2005 Grace #7
That annoying dark tuft of hair was hanging in his face, softening his sharp features. That brief moment took me back into the past—I didn’t know whether pain had broken him or something else, something that had to do with me.
“I wanna help you,” I said gently and stepped into the bathroom. “Just tell me what to do.”
Chase sat down on the rim of the bathtub and told me what to take out of the cupboard. I was really curious what they had fought about, and why he had to pay such a brutal price. However, I had a feeling he wouldn’t tell me, so I just tended to his wounds in silence.
The most obvious answer was drugs. If Chase’s brother knew what Chase was up to, he was probably no better a person than he was.
After I took care of his wounds, Chase caressed my face gently, his eyes glinting with pain and dark with desire. His soft, full lips parted slightly, making my heart pound. My lower belly was aflame with desire.
“Thank you,” he said in his deep, resonant voice that seeped through my mind like warm honey. I pressed my face against his palm—I loved it when he was gentle with me.
His thumb traced my lower lip. A sigh burst out of me, which made Chase lift me up into his lap despite his pain.
He stroked my hair out of my face and inhaled my scent deeply.
My thighs were trembling, my womb contracting with desire.
My sex was slick with warm wetness, and my nipples hardened.
Chase’s cock pressed against my clitoris through the rough fabric of his jeans.
I moaned passionately and ran my fingers through his dark hair.
He picked me up, carried me to the kitchen, and placed me on the hard table.
“What are you doing?” I panted, shifting my hips and reaching back with my hands to make myself more comfortable.
My fingers touched cold metal. I looked at it.
My heart skipped a beat as Chase’s head disappeared between my thighs.
The kitchen knife burned against my fingertips.
Life had given me an opportunity to be free, but he diverted my attention so skillfully that I chose pleasure over fighting.
I chose his tongue and fingers moving in the same rhythm, pulling me toward orgasm.
When he looked up at me with his glistening dark eyes and bloody lips, shame and irritation hit me.
I wasn’t afraid of fighting. I didn’t choose pleasure instead of freedom—it was him I chose.
The endless whirlpool of his dark soul, in which I had been struggling since I was fifteen.
Because I carried the same amount of love and hate for him in my heart—the mixture of which haunted me every waking moment.
His stern face contorted. He stood up, then collapsed against the kitchen cupboard. I jumped off the table and steadied him as much as I could.
“You must rest.”
“Then…” He took his eyes off me, and his gaze wandered to the locks on my door.
“Then you have to lock me in,” I whispered. His suntanned skin and sharp chin captured my gaze.
He nodded seriously.
“Or…” I looked into his eyes carefully. “Or we could sleep together. For the first time.” I lowered my voice, ashamed.
“I need a guarantee.”
I knitted my brows when his gaze moved to Poppy, who was sleeping peacefully on the moth-eaten couch.
“What do you want to do to her?” I froze.
“If you behave, nothing. If you try to escape…”
Tears flooded my eyes because, this one time, I wasn’t thinking about escaping—I just wanted to be with him. Just the two of us. In a different, intimate way.
“Don’t destroy it, Chase!” I begged him. His thick brown eyebrows furrowed. “Don’t destroy my faith in you! I really believe that, deep down, you are a good person who loves me.”
His chin tensed, and he tore his gaze away from me in anger.
“You shouldn’t have said that, Grace. Don’t you ever say that to me. You understand?”
“Why?”
“Because you just can’t,” he whispered in my ear. “Nod your head if you understand.”
I nodded timidly.
“You’re doing well,” he whispered. I was confused because I saw fear in Chase’s eyes. He was terrified… and I had no clue why.
In the room, I pulled off his pants. It took him several minutes before he could lie down on his back.
I snuggled up to him carefully and laid my head on his chest. His skin was burning, and his body was covered in a thin layer of sweat.
He convulsed in pain as his heart raced beneath my trembling, cold palm.
“Just relax. I’ll be here with you,” I whispered against his bare skin.
Deep down, I felt sorry for him, and I wanted to repay his kindness for the time when I had been sick and he had cared for me.
Chase put his arm around me, pressed my shoulder, and kissed my hair. He fell asleep first, breathing softly in my ear while Poppy lay down at our feet.
That night, I had the most beautiful dream since I’d been a prisoner… In my dream, all three of us were free and slept in a sunlit room.
1 month later
“I can’t anymore, Grace. But…” He raked his fingers over his thick, dark hair. Since the fight with his brother, he seemed to be under a lot of pressure, as if a shadow was following him around, waiting for him to make a mistake.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I replied, shaking.
Then, he saw Poppy. For a long time, he just watched her, then stepped beside her and lifted her up by his fur.
Poppy meowed desperately.
“What are you planning to do, Chase?” I took a timid step toward him. He looked at me, bloodlust in his dark eyes.
“Chase,” I begged. I begged him not to hurt her, but he…
Poppy’s bones cracked loudly when he broke her neck, then tossed her on the ground.
I screamed and buried my face in my hands, then collapsed on the ground.
“I hate you!” I screamed.
From that day on, I could never look at him the same way as before. I had no love or pity for him, only pure hate.
Because Chase Baker had lied to me. He’d told me that he wasn’t able to hurt me anymore. But he was.
“Take off your clothes, Grace,” he commanded.
I unfastened the small buttons of my shirt, crying. As soon as it fell to the ground, I covered my breasts with my hands.
“Take your hands away and take off your panties, too!” he grumbled.
Chase was standing in front of me half-naked, his veins full of adrenaline mixed with anger. His muscles tensed, his Adam’s apple moved up and down, and he clenched his jaw and wrapped his fingers around the leather strap.
The musty air filled with anger, fear, and hate.
I pressed my panties down, trembling, then stepped out of them slowly.
“Turn around!” His voice was shaking.
“You don’t have to do this!” I whispered, looking deep into his eyes. “Chase, please, don’t!” I begged.
Chase crossed the distance between us with two long steps. When his bare skin touched mine, I shuddered. He cupped my face in his warm, sweaty palms and wiped a tear from the corner of my eye.
“I’m sorry, Grace.”
The words shattered me. I broke into sobs.
Chase leaned his forehead against mine while cupping my face with his other hand, too. My nose was filled with the rich, raw smell of leather. My nostrils flared, and my whole body tensed up.
“This is going to be the last one, I promise. I’m never gonna hurt you again,” he whispered against my mouth.
His warm breath caressed my skin, but I couldn’t find comfort in his words or his gentle kiss. “Liar!” I wanted to shout as he pressed his soft lips against mine.
“I love you,” he whispered so quietly it seemed like a silent dream.
I shook my head, crying, when he stepped behind me and struck me with the belt. The leather strap stung. I moaned in pain and rose onto my tiptoes when the next blow came.
The merciless slapping of leather against my skin and the sound of my sobbing echoed eerily in my skull.
I was standing there, naked and helpless, with a sadist behind me who claimed that he loved me. And yet he beat me bloody. The strap cut my skin open. My sensitive skin burned, and the disgusting, metallic taste of blood pushed the suffocating smell of mold out of my mind.
I was trembling, crying, and clenching my teeth while blood sprayed into the air. My body was swimming in thick, odorless sweat. My muscles revolted, pulsating and throbbing, then the last strike made my legs collapse—I fell face-first to the floor. I curled into a fetal position and cried.
Chase threw the leather strap that he had been holding against the wall; it hissed through the heavy air before hitting it.
He dressed, wreaked havoc in the room, then stormed out and left me among the broken pieces.
August 2007
I was much more afraid of Bo and his gang than of Chase Baker.
They exuded corruption the way a carcass exudes decay.
They often spent weekends in our house in the middle of nowhere, because here, where there were no neighbors, they could turn the volume up as high as they wanted. Our house often shook with the bass.
In those days, I always shut myself in my room because Bo’s gang was dangerous.
They were like unkempt outlaws from an old Western: whatever little money they eked out of crime, they spent on booze, cigarettes, and drugs.
They were a gang of robbers who didn’t give a shit about their sorry lives or their empty souls.
Their hair was always greasy, their nails dirty, their teeth decaying.
They reeked of alcohol, sweat, and cigarettes.
They always ate everything they found in the fridge—which was filled from my salary.
They were aggressive and loved terrorizing people, just as they loved vandalism. They treated women with no respect, treated them like whores. They didn’t have sex—they rutted like animals. I could always hear them through the thin walls of our house.