2. Chapter Two
Chapter Two
Athena
“ W ill that be everything, Miss?” The freckly sales assistant behind the counter eyes me warily, and I know what he really wants to ask.
What the fuck happened to you?
The once-white T-shirt I’m wearing has a strong stench of piss, my feet are bare, and my threadbare skirt is coming apart at the seams, barely covering me. At least my hair isn’t too bad, tied in a messy bun on top of my head. There are scars along my upper arms of various shapes and sizes and I have a fading bruise across my cheek.
I’m a sight, that’s for sure, but I refuse to give in to self-pity. As terrified as I am being around all of these strangers, I have to dig deep into myself and find the strength my mother would have expected of me.
“Yes, thank you.” I count out the thirty dollars I need from the cash I managed to grab before I left—escaped.
“Don’t worry about the cash, Miss. It’s on me.” Handing me the bag containing my new clothes, he smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
Spending the last twenty-eight years under the rule of others, in what could be described as captivity of sorts, hasn’t weakened my senses. I can clearly see the pity written all over his face; it’s in the slant of his brows and the tightness of his jaw. Reading and understanding reactions was also part of my intense training; they couldn’t exactly parade a dumb bitch around the expensive galas—not my words.
Nothing is ever free, though, which means this man must want something else from me in return. I’m struggling to keep my breaths even and my body from obviously shaking because I was na?ve enough to think people in the outside world would be better than the ones who’ve surrounded me my entire life.
“Please, I can pay.” My words come out on a croak as I hold out the cash for him, waving it around, waiting for him to take it, but when his pity turns to confusion, I realize I may have misread the situation. Maybe he’s not actually after more and I’m overreacting. Is this what real kindness looks like?
I can’t risk it. Dropping the cash on the counter, I grab the bag and make a mad dash for the thrift store’s exit. For my first time in a shop of any kind, it could have gone worse.
Accomplishment and embarrassment both flow through me, and I wish I had found a way to clean myself up a little before running and winding up here, but I just didn’t have the time.
The cold morning air whips against my skin as soon as I step outside, and I’m thankful I parked the truck opposite the shop. Making sure there are no other vehicles on the road, I run across, quickly sliding into the driver’s seat of the ridiculously big vehicle. It was officially the ‘workhorse’, as Mrs. Grouse liked to call it, which means it was basically gathering dust in the back of their garage because no one spent much time actually working. One of my guards, Dan, started showing me around the garages and the vehicles about two years ago, even showed me how they work, which is how I’ve managed to get this far in my escape.
Wasting no time, I start the engine, allowing the heat to blow through the cab and warm my near-freezing bones. The bag of clothes now sitting on the passenger seat makes my fingers twitch. I'm eager to wear something that wasn’t handed down to me by those two psychopaths and it burns a fire deep inside my belly that feels a lot like freedom and independence. At least, that’s what I think it is.
Before being sold to the highest bidder, I lived with my mom and her master. I’m not an idiot, I know spending my entire life used and abused will make it almost impossible for me to adapt to a new life but I’m hanging on to the almost . Almost impossible … which means there’s a window and I plan on going through it.
But first, I need to find a bathroom so I can wash myself off then change into clothes that don’t smell like twenty-eight years of captivity.
With only one small bath allowed a week, I’m often left with crusted cum over my face and body, but it’s been almost two weeks since I last washed myself. Luckily, the Thanksgiving break was very soon after my last bath, so I’m mostly just covered in my own scum right now.
My eyes flit around the parking lot, hyper aware that I’ve only been gone a few hours and the chances of being caught and dragged back to that hell hole are high. At the thought, a shiver runs straight down my spine and explodes in my chest. I’m very familiar with this feeling—fear—I’ve been living with it my entire life.
I’m basically the sex slave version of Harry Potter without all the fun magic, except my under-the-stairs bedroom is the attic and my Hogwarts was going from one shitty living situation to a bigger one. Which is how I ended up with Master and his wife, Mrs. Grouse.
One of their cleaners, Marie, snuck some books into the attic for me about ten years ago. That day, she told me the books would help me mentally escape but most importantly, I needed to pay close attention to Hermione. Every day, I wished for a big burly man like Hagrid to one day rescue me from my life until I understood Marie’s advice. Take matters into your own hands.
Shaking my head, I banish the useless memories, pull the stick to put the truck in drive—something that took far too long to figure out back at the property because Dan’s instruction hadn’t been exactly practical—and start driving. It’s difficult trying to navigate the roads, but I’ve spent enough time in the car as a passenger to figure out how it mostly works. I wouldn’t call myself a good driver, but I’m managing. What I do know is that the red pump that keeps flashing means I need to get gas. This will be tricky because I’ve only ever seen it done, never actually filled the tank myself.
As I continue farther out of the small town I came across, I pray to the ancient Greek spirit of hope, Elpis, for something better, for something more, for anything other than the sheltered and abusive life I’ve been living. He pulled through with the thrift store, because my stench is even getting to me at this point.
Greek mythology is probably the only thing I’m competent in.
As I slowly make my way down the freshly plowed roads, snow piled up on the sides like castle walls, I realize how flitting my mother’s memories are after all these years. I know she had light brown hair and I know her eyes were green but I can’t remember the actual tint, or the tiny lines at the corners. My mind has been filling in the missing pieces and it kills me a little inside every time.
Her Greek mythology book though? That, I memorized from cover to cover. When they ripped me away from her arms, I was allowed to bring one possession of hers with me. That book is how I learned to read. Night after night, my mother would read it to me, showing me the letters and the words. I was barely even homeschooled, let alone enrolled in an actual school, so those teaching moments are the only reason I can survive out here.
A few months after living with my new owner, though, the book was burned in front of me as punishment for daring to curse.
I should have known better.
A gas station comes into view up ahead, surrounded by mountainous terrain with snow-covered peaks that look like they’ve been painted on by Apollo himself. I wish I could stick around for the sunset because that would be epic. It’d be like a beautiful ending to something I hope to leave behind forever.
The truck jerks a little when I accidentally push the brake too hard, trying to slow down for the gas station. It’s the first one I’ve seen in the last hour and I don’t want to overshoot the turn. I’ll use some of the cash I have to fill up the tank while I’m here.
Oh, man, I hope they have those people that pump the gas for the customers because I’m not sure if I’m gonna get this right. I remember seeing a gas station in the movie Zoolander , but that didn’t turn out too good and Master always had his staff fill up the tank before we left on our trips. Zoolander was one of the few DVDs I was allowed to keep in my room as a luxury when I behaved.
They don’t have people…
But there is a woman filling up her own tank, a couple of kids that look no more than ten in the back seat of her car. I couldn’t say what make or model it is, but it’s silver and a lot smaller than the blue truck I park behind her. Maybe she can help me here. She looks up from what she’s doing and gives me a soft smile as I open the door and begin to slide out, but the smile quickly morphs into confusion then outright horror while she does her best not to openly stare at the state of me.
I’ll take care of the gas problem after I’ve cleaned up and changed clothes because the last thing I want is to be memorable. No doubt someone is, by now, out there looking for me. If not Master himself, then any number of the men he’s constantly hanging around with, showing me off like a show dog. If they find me… then I may as well kill myself. It may sound dramatic to someone who hasn’t lived the life I have, but not to me. I like to think my attitude is pretty damn good considering all I’ve been through, but I’ve been alone in the outside world for a maximum of four hours and already freaked out on the sales assistant in the thrift store so… yeah. We’ll see.
The dead man in my attic room might also have something to say about my good attitude after I went all Captain Jack Sparrow crazy on him…
Sighing heavily, I follow the sign to the bathroom around the corner of the main building, taking my bag of new clothes with me. I feel a little like Hermione with a magic bag full of things I need. The large door has a lock, which I immediately use after checking there is nobody else in here, then I strip. It doesn’t take long, the few clothes I was wearing being mere scraps of material, and I’ve never owned underwear. Master always liked it when I wore nothing at all, made it easier for him.
I pull out a whole bunch of paper towels that would usually be used for hand drying and scrunch them up into a big ball, dampening it before sticking it beneath the soap dispenser and squeezing. Using my makeshift sponge, I begin to wash myself. It takes several scrunches of paper towels, but I think I’m finally done and I splash myself with water from the taps. I feel a lot fresher than before and work up the courage to take a glance in the mirror.
The reflection that stares back at me is exactly what I imagined. I still look like shit, but at least I smell a little nicer now. The bruise on my cheek has faded from purple to a mangy green, the bags beneath my eyes could be used on a huge shopping spree, and my body is…
Tears begin to sting the backs of my eyes, threatening to spill over.
I had to get out of there. I had to. But what the hell am I actually doing?
Master said he would always find me. He’s going to be so mad when he finds Dan…
Forcing the tears back, refusing to let them fall, I quickly change into the skin-tight black leggings, tank top, and the large green hoodie I got from the thrift shop. I also bought a couple of blankets to use when I have to turn the truck engine off before I go to sleep. They can stay in the bag. Next, I slide on the low-heeled black boots I found. I thought about trying a higher pair, but that was quickly pushed aside once I tried them on and remembered how painful they are. If I never have to wear a pair of high heels again, I won’t be mad.
Giving myself a once over in the mirror, I nod, pleased that I no longer look like I’ve just run away from being abused.
I use the toilet, wash my hands, and exit the bathroom, dumping my old scraps into the trash on my way out. The woman in the red car has gone, leaving just my truck sitting beside the pumps. I guess I’ll have to figure this thing out by myself.
Just as I reach the pumps, a young woman with short black hair starts yelling at me but I can’t understand what she’s so angry about as she points to the truck then the parking spaces.
“You can’t just leave your truck here, lady. And if you want to use the bathroom, you have to buy gas.” The fire in her eyes and the harsh pull of her lips are stark reminders of every person I’ve ever known, just before I got the life beat out of me.
I flinch, my feet backing up as if on auto-pilot. It was always worse when they yelled.
“I’m… sorry. I’m… I didn’t know.” My hands are trembling and my head is shaking from side to side, silently begging her not to hit me. I can’t understand why she’s so angry at me. I don’t feel like I’ve behaved inappropriately.
Then she stops and takes a long look at me before her face morphs into something completely different.
“Wait, are you okay?” Her question takes me by surprise, and it’s then I realize tears are streaming down my cheeks, my lips, and my arms are folded across my chest to protect myself. “I’m so sorry. Hey, it’s okay. It’s all good. Just… can I help you with the gas?”
I nod because it’s the only thing that comes out of her mouth that brings me relief.
“Y-yes. Please.”
Ten minutes later, the truck is full of gas, I managed to pay the attendant without freaking out for a second time, and I’m back inside the cab in my new clothes and feeling somewhat human again.
Okay. I can do this.
Turning on the built in GPS, I take far too long trying to figure out how to load up the map and input the address scorched into my memory. Mom made me memorize it from the age of eight. Just in case.
The directions load on the small screen, and my eyes widen at the thirty-five hour journey. I study the map for a few minutes because there’s a possibility I don’t have enough cash on me for gas and I’ll have to walk it. That might be ambitious, but I’m determined to try.
Plan set, I put the truck in drive and hope the Moirai lead me to my destiny.