27. Callie
Callie
Christian holds my cold, clammy hand tightly in his as a reminder to behave, but he doesn’t need to remind me. I won’t jeopardize the guys’ safety. He chooses The Little Blue Chapel. I don’t know if it’s random or pre-selected, but he seems to know where he’s going.
Tugging me through the main door, we move down a short corridor before I’m shoved through a nondescript door on the left. I stumble for a moment and right myself, finding my footing before I face plant on the floor. The room I’m in now looks like it hasn’t been decorated since the fifties. Peeling floral wallpaper lines each of the walls, and the once-white ceiling is yellowing from years of cigarette smoke. A thick, red velvet carpet runs the length of the room and row upon row of white wooden folding chairs sit in front of a makeshift altar.
Each chair is empty like the rest of the room. If I try hard enough, I can almost picture drunken couples stumbling in here in the early hours of the morning, declaring their love to each other before waking up the morning after in a state of abject horror.
No morning after, though, will compare to mine if I go through with this.
“Remember what I said,” he whispers to me, sensing my need to flee.
A door opens at the opposite end of the room to reveal a man with a thinning gray comb-over and wearing a sky-blue polyester suit. Beside him stands a tiny, thin, bird-like woman who must be in her late sixties, early seventies, dressed in a pink button-up dress that is the exact garish shade of pink as her lipstick. Her silver-gray hair is styled up into a beehive. Standing next to each other, they look like they’ve stepped off the set of an old movie.
“Stay here. I have men stationed outside that door, so attempting to escape will be futile.” He turns from me as my emotions swing like a pendulum between wanting to cry and wanting to punch him in his throat.
I feel like I’ve woken up in someone else’s life. I review sex toys, for fuck’s sake.
I watch Christian shake hands with the couple, smiling his creepy fake smile at them. The man talks animatedly with him as the woman smiles brightly. How can they not see the darkness that lurks beneath the fake persona and expensive suit?
Eventually, he waves me over, so I do as he asks, forcing myself to take small, slow steps even though I know it will anger him. When I’m beside him, he grasps my elbow, pinching the skin, which makes me hiss.
“No time for the wedding march, honey. We have a honeymoon to get to. Glenda, Pete, can we start? I’m terribly excited to get to the baby-making part of the wedding night,” he jokes, making Pete laugh heartily.
His words have the opposite effect on me, smashing into my body with such force that I’m not prepared for the breath that catches in my throat or the vomit that rushes up and out of my mouth. Marriage is one thing, but I will never bring a baby into it. I refuse to let history repeat itself and raise a kid in a violent home.
I try to pull away, but Christian’s grip tightens even further, leaving me nowhere to turn. I do the only thing I can as vomit burns up the back of my throat—I move my head to the side and empty my stomach contents all over the carpet and the sleeve of Christian’s jacket, somehow narrowly missing getting any on myself.
“Oh, you poor sweet girl. It’s normal to be nervous. Here, let me help. I’ll get something to settle your stomach. I also have spare toothbrushes and toothpaste in the back. This happens far more often than you realize,” Glenda coos before she’s gone in a flash, her dress spinning out behind her as she disappears out the door.
“I’ll arrange for a cleanup. It will take but a moment. Excuse me,” Pete answers, following after Glenda and leaving me to face the devil alone.
“You stupid fucking bitch.” He backhands me across the face the second they’re gone, making me fall, only just missing the puke as my eyebrow makes contact with one of the chairs.
Immediately, I feel hot, wet liquid dripping down my face, letting me know it’s bleeding, and quite profusely at that.
“Now look what you’ve done. Fuck!” he curses, grabbing his hair and looking down at me in disgust. “I fucking warned you,” he snaps before pulling back his foot and kicking me in the face.
I feel a snap, followed by blinding pain. I know instantly my jaw is broken. I pray to God Glenda and Pete hurry back or, at the very least, call the police. When I hear a gasp, I understand why Christian chose this place over the others.
I manage to lift my head and through my tears, see Glenda look at me with an apology in her eyes, but she doesn’t rush to help me. Instead, she looks away as her husband pulls her back out the door. They either know him here or know of him. He picked this place so he doesn’t have to pretend to be anything other than the monster he is, knowing nobody is going to do or say anything to stop him.
He looms over me. His presence is as menacing as the cruel sneer on his face. I try to crawl away from him, but he kicks me again. This time, his pointed Italian loafers connect with my temple, making the room spin. Blackness begins to edge around my vision as the pain in my face becomes all-consuming.
“You thought you could embarrass me, huh? You thought to defy me?” he roars, making the pain in my head reach a fever pitch.
I try to shake my head no. It’s not like I puked on purpose, but the pain is too much. My arms crumple beneath me, leaving me lying on the dust-laden carpet with no fight left. My vision swims out of focus, his words fading in and out as he rants about me being an ungrateful whore. The room pitches and spins out of control as I fight back another wave of nausea. I’m so afraid of what will happen if I’m sick again that a whimper slips from my lips before I can stop it.
Giving in to the terror, I close my eyes and let the blackness take me. Anything to escape this pain.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” I hear before a hand yanks my hair hard, making me scream as stars explode behind my eyes.
Christian is now on his knees beside me, his face inches from mine, as he holds me in place by my hair.
“You didn’t heed my warning. Perhaps I was too lenient. It’s a mistake you won’t make again.” He lifts his phone and waves it at me with a smile before hitting a button and waiting for someone to answer.
“You see, you lied to me back at the house when you pretended you couldn’t remember me, then again when you said you’d be a good girl. It shouldn’t come as a surprise then to find out you’re not the only one who lied.”
My head hurts too much to understand what he’s talking about, images and words blurring together in a kaleidoscope of sound and colors.
“It’s done,” a voice says over the line before hanging up. Christian’s cold eyes fill with glee as they stare into mine.
“Perhaps now that I’ve taken care of that little problem, you’ll finally realize there is no one coming for you. There is nothing for you anywhere anymore but me.”
And just like that, everything stops spinning, and one word slips into place. Bomb. He’s talking about the bomb.
“No,” I moan. “No, no, no !” I scream, the sound muffled like I’m underwater.
I tear myself from his hold, feeling my hair rip out at the roots as I drag myself across the floor. I have to get home. I have to get to Blake. Oh god. Please, no. I try to open my mouth to yell for help, but the pain is so debilitating it drains what little strength I have left. My nails snap as I try to claw my way down the aisle, but a foot pressing down between my shoulder blades halts my movements. The steady stream of blood running down my face pools beneath me, mixing with my snot and tears, but I don’t care. Blake and the guys are gone. And it’s all my fault.
I picture Marcus with spinach in his teeth and Arlo hugging me just to piss Blake off. I see Banner and Kellen play, fighting over the last cookie before Blake’s dimpled smile drowns out everything else. A smile I never knew I needed. A smile I can’t live without.
A high-pitched keening makes me flinch, the sound so full of grief and sorrow that it hurts my ears and pierces my heart. I try to shut it out, but it’s coming from me and I can’t make it stop.
This time, when the darkness comes, I welcome it in all its inky glory. I’m done, so fucking done with this life that’s done nothing but fuck me over. I don’t want to imagine a world without Blake in it. If he’s gone, I don’t want to be here either. Closing my eyes, I listen to the distant sound of thunder as it grows louder and louder and let everything else disappear.