Breathe In Page 6

  “My arms are asleep. I can’t feel them and I can’t sit up. Please help.” I writhe helplessly until the blanket falls away, exposing most of my body.

  A gleam lights in Jake’s eyes. “You want to sit up? Fine, then sit up.” He reaches down and laces his thick fingers in my hair, yanking me into a sitting position. I yelp out as sharp agony sears through my crown, my hair straining at the roots. I’m so tired of this man pulling me around by my hair like a caveman. Blink back the tears. Focus.

  On the edge of the bed, I tip my chin up and hope for mercy. “I have to pee too. Can you untie me?” I really do have to pee and I’m hoping this will be my chance. If not now, then I may not get a chance at all. Time is not my friend right now.

  He bends at the waist and stares into my eyes. His breath hits my cheeks in hot waves. I’m surprised it doesn’t smell. I see green flecks in his shit-brown eyes. “I don’t give a damn if you have to pee. Piss yourself for all I care. Understood?”

  I steal a peek at Vance. He’s standing just behind Jake, staring at me intently. “Please?” I say to him.

  Jake’s flat palm strikes the side of my face and ear so hard that I fall to the right. My ear rings loudly. The vision in my left eye blurs. My face turns downward to the floor as I try to regain composure.

  He tips my head back sharply so that I’m staring into his face at an awkward angle. His expression twists in ugly anger. “Did you not hear what I said? You’re not getting out of these ropes, little girl. And don’t you dare ask again. Got it?”

  Nodding my head, I don’t risk another glance in Vance’s direction, but I know he’s watching, deliberating. I don’t know why, but he’s not one hundred percent on board with this fiasco. I wonder how he got himself into it in the first place. He’s not a nice guy, clearly. He has actively planned and executed my kidnapping, and plans to murder me. He has already killed Sheila Weaverton. Who knows how many others?

  Still…something in him resists this outright violence and torture. I must feed into that.

  “Stand up.”

  With shaky legs, I manage to stand upright. Jake doesn’t step back, so we’re practically chest to chest. I dare to look into his eyes again. I can practically see the gears in his mind running at full speed as he plans his next move. It’s clear that he’s flying by the seat of his pants, performing for the camera as he goes.

  He looks to the camera, then back at me. He grabs me by the shoulder and spins me a quarter turn so I’m facing my witness, its red light winking at me. Now standing to my side, Jake reaches up and flips down one side of my bra until my nipple is exposed. He gives it a flick. Then pinches it. I bite my lip, refusing to cry out. In response, he slaps at my breast, bouncing it up and down like a basketball. It’s more humiliating than painful, but I resist making any complaint.

  He cracks a wicked smile. “I’m the boss here, you got it?” Now both hands fondle my breasts. When I don’t answer immediately, he pinches both nipples simultaneously until I scream out and fall to my knees.

  “Stand back up!” he barks.

  Tears fall over my cheeks as I scramble back to my feet. I want to fight back. I need to fight back. I just don’t know how. How can I possibly fight this man? This situation? Why is this happening to me?

  When I’m on my feet he bends down until we’re face to face, practically nose to nose. I avoid his evil eyes and stare at the pocked acne scars on his cheeks. I can no longer see Vance in my peripheral vision and I wonder if he’s left the room or if he’s simply watching the show.

  “You have to piss, do ya?”

  I’m not sure if I want to answer the question. I shake my head, “No, I don’t have to go anymore.”

  “Sure you do. You’ve been here all day. Haven’t peed since you got here. Hey, Vance!” His voice bellows through the cabin.

  “Yeah?” Vance’s voice travels from the other room.

  “Bring that bucket in here. The one on the front porch.”

  “The bucket?”

  Jake rolls his eyes. “Just do it!”

  I tremble and wait for what’s to come.

  When Vance enters the room, Jake finally steps back. I turn to see Vance standing in the doorway with a blue five-gallon bucket dangling from his right hand.

  “Bring it here.”

  I know where this is going. I take a small step back, shaking my head. “I said I don’t have to go anymore. Please. I don’t have to go.”

  Ignoring my plea, Jake snags the bucket from Vance and sits it directly in front of me. “There. Piss in that.”

  Wrists burn. Deep bruises ache. Joints scream out in agony. None of it compares to the all-consuming mortification that engulfs me. “Please. I’m fine. I don’t have to go.”

  Jake’s eyes narrow, flashing their warning. “Are you really going to fight me on this?”

  I close my eyes and shake my head at him, knowing that I cannot win this fight. I must resign to the inevitable. When I open them, he stares at me triumphantly. Smug with his power.

  My lip trembles as he lunges forward and jerks my underwear down with one swift motion. Avoiding the gaze of my audience—Jake, Vance, the ever-present camera—I stare at the wall opposite me.

  “Now sit.” He kicks the bucket so it’s directly behind me.

  My knees shake. My bladder spasms in anticipation. I really do need to pee so badly. Bending at the knees, and then at the waist so that I’m squatting perfectly over the opening, I focus on balance. The muscles in my thighs complain. I haven’t eaten in over twenty-four hours and my body is weak. Despite having to go, my bladder holds on. I close my eyes and try to ignore the spectators. Hot, salty tears streak down my cheeks for the hundredth time since I’ve been here.

  Finally, my pelvic floor muscles relax and my bladder releases. Relief floods my system.

  “Now, turn and look at the camera while you go.”

  I stop mid-stream, my calves and thighs beginning to burn. Without looking at him, I take in a deep breath then turn and look at the camera. I stare into the glassy black lens, expressionless, dead inside, and finish my business.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Day two. I’m still alive but I’m beginning to wish for death. Everything hurts. Not a single cell of my body escapes the pain. Fortunately, the pain is only physical. Emotionally, I’m numb. Lifeless, spiritless. Maybe I’m already dead and I just don’t know it yet. I’m stuck in limbo between living and dying, where the body still suffers and feels pain. It’s a special kind of hell. I’m not going to survive this ordeal, so I can only wish for expedience at this point.

  I slept fitfully throughout the night, half expecting Jake to wander in at any moment to create another spontaneous scene for the camera. It’s clear that’s his only goal. Creating worthy material for his project. He never did come back into the room that night. Once I finished peeing, Vance asked Jake if he should feed me and Jake told him to make me wait another day. “It’ll break the last bit of fight in her,” he said.

  Seems to me that he’d want a little fight. It would add a little more drama. Then again, they don’t plan to keep me around all that much longer.

  As daylight returns, my thoughts stray. Dozing off and on, lids heavy, I lie on my mattress, huddled under the wool blanket. I wonder if anyone has noticed I’m gone. The wood on the ceiling looks rotten. Surely Terin has realized something is wrong by now. I ignore her texts often, so maybe not. Mashed potatoes. Chicken. I’m so hungry. Will they kill me today?

  The door to my room slowly eases open. As if in a dream, I turn my head and look at Vance through droopy lids. Are there two of him? I feel drugged but I know it’s just fatigue. A deep, deep exhaustion beyond anything I’ve ever known envelopes me.

  The smell of food tempts my nostrils, teasing me into full consciousness. Eyes flutter. Focus.

  “I brought you breakfast.”

  His tone is quiet and lacking emotion. It sounds deliberate.

  It takes everything I have, but I roll to my si
de, and leverage myself to a sitting position. The rope around my wrists rubs against yesterday’s scabs, tearing the crusty top layer away. It stings but I don’t care. All I can think about is food. The blanket has fallen off my shoulders and covers my lap while I sit in my bra. I still don’t care.

  Vance crouches in front of me, a plate of steaming scrambled eggs and a light brown piece of toast in his hand. I lick my dry, chapped lips in anticipation. My mouth pools with saliva.

  He looks at me, then at the plate, then back at me, contemplating how to move forward.

  “You can untie me.” My voice is foreign even to my own ears. Scratchy and hoarse, like a lifelong smoker. “I swear I won’t try anything.” I couldn’t if I wanted to.

  I watch him ponder my offer, one eyebrow cocked. He shakes his head. “No, I don’t think that’s a wise decision. I’ll feed you myself.”

  “Fine. Whatever.”

  Quietly, I let him shovel food into my mouth. I barely chew before swallowing, then opening for the next bite. He offers sips of water in between. Watching him, I gauge his mood. I still can’t figure him out. Jake is easy. He’s violent and unconscionable. A true sociopath. Vance. He’s on the wrong side of the law but seems to do it out of necessity rather than desire. He’s in the wrong profession.

  “What in the hell is this?”

  Vance startles and nearly drops the plate. With only half a plate of food gone, I’m still famished, but I glance in Jake’s direction. He stands in the doorway, hands on hips. A flash of fear passes through me. Is today the day?

  “I was just making sure she had a little food. You said she could eat today.” Vance stands up and faces Jake.

  “Well, that’s nice and all, but we ain’t making a children’s video. We need something a little more raw, a little more gripping, if you know what I mean. Jesus, Vance, gimme that damn plate.”

  Vance hands over the plate and steps away. My eyes follow the plate. I know Jake is going to make me work for it but I don’t care. Today is going to suck no matter what, and I’d prefer to have food in my belly rather than not at this point.

  “Look at me, woman!”

  Understanding the routine, I do as he says and follow orders diligently. When our eyes meet, I try to squelch the rising fear. I’d prefer to maintain the welcoming sense of numbness that had embraced me when I woke up.

  He bends at the waist and plops the plate on the floor in front of me, then straightens back to his full height and eyeballs me with a wicked sneer. “Now you may eat your breakfast.”

  My imagination scrolls through a variety of ways I can respond to this man. Most of them consist of screaming and clawing his eyes out. With hands secured behind my back, this option is not feasible. Nor would it end well for me.

  I decide I will make this as boring of a scene as possible for him. I will comply obediently. With my chin up, I scoot to the edge of the bed, then awkwardly maneuver to my knees. Like a dog, I hunch over and lap up the scrambled eggs, hands secured behind me. With shame constricting my throat, I force the food down in tasteless lumps. I cough and choke on a bite, but swallow it down persistently. I am determined not to cause a scene this time. That’s exactly what he wants.

  Sensing his frustration, I take the last bite and sit back on my haunches, afraid to look at him directly. I stare at the camera instead and wait for his response.

  I startle when he suddenly lets out a bellowing laugh. I look up at him, and though he’s laughing, his face is beet red. I’ve angered him. Fear triggers a cramping in my bowels and nausea rises. Too much food too fast.

  His hand snakes out and his fingers twist around the hair at the base of my neck. Blinding pain travels from the base of my neck through the center of my skull and settles just behind my eyeballs. I clamber to my feet only to release some of the tension.

  He wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me tight against him, as if we’re old pals. “Tough girl, eh?” He leans down, pressing his cheek to mine so that we’re both facing the camera as if posing for a photo. “All right then, tough girl. Let’s play rough.” He squeezes my shoulder tight, his thumbs digging into my flesh with a warning of what’s to come. What have I done? Why have I spurred this man’s anger further?

  He spins me until I’m facing the bed. “Go on and get on your knees.” When I don’t respond quick enough, he spins me around so I’m facing him and punches me hard in the gut. My diaphragm spasms. I let out a whoosh sound as all oxygen is forced out of my lungs and I bend at the waist, gasping for air. The food I’ve just ingested threatens to come back up.

  He doesn’t allow me to recover before he spins me back toward the bed. “I said, get on your knees,” he barks. “Leave the room, Vance. I want to be alone with her for a while.”

  Kneeling down, I look to Vance, still retching and desperate for air. He hesitates before he turns and walks out the door, shutting the door behind him. He’s left. Fear overwhelms my senses. I’m alone with this monster. I have no doubt he’ll rape me and God only knows what else, but I know it will involve pain. A great deal of it. I’m no longer numb or brave or determined to spite him. Tears find me again. I search the recesses of my brain for answers. Salvation. Anything.

  “Lay your head down on the bed.”

  I do as I’m told and bend at the waist, placing my head on the mattress. I make sure to keep my head turned away from the camera. My knees dig into the hard wood floors.

  Jake crouches down next to me, caressing one hand over my ass. I close my eyes in disgust. His hand draws back and then slaps my behind with one powerful swing. It stings down to the backs of my thighs. He spanks me over and over again until I lose count. With each slap, my body presses forward into the mattress, my ribs digging into the metal frame, knees scraping painfully against the wood in rhythm to my beating. I’m not sure when, but at some point I begin to whimper loudly between each assault. It’s almost musical.

  When he’s done, he pauses for what feels like forever. His breathing is quicker, shallower, and I know he’s aroused. With a quick jerk, he pulls me upright by my hair until I’m sitting on my haunches. My back is arched, and my neck juts out as I look to the ceiling.

  “You like that?” he asks. “I bet you do. I bet you like it rough, don’t you?”

  No words come to mind. I’m fearful of responding to him. I don’t know what he wants to hear.

  He shoves my face back on the bed, but this time he makes sure I’m turned toward the camera. His hand strokes over my ass again. The flesh stings hot and swollen. Pressing my lips together, I brace for the next wave of spankings. Instead, his hand roams up my back, then back down my spine. He hooks a finger under the hip of my panties and pulls them to my knees. Vulnerable and exposed, I automatically bring my knees together, clenching my thighs as tight as possible.

  He gives my ass one vicious slap. My muscles quiver in response. He laughs. “Slide those knees back out.”

  I shake my head.

  “No? You’re saying no?” Jake presses my head further into the mattress and shoves his hand between my thighs, tearing them apart. “There. Keep them like that. Don’t move.”

  Resisting the urge to slide them right back into place, I close my eyes tight and wait. Why can’t I fight back? How can I fight back?

  Jake rubs my ass cheeks, first the right, then the left. When he slides a finger into me, it’s more than I can bear. Revulsion fills my body. My stomach writhes like snakes low in my belly. I want to die. I’d rather die than experience this humiliation any longer.

  His breathing is faster now. He presses his fingers further inside me. My full bladder spasms. Desperate to stop him from going any further, I cling to a sudden idea. Blocking out the sensations of his fingers, the fact that I’m on my knees being assaulted in front of a camera, I take slow deep breaths and concentrate on releasing my bladder. Suddenly, hot, wet urine streams down my legs.

  “What the fuck?” Jake jerks his hand back and stands up.

  I roll over an
d sit on the floor, my breath coming in quick, shallow bursts as I stare up at him. I’m shocked at my own bravado. I’ve outsmarted him and it fills me with both fear and elation.

  I’ve peed all over him. It drips down his arm and has splattered all over his jeans and shoes. “You fucking bitch.” His face contorts as rage consumes him. I hunker down and hunch my shoulders, knowing that I will pay the price for what I’ve done. But at least he’s no longer inside me.

  Anticipating the next move, I try to duck out of the way when he kicks out. His foot connects with my temple. I swoon and topple over. Stars cloud my vision. A barrage of kicks strike me up and down the length of my body. Ribs crack. I roll to the side. Spine. Hips. Back of the head. Nothing goes unscathed as he kicks me over and over again. Just let me die.

  Vance swings the door open. “What in the hell, Jake?”

  The kicking stops abruptly. “She fucking pissed all over me. Can you believe that?”

  Everything hurts and throbs as I lay on my back, staring up at him through swollen eyes. Something drips down the back of my throat. I swallow. Tastes metallic. My mouth must be bleeding.

  “She hasn’t peed since yesterday,” Vance answers matter-of-factly.

  “Fuck you, Vance. I’m going to clean myself up. Why don’t you make yourself useful and clean the rest of this mess up. I’m done messing with this bitch. Let’s just get it done with.”

  My vision is blurred and my ears ring so loudly I feel like I might go mad. Still, I know this is it. I no longer have any time. I roll to my side and watch Jake storm out of the room. Several parts of my body and face throb in unison to the fast pace of my racing heart.

  Vance approaches and kneels in front of me, sizing up the damage. “Jesus, he made a mess of you, all right.”

  I dare to look him in the eye. He meets my gaze boldly. His jaw clenches. “Probably better this way. I’m tired of dragging this out. Best be done with it.”

  Hope leaves my body. He harbors no sympathy for me. He merely wants to be done with the whole ordeal so he can collect his money and move on. He’s his own kind of crazy. He stands and places his hands on his hips. “I’ll grab a towel to wipe up this mess.”