Chapter 12 #3
Bit by bit, I curled inward and dragged my arms down. Every inch felt like it took an eternity. The pull in my shoulders burned. I thought I might be sick from the pain alone.
But then I broke through.
My bound hands slid down to rest in my lap, and I exhaled a hard, shaky breath.
Relief surged through me. Shallow and temporary, but real. I sat hunched forward, letting the ache pulse through my muscles while I forced myself to stay quiet. I couldn't stop yet. Not until I was out of here.
I looked down at my hands and froze.
Even in the darkness, I could see how deep the belt had cut in.
Angry red lines circled both wrists, and one had broken the skin.
A thin smear of blood had already started to dry.
My fingers flexed instinctively, but the sting was immediate.
I winced and twisted to see if I could reach the buckle with my fingers, but I couldn't. The angle was all wrong, and every time I strained for it, the leather bit in deeper.
I brought the buckle to my mouth, teeth searching for the prong, and started to work it free.
The taste of metal and sweat turned my stomach, but I didn't stop.
I couldn't. The belt creaked faintly with each tug.
My jaw ached. My breath caught with every scrape, every slip that pulled too hard and made me flinch.
At last, something gave. The buckle slipped just enough for the leather to loosen, and I yanked my hands free.
I rubbed at the deep marks on my wrists, my fingers trembling as I worked feeling back into them.
My limbs felt heavy and clumsy, but I didn't give myself time to dwell on it.
I felt along the nightstand in search of my glasses.
When my fingers finally closed around them, I shoved them onto my face without checking if they were smudged.
I pushed to my feet, every muscle protesting the sudden movement. My legs were shaky, but they held. I moved toward the door and stopped just short of touching it. I held my breath and listened.
Nothing. No footsteps. No shuffling. Just silence.
Slowly, I twisted the knob and nudged the door. It gave with a soft click and a low groan from the hinge. I froze again. Still no movement. I eased it open enough to slip through and stepped into the hallway.
The flat was dark and still. No sign of Marcus. I didn't bother closing the door behind me. I wasn't risking the noise. I just kept moving until I made it to the front door and reached for my bag where I left it.
It wasn't there.
My chest tightened. I checked again, crouched down, ran my hand along the floor around the table in case it was just hidden in the darkness. Nothing.
My phone was in that bag. My wallet, my keys. Everything.
He'd hidden it. He planned this.
A cold knot formed in my gut, but I couldn't waste time looking. If Marcus had hidden my things, he'd expect me to come back for them. But he wasn't going to lure me in again. When I came back, it'd be with the police to collect every last fucking thing I had here.
I hurried to the door. My fingers barely brushed the knob as I twisted it and slipped out of the flat and out of the building in my bare feet.
The night air was crisp for this time of year and woke me up fully in a way that sent a shudder through me.
But I took off at a fast walk down the road and didn't stop.
Didn't think. Just moved. I didn't know where I was going.
I just needed distance. Every step away from that flat helped me breathe a little easier.
I tucked my arms close to my chest and hunched my shoulders against the chill. Every step made my entire body hurt, but I pushed through it. Streetlights passed in a blur. My thoughts barely kept up with me – jagged, restless, always circling back to the same mantra.
Keep going. Don't stop. Don't look back.
Eventually, my pace faltered. My legs ached with every step, and the adrenaline that had kept me upright started to wear off.
I slowed, breath coming in short, uneven pulls.
My chest hurt, my throat burned, and I was starting to feel the hangover kick in.
The pounding in my head hindered my focus, but after a moment, I figured out where I was.
I veered off the road to take a side path that led to the park.
It was quiet at this hour, just a few scattered lampposts and the occasional rustle of wind through the leaves.
I kept walking until I found a bench near the entrance and dropped down onto it with no grace at all. My legs gave out almost immediately.
The metal was cold and hard, but I didn't have it in me to care. I hunched forward, elbows on my knees, and fixed my gaze on the ground as I tried to catch my breath ... and then my mind finally started to catch up. Every thought I'd kept at arm's length came flooding back in.
I'd convinced myself it wasn't that bad with Marcus. Over and over again, I'd said that. I brushed off every red flag, smoothed it over, made excuses for him. Told myself I was imagining things. That I could handle it.
But I couldn't pretend anymore.
I might've gotten out of that flat, but I hadn't gotten away from him. I could still feel the weight of him pinning me down, in the bruises starting to form, in the way my heart refused to slow down. I couldn't breathe deep without that tightness coming back.
And now that I was sitting still and the adrenaline was burning itself out, the rest of it started to creep in, too.
I knew what he'd done. I knew. My whole body felt wrong. I couldn't get comfortable in my own skin. I'd been cracked open and left like that for everyone to see.
And I hated it. God, I hated it.
A quieter thought broke through the noise in my head.
Eli was right.
He saw it. He knew something was wrong long before I ever let myself consider it. Every careful question, every hesitant comment... He didn't push, but he was trying to figure out why Marcus didn't sit right with him.
And I defended the bastard. I lied to myself because it was easier.
I squeezed my eyes shut. I wanted to ring Eli. Just to hear his voice, maybe. Let him calm me down the way he always did. But even if I had my phone, I couldn't call him. Not after this. I couldn't face how he might react.
Hell, I didn't know how he would react. Pity? Anger? What if he asked why I didn't stop it? Why I let it happen? Why I didn't listen to him and why I stayed? I couldn't take that. Not from him. Not when everything in me already felt scraped raw.
The panic tried to claw back up again. It swelled in my chest and left me hot and breathless.
I straightened and pulled in a slow breath. Then another. I forced myself to focus on the way the chill of the night air bit at my skin. The sharpness gave me something to hold onto. I counted to four. Then back. Again. Slowly, the panic ebbed enough for me to think straight.
I needed to do something about this.
There had to be a test for this, right? Something they could do to confirm it?
If Marcus really did ... drug me, then I needed it on record.
I could talk to them at the hospital. Ask them to call the police, have someone go back with me to get my stuff.
I wasn't setting foot in that flat alone again.
The thought of walking all the way to A&E looking like this made my stomach turn. I'd be wrecked tomorrow. Hungover. Sore. No sleep. No plan. But I couldn't let this slide.
I pushed myself up from the bench, knees stiff, arms aching, and started moving. Slow at first. Then steadier. I kept my head down as I headed for the main road.
I was in for a long night.