Under Your Care

Chapter 14

Lane

Walking down the basement stairs of my childhood home felt like a death sentence. I used to love it down here, before him. It was a wide-open space, separated in two by a wooden staircase, carpeted, but with drab grey cement walls. The ceiling was all exposed beams and wires, yellow Christmas lights strung between each beam, creating a warm glow in the otherwise frigid room. My parents used it as both a storage area and a playspace. I always had toys scattered around the house and in my bedroom, but the basement is where they went when I grew tired or too old for them. We had a big, boxy, late 90s TV that sat in a dimly-lit corner of the basement, parked in front of an ugly green couch with cracked leather. I loved sitting down there for hours on end watching reruns and playing on our gaming console. As ugly as the couch was, sometimes it seem e d to be even more comfortable than my bed upstairs.

The basement used to be full of fun memories of playing with the other neighborhood kids and elementary school birthday parties. Now, it felt more like a torture chamber than a place to relax and be a kid. There were still reruns on the old TV, still the comfy yet heinous-looking couch, still the remnants of party streamers stuck to the ceiling beams. I hadn’t noticed those before, hence why they were still up there. But, you got a different perspective when you were laying on the basement carpet, eyes wandering across each beam, each tiny spider web that was hiding up there, each little scrap of paper - blue, yellow, pink, green, and orange. Focusing on the ceiling was easiest. Pretending that I was alone, that my parents weren’t in the living room directly above where I was laying. Sometimes, my eyes caught on the top of a mop of dirty blonde hair, before I quickly refocused my gaze to the ceiling. Sometimes, I wished I was blind so that even when he made me look, I wouldn’t have to see.

I heard his hand collide against my cheek. I felt it as my head was knocked to the side with the force of the hit.

“Lane, focus!” Tate sneered, grabbing me by my hair and yanking my head to face him. At age twenty, Tate was all long, gangly limbs and body acne. He was skin and bones compared to some of his friends, but to me, he was a snake - able to wrap himself around my fragile body and squeeze the life out of me. “Fucking idiot,” he commented under his breath. He drew himself up to a standing position before reaching into his gym bag on the couch.

He shoved a sweaty can of beer into my small hands. My body froze as I desperately hoped this wasn’t going to lead to what had happened the previous times he’d given me alcohol.

“Come on, chop chop. You got two of those to finish before Jason gets here in fifteen minutes.” Tate pulled me up into a seated position and placed the second can just in front of me. Tears quietly streamed down my face, every other salty drop mixing with the beer on my lips. When I gagged from the awful taste, Tate hit the side of my head with the back of his hand, scolding me. “What, you want to do this sober, fag?”

My sad eyes dimmed of all light as I shook my head and began chugging the stale liquid down my throat. I sucked in a sob as he opened the second can, handing it to me to drink. My thoughts swirled inside my head as swallow after swallow went down, wondering if - at ten months into this living hell - it’d be better to just end it all.

Jolting awake, I began to run to the bathroom of my shitty motel room before my eyes were even open. I made it just in time, throwing up and then dry-heaving into the frigid toilet bowl. Tears welled up at the corners of my eyes. As I felt Chloe’s furry head butt into my hip, I choked out a sad laugh. I hadn’t had a nightmare about back then since I began living with Greyson. It probably shouldn’t have been a surprise that I had one during the first night on my own. The further I got from Greyson, the more I regretted my hastily-made decision to run.

I was exhausted, scared, sore from sitting in uncomfortable public bus seats all day, and missing my Daddy with my entire being. I was frustrated at myself for letting Oliver’s words affect me so much. I hadn’t really cared about Greyson’s methods of courting me - not sure how else to describe it - until Oliver had come in convinced that I was being abused. I scoffed, tugging at my hair, mad at myself for letting my big emotions - as Greyson would put it - control me. I was deeply familiar with abuse, and while Greyson was obsessive and possessive, he was the most thoughtful and caring partner I had ever known.

And I knew that most boyfriends didn’t drug you and blah, blah, blah, but I also knew that most boyfriends didn’t have a binder full of your likes and dislikes and your cat’s likes and dislikes. Most boyfriends didn’t bathe you, regularly bringing home bath products of all kinds for me to try. Most boyfriends didn’t meticulously design your dream bedroom, didn’t stroke your hair until you fell asleep, didn’t take off work to make sure I had someone to eat my meals with.

But as I thought about it, laying on the chilled bathroom floor, Chloe perched on the now closed toilet lid, I realized that Greyson wasn’t my boyfriend. Greyson was my everything. More than my everything. Greyson was my soulmate, made as perfectly for me as I was for him. There would never be another man remotely capable of understanding me like him. Chloe stared down at me, the look in her eyes saying, “I told you so.”

I decided then that in the morning, I would borrow the front desk’s phone, and beg Greyson to come and take me home. I wrinkled my nose as I thought about how he would hopefully be able to excuse my day-long tantrum.

Knock, knock.

I frowned at Chloe, wondering if Greyson perhaps had long-distance mind reading skills. As the rapping at the motel room’s door continued, I felt a slither of fear down my spine. It probably wasn’t actually Greyson, so then who the hell was it? I took a lungful of air, rationally thinking how it could be someone at the wrong room’s door. I’d simply open up, explain, then get back to bed. Still - just in case - I shut Chloe into the small bathroom as I stood and walked nervously across the room to the door. I quickly peeked through the peephole, seeing the manager who had checked me in. I shrugged, taking a glance over to the alarm clock on the bedside table. 3:52 a.m. My gut churned, but I tried to ignore it. Maybe he had a perfectly acceptable reason for knocking at this hour.

Hopefully.

I slowly unlocked the door, cracking it open just enough for him to see my head. The man looked greasy. Not just his hair - he looked greasy. As I peered through the opening, his face lit up with a smarmy, too-wide smile. He looked like a homeless, old-school porn director, mustache and clothes included - not that I’d ever actually say that aloud.

“Hi there! I’m so sorry to come knocking. Did I wake you up?” He spoke like he was talking to a child, his voice high-pitched and way too happy for this time of night. I looked at his name tag pinned to his stained Hawaiian shirt which declared him Richard.

“Uh, no - not really. Is there something wrong with my payment or something?” I questioned, not liking one bit that he had placed one of his hands on the doorframe.

He continued smiling as he said, “Yes, I’m sorry but your card declined. I’ll need to collect another form of payment if you want to stay here tonight. ”

“Wouldn’t my card have declined when I paid earlier? I don’t think it does that hours later.” My anxiety jumped as he shoved a foot in the door before I could fully close it. I started to tremble but tried to keep my voice calm. “Please take your foot out. I can check on my bank app, but I’d need to shut the door to go get my phone. If there is an issue, then I can give you another card.”

“But what if you lock me out once you’re all alone in there? Just let me come in and we can get it all figured out, okay?” Richard used his body weight to push his way into the room.

“Get out or I’m going to call the police,” I warned, cringing at the wobbly quality in my voice.

Richard raised his hands up in a placating way, palms facing me. I inched backwards towards the bathroom, silently begging for Chloe to remain quiet. I reprimanded myself in my head for leaving my cell phone at Greyson’s apartment. I had no way of calling for help since there wasn’t a landline in the room. Richard had closed and locked the door once he’d forced himself in. It seemed obvious what he was after, but I prayed that this was all a misunderstanding or another nightmare. He began to step closer and closer to me, until I was backed up against the room’s kitchenette. I dug my fingernails into my palms, desperately trying to brainstorm how to get out of this situation. I reached one of my hands backwards, fumbling clumsily on the small counter. Richard pressed his body into mine, grinding his erection against me. I would have vomited if I hadn’t already expelled all of my stomach contents into the toilet earlier. I continued to urgently feel around on the countertop behind me, hoping for something I could hit him with.

My chest constricted with a nauseating mix of fear and disgust. Richard’s body odor permeated the air, and I felt like his grease was soiling my clothes as he rubbed against me.

Richard must have mistaken my quietness for submission, as he creepily whispered in my ear. “See? It’s not so bad. Just let me use that tight ass and I’ll forget all about payment for four - no - five nights.”

My jaw locked up as he slid one of his hairy hands down the back of my pants. My vision fogged over the same way it used to when Tate would touch me. Just as I had decided to give up, my fingers brushed against something cool to the touch. I felt around the object and realized what it was - a knife. Maybe I could just stab his arm or something and he’d leave? I couldn’t go to prison for murder.

Fuck.

Clearing my throat, I drew the knife as close as possible to me, and purred, “Five nights? Yeah, okay. Let’s do it, big man.” Richard’s hand paused just before reaching my crease, squeezing my cheek roughly as he grinned ear-to-ear.

“Knew you would come around. I mean, just look at ya! I bet you can’t resist getting dicked down, huh?” I relaxed my face as much as I possibly could before tilting my head just so and looking up at him through my lashes. “No man has a right to be this pretty,” he quipped, removing his disgusting hand from my pants in favor of sliding underneath my shirt.

With my low back now free, I carefully slid the knife into my pants, the handle held in place by the waistband. Once it was secure enough, I brought both of my hands up to wrap my arms loosely around his neck, gritting my teeth as I molded myself to his body. Richard groaned as I nuzzled my head on his shoulder and began to suck kisses into his sweat-covered neck.

“I’ll show you the ride of your life, mister,” I sweetly whispered into his ear before nipping at the lobe. “Lay down on the bed,” I coaxed.

“Fuck yeah, baby. You gonna take Daddy’s dick like a champ?” Richard panted, falling onto his back on the bed. He quickly undid his belt and shoved his cargo shorts and boxers down to expose himself. Anger fueled me, overriding the fear, because how dare he call himself Daddy! Still, I needed to act the part for just a minute longer.

I inwardly shuddered with revulsion as I crooned, “Yes, Daddy.” I was going to need my real Daddy to wash my mouth out with soap after all of this. I seductively crawled onto the mattress, hips swaying, before straddling Richard’s lap. “Let me just get ready for you,” I said as I reached into the back of my pants as if to finger myself open. Instead, I clamped my legs around his own as I brandished the kitchen knife and brought it down into the meat of his shoulder. Richard looked at the bloody knife in his shoulder with shock.

“What the fuck?” He shouted, beginning to thrash in an attempt to throw me off. I pulled the knife out, listening to the slick sound of bloody muscle and skin against metal. Richard was bucking his hips and scrabbling at me with his unwounded arm. He managed to get a punch in on my bicep. I grunted, thrusting the knife into his forearm, pleased that now both of his arms were bleeding. “Fuck! Get the fuck off of me you fucking psycho fag!”

Oh, I guess that’s a trigger word for me. I hysterically laughed, finding it hilarious that only closeted rapists had ever called me that.

My head suddenly went fuzzy, the sound of blood rushing in my ears, blocking out everything except the entry and exit of the knife. I thought of Tate and my repressed anger that I wasn’t there when he died. I was mad that Greyson had taken that from me. I was mad that I didn’t get to watch him suffer as he was tortured for what he had done to me. I was mad that he had destroyed my childhood. I was mad that I didn’t get the last word. That I didn’t get to tell him myself that he was being punished for killing my inner child. Because the second he had touched me inappropriately, I couldn’t be a child anymore. He stole it from me. He stole my virginity, my innocence, my happiness, my safety. He had stolen the ability to fall in love carelessly, the chance to have my first kiss under the crowded bleachers at a school basketball game.

He had stolen drunken, sloppy hookups in bar bathrooms, he had stolen first dates, second dates - all of the dates.

I was mad.

I was mad that I couldn’t bring him back to life and kill him myself. I was mad that I didn’t get to hear him begging for mercy, the same way I did at the very start. I was mad that I didn’t get to see him give up just to stop the worst of the pain. I was mad at myself for pulling away from my loving parents because I felt soul-wrenching guilt from keeping the awful truth from them. I was mad at Oliver for implying that I had let Tate abuse me and that I was letting Greyson do the same. I was mad at the world, the universe, fate.

Why?

Why?

Why?

“Princess.”

I shook my head. I needed this all to end. I needed to be freed from this heartbreaking pain seering my insides every fucking day. I needed–

“Baby, I’m here. You’re safe. I’ve got you,” a soothing voice hummed into my ear. I shook my head again, then stopped because it felt like my brain was rattling around in there. Were brains stuck in a specific place or did they just sit up there without a seatbelt?

“Settle. Shhh. I’ve got you, princess. I’ve got you.” A heavy warmth enveloped me, cocooning me within its wings. “Shh, there you go. That’s my good boy,” the voice whispered. I felt as my consciousness slowly came back to my body. My skin felt wet and sticky, from my forehead to my hands to my thighs. I felt the calming strokes of a large hand through my hair. “Come back to me, darling. You’re doing so well,” it cooed.

My head was pounding, making me concerned that maybe my brain got rattled a bit too hard somehow. My eyelids weakly lifted, my gaze settling on the face in front of me.

Greyson.

“Hey, there you are. There’s my little fawn. I’m here. Daddy’s got you now,” he said tenderly, eyes full of concern.

Why was he concerned ?

With what little strength I had, I flicked my eyes down to see what the gross sticky feeling was coming from. All I could see was red. Greyson gently took my face in his hands and turned me back towards him.

“You don’t need to look at that right now,” he murmured, rubbing his thumbs in soothing little circles on my wet cheeks.

“Look… at what…?”

His strong brows pulled down in concern.

“Nothing. Just keep looking at me, okay?” I managed a small nod. “I’m going to get you home now, sweetheart. We’ve already got Chloe - she’s perfectly safe, okay?” I wasn’t sure why she wouldn’t have been safe, but I nodded again, leaning my weight into Greyson’s chest. “Quick pinch,” he mumbled, my eyelids drooping closed again.