Chapter 48
Fear is an interesting thing. It makes weak people strong, strong people weak, frail people into just a shell of themselves, and numerous other scenarios. It’s how you finally emerge from the fear and take action that decides so much about your life.
I stand in my bedroom, staring out the window I escaped through all those many months ago, now with “security” bars welded in. Between those and the lock that’s always been secured to the exterior of my door, I couldn’t escape even if I wanted to.
On my desk sits my allotted food for the day, uneaten: an apple, chopped vegetables, and a piece of bread. I’m surprised he gave me that much.
The lock clicks. I don’t cower. I simply turn toward whatever discipline Grayson has planned today.
But he carries nothing in his hand as he towers in the doorway, taking me in.
“How’s your backside?”
I don’t answer him. He knows very well how my backside is. It’s the reason why I’m standing. It hurts too much to sit.
He studies my hair. “It’s not completely back to its original color, but close enough. Too bad I didn’t think to say you had cancer. It would explain the butch cut you’re currently wearing.”
“Did you need something?” I ask.
“That’s an awful brave tone for someone who can’t even sit. Maybe I should try something other than a belt. A cane perhaps?”
I walk over to my food and pick up my apple. I take a bite, chewing, swallowing, staring at him through go-to-hell eyes.
He clasps his hands behind his back. “Fine, be rebellious. However, you do need to make a public appearance. We’re going to Sunday service.”
“Whatever.”
“I’ll have eyes and ears on you the entire time.”
“Understood.”
“One wrong move and—”
“I said I understand.”
He holds a finger up in warning. It does not affect me.
“Remember you’ve had Lyme disease. You’ll need to look fragile. Also, Amelia’s joining us.”
“Amelia?”
“The woman I’ve been dating. She has a cute little girl who just turned six.”
I put the apple back onto the plate. “I won’t let you hurt either one of them.”
“Oh, dear daughter, the things you are going to learn.” He leaves, locking the door behind him.
The things I’m going to learn.
I don’t know what that means, and I refuse to let him get inside my head. Instead, a smirk creeps in. Yes, fear is an interesting thing. I used to be a shell of myself, but I have emerged. I have a plan, and now I just need to execute it.
On Sunday, I arrive at church to make my “public appearance.” I sit beside Grayson in the front row in our usual spots.
His widowed girlfriend, Amelia, and her young daughter join us.
Other than respectfully shaking my hand and officially meeting me, neither of them says a word to me, or looks at me.
Through the side of my eye, I study the six-year-old. From her proper posture to her careful courtesy to her submissive nature, I recognize myself in her. It makes my stomach sour.
Though I haven’t turned to see, I expect Brynn and her family behind me in their usual spots.
I feel more than see every eye on our row. Now that Grayson’s announced his plans to run for the highest office in the nation, we are under even more scrutiny.
The ornate and conservative church is at capacity. Organ music fills the air as the worship service begins. There’s a greeting, followed by a prayer, then announcements.
I wait patiently.
The first song begins, and I follow along, mouthing the words. Soon, the song ends, and the minister has us greet each other. Knowing Grayson can’t do a thing, I turn, coming face-to-face with Brynn for the first time in nearly five months.
Her cheeks lift with joy as she reaches for me. We hug tightly, briefly, then we release. I clasp her hands, smiling back, showing her all of the love in my heart that I carry for her.
“I love your hair,” she whispers.
“Thank you,” I whisper back.
All too soon, the contact is over. I greet the other people around me. So does Grayson.
I turn back around, and a small smile creases my lips. I just slid Brynn a note, and she will come through with what I requested.
I don’t hear a word of the sermon. Instead, I focus on the upcoming weeks I’ll need to endure.
But after that, I will be free, and the whole world will know who Grayson is.
I spend the next week still locked away in my room. Grayson visits daily, eager to see if he’s broken me. He hasn’t. I will not be broken. I refuse it.
Yesterday, he sat for nearly an hour simply studying me with a dark and calculating assessment as if planning something. Though I don’t know what.
Today he arrives with a short and bald, heavyset man that I’ve never seen. The man doesn’t even look at me as he brings in a folded table that he sets up. It’s a long one with padding like someone would use for a massage.
I don’t understand. I look at Grayson, who remains silent while the man leaves and comes back with a metal tray that contains three objects—a pair of latex gloves, a tube of lubricant, and a silver speculum.
My blood drains.
The short man nods at Grayson, letting him know he’s ready.
To me, Grayson says, “Take your underwear off and get up on the table.”
The last time, it had been Grayson’s personal physician under the guise of administering my first physical.
That doctor had been kind and gentle, recognizing the awkwardness of the situation.
I had a gown on and a sheet for privacy.
This short, bald man hasn’t even made eye contact with me. There will be no gown or privacy sheet.
Inside, I scream with mortification and injustice. Why? This is about Noah. I know it is. Someone, anyone, HELP ME!
“Laura, I will not repeat myself.”
Bile rises. “Are you leaving?”
“No.” He turns around. “But I will give you my back.”
The short bald man snaps the gloves on. He levels indifferent eyes on me. They are eyes that bulge from his pudgy head. Like if I had a pointy object, I could pop them right out. He sniffs, waiting. Who is this man? Is he even a doctor?
I take a deep breath. Just get it over with.
I reach up under my skirt, slide my underwear down and off, and then climb up on the table.
My limbs quiver as I lie back. The short, bald man grabs my legs, and I jerk.
He pushes them up and wide, and I cover my face with my hand.
I bite my lip so I don’t cry. The other doctor talked me through everything about to happen.
This man squirts almost the entire tube of lubricant, pushes the speculum inside, widens it, and a few seconds later says, “She’s a virgin.”
He pulls the speculum out and tosses it onto the tray. I sit up quickly, covering what I can with my skirt, feeling the sliminess of all the gel.
The short, bald man snaps the gloves off, tosses them on top the speculum, and with the tray, he leaves my room.
Grayson turns back around.
I hate him so much. “Is this about me being a ‘commodity?’” The next words are thick in my throat. “Is this about Noah Riley?”
“Noah’s a very generous man. I made him promises that I intend to honor. I have to say, you please me, Laura. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do if you weren’t still a virgin. But you are. So, well done.”
“What exactly is your plan? You can’t become the leader of this country and just give me to Noah Riley.”
“Can’t I? You would be surprised at the things I currently get away with. And those to come.”
“I won’t go quietly. I’ll shout it from the rooftops, what a monster you are.”
“You won’t have the chance. Now, clean yourself up and wipe down the table. I’ll get it later.” With that, he leaves, and I’m left alone, humiliated, my thoughts wildly grappling with time left and hope that I, at a minimum, make it to Sunday again.
I do make it to Sunday. We sit in our usual spots in the front row. Amelia and her young daughter join us.
When it comes time to greet each other, I turn to Brynn. We hug tight, and as we do, her hand cradles the back of my neck. Something drops down my dress. It slides, catching at the thin belt around the waist.
The minister delivers his sermon. Demurely, I sit, my focus on the pulpit, all the while my heart racing. Slowly, I slide my hand between my back and the pew, tucking the object into a more secure spot in the elastic of my underwear.
A mini camera.
I knew she’d come through for me.
When I get home, I hide the mini camera between the many books lining a packed shelf.
It’s connected via an app to Brynn’s phone. Straight into the camera, I say, “No matter how bad it gets, wait for my signal. Do not do anything until I tell you.” She has no way of communicating with me, and so all I can do is hope that the connectivity works.
The rest of Sunday comes and goes. Night rolls in. My bedroom door opens.
Grayson steps in, preceded by Amelia and… Noah Riley.
Bile rises in my throat.
Having the three of them in my room shrinks the space. Palpable fear pushes in on me from every direction.
“Stand,” Grayson commands.
I obey, moving from my desk chair to the center of the room. Amelia approaches. She circles me, not touching me, just surveying before coming to stand in front of me.
She looks me dead on in an all too familiar dark and calculating way.
“I want you to know that I support Grayson in whatever he wants to do with you. Your mother was a weak woman. I was bred for politics. I have the stomach for things that need to be done. I want to make clear that I am Grayson’s ally, not yours. Do you understand?”
No wonder her daughter is a shell. There’s no telling the abuse that girl has already endured. “I understand,” I say.
“Good.” She turns her back on me, going to stand beside Grayson. Her hand caresses his shoulder, moving down his arm to link pinky fingers with him.
Noah approaches me. The bile in my throat rises, filling my mouth. I don’t want to swallow, but I have to.
He notes the movement with malevolent amusement.
He too circles, so close his body heat radiates. He smells like onions and cologne. I fight the urge to cower and focus on a ramrod back. One finger trails the skin of my neck. Despite my best efforts, I flinch. He chuckles, low and dark.
He comes to stand in front of me. Even though fear pounds through me, I focus on showing him anything but. Without an expression, he boldly palms one of my breasts. I knock his hand away.
He punches me in my stomach.
I go down hard, gasping.
He grips the hair on my head and drags me to my feet. He palms my breast again, squeezing hard. I don’t fight him. I can’t. It doesn’t matter. I won’t win. I glare at Grayson, still standing across the room, his pinky linked with Amelia’s.
Noah releases me. “Show me your back.”
“No.”
He slaps me. “Show me your back willingly, or I will make you, and I assure you, you don’t want me to make you do anything.”
My gaze darts to Grayson again, though I’m not sure why. He approves of whatever Noah wants to do. I’m still wearing the dress from earlier, and reaching around, I unzip it.
“Turn around,” Noah commands.
Nerves that I fight quiver through my body as I turn, exposing my scars—some old and others raw with newness.
He trails a finger down my spine, tracing an older mark down low. “It’s too bad you marked her up, Grayson. I would have truly loved a blank canvas. But…I suppose this will do.”
He presses one still raw and I suck in a breath.
“Oh, I am going to have so much fun with you,” he says, slowly zipping my dress back up. The air shifts as he moves away from me. “I’m ready whenever you are.”
“Give me twenty-four hours to cement a few details, and she’s all yours,” Grayson says. “And when you’re done, make sure I get her body back. I’ll need it for the spectacular funeral to come.”
They leave, locking the door behind them. My whole body shakes as I walk over to the bookshelf. “Brynn, please tell me you got that.” Tears overwhelm my next words. “If not, then…goodbye. I love you.”