow. “We want to go home.”
Raucous laughter erupts from his mouth, and I feel his spit mist my face.
I hold back a gag.
“You are home. I’m your master now,” Earl says once his laughter has ebbed. “Is kitten ready to play?”
No, no, no.
Earl loosens his belt buckle as he descends on me with a sickening, lust- filled gaze. I start inching away, kicking my legs, swinging my head back and forth in protest.
“You sick bastard… you’ll never get away with this,” Dean shouts, yanking his chains forward as the veins in his neck bulge and pulsate. “When I get out of here I will beat you into dogmeat if you lay another hand on her. I promise you that.”
Earl chuckles, unthreatened by the warning. “Don’t be jealous, doggie.
You’ll get your turn.”
What the hell? I jerk my head towards Dean, wondering if he is also going to be subject to Earl’s vile acts. Oh, God. The thought makes my stomach pitch.
“Do what you want to me. Leave her alone.”
Dean’s words only tighten the coil of unease in my gut. Why is this man throwing himself to the wolves for me?
He hates me. I hate him.
But I don’t have time to sort through the confusion because Earl is tugging up the hem of my t-shirt and fondling my bare breasts in his sweaty palms.
“No… please,” I whisper. My voice is weak, and my fight is futile. My body still rejects Earl’s advances as much as it can, but eventually I go limp and numb, my eyes searching for Dean.
Dean talks me through it like he did last time.
Look at me, Cora. Focus on me. Nothing else is real. It’s only me and you.
I sink underwater once more and let myself drown.
|
“I’m cold.”
The sun is setting and our only light source begins to eclipse. A chill has settled in my bones. I’m not sure if it’s the cold cement against my exposed skin or my reality stabbing into me like icicles, freezing my veins.
Both, I’m sure.
I’m lying against the pole, listless and paralyzed. The last forty-eight hours, along with all the long, foreboding hours to come, have taken their toll on me. I’m mentally drained.
And so, so cold.
Dean looks ashen and equally rundown, but he’s spent the entire day talking to me, telling me stories, and trying to lift my spirits. I find that my stone walls are crumbling in the presence of his alter-ego.
He casts his sympathetic eyes on me, trailing them along my naked legs.
The muscles in his jaw tick. “I meant what I said,” he says to me, his tone
low and hardened. “I’m getting us out of this. And I’m going to kill him for hurting you.”
I’m unsure of what to say to such a bold promise, so I force a tight smile that has no intention of reaching my eyes. “You really think we’re getting out of here?” I ask timidly.
“I know we are.”
I realize Dean has no way of knowing this and he’s only saying it to give me hope, but I let the words soak into all of my susceptible cracks and crevasses. I cling to them with everything I have left.
Before I can reply, I watch as Dean begins to kick off his shoes. One by one, he uses the toe of his left foot to shimmy out of the heel of his right.
Then vice versa. When his sneakers are removed, he slides them over to me with his sock-covered feet. “They probably smell like a gym locker, but
they’re warm. It should help a little.”
Our eyes catch and hold, a foreign tenderness traveling between us. I press my lips together, my gaze flickering between the shoes and Dean’s vulnerable expression.
He throws me a smile, just as tender, and I wonder how hard it was for him to produce such a thing at a time like this. “I’d give you my socks if I
thought you had a way of putting them on.”
Maybe this is what my sister has always seen in Dean.
“He’s not that bad, Cora. Just give him a chance. He’s a decent guy.”
I used to laugh in Mandy’s face because Dean never showed me his “decent” side. I never understood why.
“Because it’s fun.”
“It’s harmless, and it’s us.”
“You give it right back to me, Corabelle.”
“Thank you,” I say as the day turns to dusk and the sunlight abandons us. I fall asleep that evening, rattled and bewildered, beaten down and used.
But a tiny pocket of hope lingers inside me, buried deep, trying so hard to claw its way to the surface.
And, above all, I am warm.
