Stay (7 page)

It was the first time I had allowed myself to look at my face since I’d been taken. I had bruises on my face from being hit by Nate and Zane. My right eye was swollen a little on the outside. I knew I had bruises on my body, both from being beaten and from the trunk ride to wherever the hell we were.
 

“You have nice skin,” Rochelle told me. “It’ll be easy to work with.” She said it in such a way that it wasn’t a compliment. Before she started on my makeup, she brushed and blow dried my hair and set it in curlers. Then she spun me around so that I couldn’t see in the mirror anymore.
 

I flinched from the cold liquid foundation she smeared over my cheeks. If I had such nice skin, why did she feel the need to cover it all up? I rarely wore makeup at home. If I did, I focused mainly on my eyes, having fun playing with different colors of eye shadow and liners. I hated the way foundation felt caked onto my face.
 

“There,” she said, sounding satisfied. She had been working on me for what had to be at least half an hour. She took the curlers out of my hair, and after a while of fluffing and spraying enough hair spray to eat away a layer of the O-zone, she leaned back and pressed a smile, nodding as she admired her work.

I turned and looked in the mirror. My eyes were heavily outlined in silver and black. The bruises were gone, though my right eye still looked tender. Red blush on my cheeks made it look like I was permanently embarrassed, and the dark red lipstick was just … trashy. My hair was teased and was inches away from my head. It was coated in so much hair spray that it barely moved with me. Big, wavy curls cascaded around my face.

Suddenly, a smile cracked my face, and a snort of laughter escaped my lips.
 

“What?” Rochelle demanded.

I shook my head, the humor in my grossly stereotyped appearance quickly fading. Rochelle glared at me for a moment longer before waving me away. She hobbled to the rack of clothing and skimmed through the section of lingerie. She pulled a short, silky nightgown from its hanger. It was dark purple, with black lace outlining the top and bottom. My stomach churned when my fingers touched the shiny material.
 

“You’ll need this,” she mumbled and tossed me a push-up bra. “Your boobs are on the small side.” She shook her head and sighed. “Whatever. I’ll make it work. You should gain some weight.”

I held my arms close to my body, feeling very self-conscious. I was thin due to an over-active thyroid. Over the years, I had tried different medications but was unable to find something with a good balance so I just stopped taking the pills. I always had eaten more than enough, but I just couldn’t keep the weight on. It had been one of my number one pet peeves to be told I was lucky I was thin. I had a medical condition that took a toll on my body and my health. How lucky is that?
 

“Tonight you have Travis,” Rochelle began explaining. “Give him a good show. He likes to watch.”

My stomach clenched and the sting of sour vomit bubbled in my throat. I felt like my head was being shoved into a bucket of dirty water, and no matter how hard I struggled, I couldn’t get out, couldn’t take a breath.
 

“I don’t know any good shows,” I mumbled.

“What?” Rochelle asked and wrinkled her nose. “Well, you do now,” she went on, widening her eyes and giving me the girl-you’re-crazy stare. She shook her head and sighed. “Just follow his lead, do what he wants, and you’ll be fine.”

Nerves audibly grumbled through my intestines. I feared something was going to come out one end or the other. Yet I just stood there, my mind wanting to shut down and refuse to process what was going to happen. There was no way around it.

I was going to go upstairs. I was going to go into a room with a sick and twisted man who would force me to have sex with him.

Or I could refuse.
 

And that would get me severely beaten, if not killed. For a few seconds, dying seemed better than getting raped. I shook my head at the thought. I wasn’t going to give up. Today might not be my day for escaping, but it
would
come. It had to.

CHAPTER EIGHT

WHEN I EMERGED from the basement, I saw Jackson sitting at the island counter in the kitchen, blotting a napkin to a freshly cut lip. He smiled slightly when he saw me, his eyes flicking over my barely covered body before quickly looking at the ground. The beginning of a bruise circled his left eye. His body stiffened when I walked past, and that look of sorrowful disgust took over his face.
 

Zane was in the living room. Lily let go of my hand and hurried away, reminding me of a dog being greeted by its owner with a rolled up newspaper. His clear blue eyes slowly traced every inch of my body. He stood from the couch and motioned for me to come near. I slowly shook my head.

His face twitched and he strode over and slapped me. He grabbed my shoulders and pushed me up against the wall. “Learn your place,” he whispered with his lips inches from mine. His breath smelled like peppermint and was hot on my skin. Tears streaked down my face, no doubt messing up the raccoon-style makeup Rochelle had done for me. “It’s unattractive when you cry,” he leered. “Travis doesn’t like criers. Jim, however,” he said with a smirk, “he likes the fear.” A deep, throaty laugh bubbled from his mouth.
 

A buzzer echoed through the room, and Zane snapped his head to the front of the house. A few seconds later, headlights filled the living room. He grabbed my wrist and twisted my skin. “Get upstairs.” He pushed me forward and I stumbled into the dark oak staircase, my bare feet skidding uncomfortably on the polished hard wood. “First door on the right,” he instructed.

It took every ounce of energy I had to pick up my legs and walk to the top of the stairs. Like the rest of the house, the second level was decorated immaculately. The bedroom was no exception, though a mirror hung over the bed, and metal links were screwed into the wall.
 

My hands shook uncontrollably as I sank onto the mattress. Scented candles had been lit and scattered on the dresser. The powerful smell of cinnamon only added to the nausea. Candlelight flickered off the soft grey walls. The furniture was all white, as was the love seat across from the bed, the decorative frame around the mirror above the dresser, and the curtains. The bedspread boasted an intricate design of loops and swirls; the material was shiny and was different shades of grey.
 

I noticed screws above the metal links, and there was a faint outline of a perfect square around each one as if pictures normally hung in their place. I ground my teeth and let my head droop. A strange, foreign, drugged up part of my brain thought that lying in the bed sounded like a good idea. I was, after all, tired.

“No,” I said aloud. I wasn’t tired. I was drugged. I blinked and shook my head, trying to cast off the fog. It didn’t work, and the brilliant idea to hide popped into my head. I pushed myself off the bed and sank to my knees, prepared to duck under the bed.
 
I flattened myself to the floor and shimmied a few inches before I froze in fear.
 

The scream died in my throat. I pushed myself up and away so fast that I hit my head against the metal frame. Sobering pain jolted through me and I swallowed a gulp of air. Wide eyed, I moved away from the naked body that lay face down on the floor. Blonde hair spilled over her ivory skin. I scooted myself back and bumped into the dresser, knocking over a candle. The hot wax spilled across the dresser’s surface and splashed onto me. Tears bit at the corner of my eyes and I dove away, madly wiping the burning liquid off my skin.

Panting, I hugged my knees to my chest. I squeezed my eyes closed and thought about how little sense it made to hide a body under a bed. And then I wondered why the room didn’t smell like decay. Slowly, I lay back down on the floor and peered under the bed.

The girl’s body was rigid and her skin was tight. Too tight. I narrowed my eyes and moved my hand toward her. My fingers barely graced her arm when I realized she was a doll. A giant, life-sized, very realistic doll.
 

Sick.
 

I recoiled from the sex toy, feeling like I needed to wash my hands from just touching it. I wiped my fingers on the bedspread when the thought occurred to me. I flattened myself again and stuck my arms under the bed. I took a hold of the doll and yanked her out, surprised by how heavy it was. I hooked my arms under its armpits and hoisted it up onto the bed, struggling just a bit.
 

I hopped up on the bed and straddled the doll, fixing its hair and smoothing out the leather bra it was wearing. Then the door swung open.

“Oh!” a man said. “Warming up?”

My heart stopped beating, and my blood turned to ice. Red-hot fear coursed painfully through my frozen body. I looked over at the man I assumed was Travis. He was tall and overweight with a balding head of blonde hair. He was clean-shaven and tan and was wearing a brown suit with a moss green button up underneath, giving the impression that he was a businessman who just got off work.
 

He removed his suit jacket and smiled hungrily. “I like what I’m seeing,” he practically cooed. “Keep going.” He took off his collared shirt, revealing a well-done, yet creepy, tattoo on his neck of a black widow spider with vivid red eyes. I stared at it for a second, thinking it looked very out of place on someone dressed as professionally as him. He unbuckled his belt and stuck his hand down his pants, moaning as he rubbed himself. My stomach lurched, and I didn’t move; my fingers were still pressed against the doll’s silicon breasts. “Keep going,” he grumbled.

Transfixed in horror, it took me another second to look away. I heard his pants unzip and slide to the floor. Tears splashed onto the doll’s pasty skin. My breathing quickened as panic took over. The mattress sunk down as Travis got in the bed. He slipped one arm around me and pressed himself against me.

He smelled like body odor and fast food, and his breathing was hot and heavy on my neck. Another tear rolled down my face. I sucked in a sob, lip quivering. His hand moved from my stomach to between my legs. He pressed down hard and moved his fingers painfully fast, while still stroking himself. He grabbed my hand and yanked it back, forcing my fingers to wrap about his erection.

And then I threw up.

He shoved me forward, causing me to slip in my own vomit. “What the fuck?” he yelled. My body retched again. “What’s wrong with you?” He hurried off the bed and glared at me. “I specifically asked for no sick ones!”

“The rash is gone, so I thought I was better,” I blurted. My heart pounded and my head throbbed, though my stomach felt a tiny bit better.

His face wrinkled in disgust and he picked up his boxers. Hopping on one foot while he yanked them up, Travis snarled at me. “I didn’t pay for
this
.”
 

I just shook my head and looked at the vomit-covered doll. I wiped my hands on the bedspread and then wiped my mouth with my hand. Travis stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. I didn’t know what to do. Was he going to come back? I thought about making a run for it. Maybe the front door was unlocked since the house had clients in it. My foggy mind created the image of a perfectly manicured lawn for me to run through.
 

The springy, green grass would be covered in cool dew, and my bare feet would slip as I sprinted to the road. I’d have to climb over a fence that I was sure was stationed at the end of the driveway, and gravel and bits of broken pavement would jab into my heels as I made a desperate dash down the dark road. I would see headlights, and I’d run into the middle of the street, waving my arms like a crazy person. The car would pull over and I’d get in. We’d go straight to the police station, and everything would be okay.

The door opened. I wasn’t escaping, not today.

“What’s going on?” Zane demanded, his blue eyes narrowed with anger.

 
I swallowed hard and wished for a glass of water to wash the taste of barf from my mouth. My eyes flicked to the doll, then back to Zane. “I got sick,” I stated flatly.
 

“Why?” he demanded as if I did it on purpose.

“Rochelle gave me something,” I blurted, my mind still too hazy to make much sense of anything. “It made me sick.”

“What did she give you?”

“A little white pill.”

Zane’s face relaxed. He leaned against the door and crossed his arms. He really was good looking, and the black t-shirt he had on was tight across his chest, showing off his firm muscles. “Come here,” he said, his voice gentle.

A bubble of nerves popped inside me as I slid my feet off the bed and padded across the hardwood floor. I stopped in front of him.
 

Zane gently tucked a loose curl behind my ear. “Get some sleep,” he whispered, his eyes locking with mine.
 

I wasn’t sure if it was the drugs, but I thought I saw something almost gentle in his gaze. Zane took my hand in his, softly rubbing my palm with his thumb. It took me by surprise. Then I shook myself. Even drugged, it wasn’t going to work on me. I snatched my hand back.

Zane’s face darkened. His shoulders tensed, and he leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. I wobbled but held my ground. With a huff, Zane stormed past me, disappearing down the hall. I exited the room to find Jackson waiting in the hall, his eyes cast to the floor. He looked up at me for a split second before holding out his hand, beckoning me forward. I clung onto the railing as I wobbled down the stairs. Travis was in the living room, still only in his boxers, with a scowl on his face.

“Pathetic,” he said when he saw Jackson escorting me through the room.

I stopped in my tracks. “Me, pathetic?” I raised my eyebrows. “Says the guy who has to pay to get laid.”

Jackson gave me a slight push to get me walking again. He loudly cleared his throat, covering up a snort of laughter. “You shouldn’t talk like that,” he whispered when we walked into the kitchen. “You’ll get yourself hurt.”