10. Collins
Chapter 10
Collins
(AGE 18)
T wo weeks and six new carefully placed bruises later, I sneak out at midnight to check the mailbox one last time. Guy never retrieves the mail from the mailbox on the day it arrives, so I’ve been lucky enough to check without him noticing. I don’t know why I feel disappointment so heavily when I find that Creed hasn’t responded to my last letter. I’m just stupid enough to cling to hope when it’s useless. He hasn’t responded in so long but still I hope. The result of that hope? Still nothing.
I also notice that Guy’s luxury sedan is gone from the cobblestone driveway so I breathe a small sigh of relief that maybe I can do this without him noticing right away.
It’s officially my eighteenth birthday and I don’t know what I want to do more; run away and never look back… or curl up into a ball and wither away. The last fourteen days of my life have been nothing shy of my worst nightmare.
My foster mom never came back so I think it’s safe to assume she actually got away and is living a life free from under the thumb of Guy. He’s been mostly absent, but when he’s home, he goes on these drunken rampages and either grabs me, squeezes me, or shoves me so hard I fall or knock into something hard enough to cause long-term bruising.
The memory of waking up a few nights ago to my hands being tied so tight above my head that my fingers were already numb, my mouth taped shut, and some kind of spreader bar strapped to my ankles, keeping my legs from closing had me panicking and fear had threatened to suffocate me to death. I would’ve preferred it that way versus the things he did to me that night.
I swipe my hands furiously at the sudden tears now running down my cheeks. The light of my soul is quickly dying and I feel the fight seeping from my body with every moment that passes. I’ve had all I can take, so I rush back into the house and dash into my closet where I’d hidden the suitcase I purchased with the cash I earned from working at the bar. I had already packed it with the exception of my polaroid and stationery since I still used them frequently, though I haven’t written any letters since my one and only plea for help went unanswered.
I throw my hair up into a messy bun as I rush around my room, checking to make sure I’ve left no part of myself behind and pull my plane ticket from under my mattress. I had called for a cab earlier so it should be here any minute. I had sent instructions to park down the street so I could slip out without tipping off Guy on the chance he’d be home.
I see the headlights flash through my window so I take a deep breath and rush back out of the house. I slam the front door in my haste to leave and I come to a screeching halt when I realize it’s not the cab.
Guy is leaning against the passenger side of his car, his dark eyes glassy in the moonlight as they take me in. They rove from me to my suitcase and back to my face again. Guy is the definition of a wolf in sheep’s clothing. On the outside, he’s always well-dressed, clean shaven, and actually has a handsome face and a fit body that could land him any woman he wanted if he wasn’t such a sack of shit. He’s a practiced professional at hiding the monster that lurks just beneath the surface. The beast within him that craves other people’s pain. The way he’s hurt me? It gets him hard and it makes me want to vomit. His pleasure comes from the pain he inflicts, and the satisfaction of knowing that his strong hands can manipulate and destroy with ease.
Fear works its way through my body and drains the blood from my face as he pushes off the vehicle and stalks toward me. I can’t even back up because there’s nowhere I could go. He’s still several feet away from me, so I take a chance and hoist my suitcase and dash down the steps and across the yard in an attempt to get away from him.
“The fuck you think you’re going, little girl ?” He swipes his arm at me but narrowly misses, his short nails scraping my bicep.
This pisses him off so he swings with his other arm with more body weight thrown into it and grips my free wrist so hard I swear I can hear the bones groaning like they’re going to snap at any moment. With me finally in his grip, he yanks me closer, nearly pulling my shoulder out of socket, and uses his free hand to grip my cheeks so hard I know they’re going to bruise.
I was so close…
“Guy, please,” I plead through my roughly pursed lips, hating how weak I sound. “Just let me go. Please .”
His eyes are void of any emotion, just as they usually are and I know my words are falling on deaf ears. He yanks me again so hard I stumble over my own feet and my body crashes into his until we’re nose to nose. “You think just because you’re eighteen that I can’t find other ways to keep you?” he growls in my face.
My stomach roils at his insinuation. “Wh-what?” I ask. Hoping to God he just doesn’t answer me. But then again, when have my wishes ever been granted ?
“Tell me, little girl , have you ever been touched by a real man? Hm?” I can feel his arousal pressing against me through his perfectly pressed Tom Ford pants and nausea immediately rises in my throat. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, refusing to answer him. He doesn’t stop his onslaught as his punishing grip tightens on my wrist and he jerks me a third time, my entire body jostling against his. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be fucking begging?—”
“Is there a problem here?” I hear a deep voice call out from down the street.
Guy’s head snaps around and I manage to look over his shoulder to see a large, husky man waiting just outside of a taxi cab, the driver’s door ajar and his arms resting on the frame. He’s an absolute bear of a man. His features are stark, even in the dark of night. He’s got thick dark hair, cropped close to the sides of his head, with hints of silver throughout, and bright blue eyes. He’s covered from his neck to his hands in dark tattoos and for a second, I think I’m looking at some beefed up version of Creed. I shove the thought away as I try to shake myself away from Guy, but he tightens his grip on my hair, making me whimper.
Despite my foster father’s grip on me, I’m flooded with immediate relief that I’m no longer alone out here. That maybe this man will help me and not drive away. The fact that he’s questioning Guy, tells me that maybe he’s not one of the many that gets paid under the table for his silence at my foster father’s extracurricular activities.
Guy tries to backpedal though. “We’re all good, sir. I’m just having a talk with my girl here. Don’t worry,” he chuckles, “she likes it a little rough.” Even with his shitty words, he sounds so prim and proper and not at all like the demon that lurks beneath the surface.
And he called me his girl? Fucking gross.
“That so?” The driver questions, his tone oozing disbelief. He pushes off the car and strides over toward where we’re standing. He’s even bigger up close. He tips his head toward me, his brow raising in question under the streetlight. “Ma’am? ”
All I can manage is a small shake of my head and inaudible “ no”, but that’s all it takes for the man to reach out and grip Guy’s wrist, squeezing and forcing his grip to loosen on my body before he lets me go. His scent is so familiar, and it sends warring emotions like relief and sadness throughout my body as he pushes me behind him. A shiver crawls up my spine when he speaks, his voice lethal and commanding, “The lady said no. So I suggest back the fuck up before I give you the same treatment you gave to her.”
I don’t take my eyes off of him as I back up past the driver who is staring down my foster father with an expression that promises pain, possibly even death. I’m sure I should feel terrified about getting into a taxi with this man, but I don’t. Something about him feels like home, which is fucking crazy, but it’s been a wild night from hell, so we’ll blame it on that. I toss my suitcase across the seat and slide in after it. Only after I shut the door does the driver turn back and slide into the driver’s seat. Just before the driver shuts the door, I hear Guy yell, “This is far from over, Collins!”
The driver is quiet for a moment as he pulls away and I don’t dare look back as we drive further and further away from my own personal hell. Only once I realize we’re on the freeway do I take my first full breath in eight years. I don’t realize I’m crying until I feel a tear fall down my cheek.
After several quiet minutes, the driver speaks up. “You alright, ma’am?”
I clear my throat, swiping at the tears. “Um, yeah. I am now.” I sniff. “Thank you, by the way. You have no idea how you saved me.”
I catch his eyes for the briefest moment and they’re the brightest blue color. An all-too-familiar ache hits my chest as they remind me of Creed. He simply offers me a firm nod before he asks, “You know where you’re goin’, Miss…?”
“Collins,” I supply. Something flashes in his bright blue eyes in the rearview mirror, but it disappears in the next moment. “Um, the airport, please. Terminal four.”
He nods in understanding. “I’m Garrick.” He answers, but continues, “I won’t ask questions because your business is your business, but you mind if I say somethin’?” I sigh, but nod at him. “All I’ll tell you is don’t you dare look back if runnin’ is what you’re doin’. Don’t ever turn back. You keep your head up and your face to the sun and I promise it’ll shine on you again.”
Jesus.
My throat tightens at his words because they fill me with so much hope. And that has been such a dangerous thing to dream of until now. I smile, and a nervous laugh bubbles out of me at the kindness of his words. He glances at me in the rearview mirror, his eyes crinkled at the sides, telling me he’s smiling back as I wipe more tears from my eyes.
Twenty quiet minutes later he pulls to a stop outside my terminal at the airport and he helps me unload my suitcase and backpack. When he slides back into the driver’s seat, I pull the money plus a generous tip from my back pocket and try to hand it to him, but he simply shakes his head. “You keep it, and when you get where you’re goin’, buy you somethin’ that makes you smile.”
“No, please. Take it, Garrick. You have no idea what you did for me back there. Please, keep it.” The words are choked out as I push it his way again but he shakes his head with a low chuckle and waves me off.
“Collins, I promise you, I don’t need it. Getting you where you want to go is the payment enough for me. Swear it.” He says and seals the deal with an x over his heart.
I stand at his window, momentarily dumbstruck. “You—are you sure?” I rasp, not wanting to leave the man with nothing.
“Absolutely.” He smiles, his bright eyes solemn. I nod and stand, backing up a step and giving him room to drive but as he starts to pull away I shout out after him, making him stop suddenly. He’s out of his car in a second like something’s wrong, but I rush back and throw my arms around his middle and hug him tightly.
I know, Collins Weston is full of smart choices tonight.
But there’s a familiarity about him and when he wraps his arms around my shoulders and hugs me back, I nearly break. I haven’t been hugged since before Asher left for college.
“Thank you. So much.” My eyes well with tears and my heart feels a little lighter as I give Garrick one last squeeze and step away, swiping at my eyes.
“Never thank me,” He smiles softly before he jerks his chin toward the entrance of the airport, “Go. Chase the sun.”
I let him go for real this time, watching the taillights of the taxi disappear around the corner. I may never come back to this town, but I’ll never forget the kindness he showed me. His little bit of encouragement offered to me gives me enough bravado to square my shoulders and hold my chin a little higher as I step through the sliding doors of the airport.
Pulling my sneakers back on after going through security check I hear my phone start to buzz in the plastic tub where I had placed it in on the conveyor belt. I ignore it as I hastily shove my belongings back into my backpack so I’m not holding up the line.
Locating the correct hallway for my flight’s gate, I start weaving through the crowd of travelers when my phone starts ringing again. I never let on in front of Guy that I had a phone, and I had entered his number in my phone only to block it so that he couldn’t contact me, if he’d ever found out. That doesn’t stop the nervous feeling that skitters down my spine when it buzzes a third time.
The fuck?
Dave and Marta knew I was leaving and I don’t talk to anyone else, since Asher’s apparently too good for speaking to his sister anymore. So what could be so damn emergent?
I ignore it and make it to my gate with twenty minutes to spare before boarding call, so I take the vacant seat by the window and pull my phone from the front pocket of my backpack.
It’s nothing fancy, just a prepaid touch screen phone, but it gets the job done. Pressing the side button, the screen lights up showing I have three missed calls and one text.
I furrow my brow and unlock my phone. The blood immediately drains from my face and my breathing picks up as my fingers shakily tap the screen to open the message waiting for me.
Unknown: You thought I didn’t know about this little phone of yours? Thought you could get away from me? You’d better hope wherever you run that I never find you, little girl.
I feel fucking sick at the sight of Guy’s message. Oh, god. He knew about my phone? What else does he know? There’s no way he could know about my letters to Asher and Creed since I mail them the same day I write them.
I don’t have much time to dwell in my own panic and thoughts of my foster father when my phone begins to ring in my hands again. The area code that flashes across my screen should make me light up with happiness and relief because after all these years, I've never even spoken to him on the phone. For some reason it never crossed my mind to ask for his number, and it had just become habit for my method of communication to be letters. I think I felt like it was a safer space to speak my truths to him and my brother over the years. It gave me one more safe wall to hide behind while I was in a world with no protection. I’d given him my number in my last letter and the tiniest spark of hope flutters, hoping that it could be him trying to reach out to me.
But that hope flutters out, and all I feel is anger and sadness and a feeling of loss that I can’t explain because if it is him, it’s too little too late.
The attendant calls over the intercom that they’re starting boarding calls and for first class to line up. My phone rings a fourth time as I shoot to my feet, nervously pacing the little corner where I’ve tucked myself. I get a few curious glances from people so I spin away from them, staring blankly out the window, fighting the tears welling up and threatening to spill over.
I sling my backpack over my shoulder and wait for my section to be called for the flight as my finger hovers over the green answer button. I regret it the moment I do and hold the phone to my ear, because hearing his voice, his real, raw, untamed raspy voice is enough to shatter what’s left of my soul into pieces.
“ Collins? ”