Chapter 7
PENELOPE
It’s endless.
The heat rolling beneath the skin of my chest, the darkness that stretches up towards the ceiling, the single ray of moonlight cutting across our bedroom floor.
Yet, the other side of the bed is cold, covers pushed back, wrinkled and bunched, but my arm is outstretched across the centre of the mattress anyway. Fingers reaching pointlessly towards the space Billy had lain only a few hours ago.
After applying ointment to my brand, a non-stick bandage over top, he washed us both in the shower keeping the dressings dry, and then he laid me down on this bed, in this exact spot.
Soft cotton sheets beneath and over top of us, the bed much larger than any other I have been in before.
The gap between us was, is, too large, and when he shut out the lights, I feared that was it for tonight.
He had gotten what he wanted and cleaned up the mess.
But much to my surprise, he rolled onto his side, hands clasped like a prayer beneath his cheek, his breath a welcome warmth against my cheekbone.
And in the darkness, my eyes adjusted, I could see his bright blues, the slight curve to his mouth. He looked… happy.
We didn’t talk, but I could hear his heartbeat, let it soothe me until my eyes fell closed, everything still and quiet.
That’s what woke me up.
The silence.
The cotton sheets slide down as I swing my legs over the side of the mattress, my bare feet hitting the cold floorboards of my new bedroom.
It sends a shiver up my spine, but it’s welcome, the iciness beneath my soles reminds me of the convent in winter.
Those freezing tiles a welcome touch after sweat filled nightmares washed through me in slumber.
I don’t trust anyone here.
Anything.
And after tonight, knowing there’s more to come, further unknown things that go bump in the night, I’m not sure I ever will.
None of these people here care about anyone but themselves, they’re all just doing what they’re told by some guy who isn’t a real god, but everyone here talks about him like he is.
I’ll never understand it.
Some people find comfort in religion, I totally understand that. I respect it.
But this, whatever it is that’s happening here, this is something else.
It makes me question everything.
What are Billy’s true intentions?
What are mine?
My sight is not bad in the dark, I can see well enough for navigating an unfamiliar space.
I tend to adapt well to new places, after doing it for so many years, it’s in my nature now, to blend, to meld, to be unseen.
That’s why it’s with confidence that I make my way across the too-large room, through the open double doors, out into the huge living space.
The sofas and chairs are empty, no sign of Billy at the curved desk in the far corner, either.
It’s unconscious, the ways in which I am drawn to him. The way I grab my silk nightdress off the back of an armchair, slip it over my head, shimmying the cool fabric down my bare body until the hem hits my knees. My fingers curl over the door handle, my feet carrying me out into the echoey hall.
It all feels so natural.
The pull.
The compulsion that is Billy Blackwell.
It’s as my clammy palm just grazes the highly polished banister of a curved staircase we used earlier, one of my feet lifting to step down that first stair, that a hand fists in the back of my hair, wrenching me backwards so hard that it knocks the air out of me.
My back slams into a hard figure, the crown of my head knocking against bone, heat immediately radiating through my clothes, sweaty breath clinging to the skin along the side of my neck.
“Don’t make a sound,” a male voice breathes, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “You’ll regret it if you do.”
Teeth clenched, my words hissing, “You’ll be the one to regret it if you don’t release me.” I suck in a breath, “Right now.”
The male’s hand slaps across my mouth, short nails gouging hard into my cheek. He drags me backwards, my bare feet scrabbling against the shined floor. My eyes flare as the light of the hall fades, the man tearing me further and further away from the stairs I planned to descend.
Then it’s dark.
The pounding in my head is harder than the drumming of my heart, my chest cavity ready to explode the organ right out of my chest. My bare heels bang uselessly against the floor, my hands curled tight around the man’s forearm, my nails cutting crescents into his skin.
I’ve been here before.
Struggling never helps, but no matter how many times I’ve had to do it, falling limp is so much harder than your brain tells you it’s going to be.
Still, I do it. I fall limp, a dead weight in his arms, which, with arms the size of his, it’s really no struggle for him to drag me back regardless, farther and farther into the darkness.
My eyes blink rapidly, over and over, trying to see in the endless pitch. I don’t know this house. I don’t know its inhabitants. I don’t know about all of the things that go bump in the night in this strange, gothic castle.
But, what I do know is, I’m not a victim.
All of the times I was flash to the forefront of my mind, and my hands curl tighter over his forearm barred across my chest, nails cutting deeper, a hiss escaping his teeth, and then I rear my head back.
Skull colliding hard into the base of his throat.
I'm too short to get his face, but he's hunched over me, where he drags me back, and his chin is smacked too.
“You little bitch,” he spits, not slowing down, but he falters as I crane forward, readying to try again, when he stops still, wrapping a leg around the front of both of mine, taking me to the floor.
His weight hits into me like a bulldozer, my front plastered to the hard floor, he smothers me with his whole being, and with the breath knocked from my lungs, I can't breathe in more ways than one.
“It would be so easy,” the man breathes into my ear, his clammy fingers sliding upwards on my outer thigh, his own straddling me, trapping me beneath him, his knees bent beside my own.
“To ruin you.” His hand flattens, gripping my flesh, fingers digging in until it feels like he's squeezing bone. “But I don’t need to,” he whispers, “he'll do that all himself.”
“Get the fuck off of me,” I grit out, teeth gnashed against the floor, one of his hands pressed hard against the side of my face, fingers spreading across one entire side of my skull. “Get the fuck off of me.”
“No, I’m not ready to yet,” he chuckles, this low raspy mocking that stands the little hairs up along my arms. “I said I don’t need to ruin you, not that I wouldn’t.
” The tip of his nose brushes my temple as he dips even lower, closing the scant distance between us, his knees digging into my sides, groin flush with my arse, his cock hard and thick against me.
Mouth to my ear, his breath hot and heavy making my gut tighten, “Don’t go silent now, little girl, I like ‘em to scream.”
Instinct wars against logic making my legs kick, my arms flail, curled fists hammering the floor, but I can’t move my face, turn my head, let alone use my mouth to try to scream as he applies more pressure.
I taste blood, my teeth cutting into my cheeks, my molars aching under the weight of his body all crushing down the length of his arm, his hand spread across my face.
I see nothing. Pure blackness filling my vision and the room.
My larynx feels strangled when I try to scream, to shout, like there’s a hand gripping around my throat.
Eyes watering, I start to relax, feeling his pelvis lift, his entire body weight now against my face as he lifts his other hand from the floor, feel the back of his hand graze my silk covered buttocks as he undoes his trousers, the zip like a death knell as my eyes water.
The thunk of a belt hits the floor, my body melting into the wood beneath me, wishing the hardwood would just open up and swallow me whole, but then I hear a thud.
Metal.
He curses, the man, seeming to struggle with his trousers, more of his weight crushing my face, but my hands aren’t pinned, my fingers are free, and wriggling them, I can feel the belt, the leather like silk.
It’s as though the breath punches out of me, an exhale of stuttered air as my fingertips find cool metal.
Hooking inside the trigger guard, I start to ease the gun towards me.
The pitch black of the room cloaking me as I slowly pull the weapon higher, bringing it up towards my face, my elbow bending, inching my only chance to escape closer and closer.
But before I can do anything else with it, a fist comes down on the back of my hand, knocking the gun from my fingers, the metal sliding across the floor, far too far away from me to have any chance of getting it back as I listen to it come to a skidding stop, the sound of it distant.
“Do you think I’m fucking stupid?” the man laughs.
Then his weight is lifted from me, my lungs heaving in the deepest breath, burning as I suck it down.
I’m flipped over, the oxygen knocked straight back out of me as my spine crashes into the floor, the back of my skull cracking into the wood making me see stars.
It momentarily stills me, shock rattling my bones.
His hands spread my knees, hiking my nightdress up to my navel, and I lie beneath him as he gets between my thighs, the coarse hair of his bare legs rough against my smooth ones.
My tongue feels heavy, my head pounding, mouth dry.
He comes over me, his weight on his knees as he lowers himself closer, the hot, heavy weight of his cock flopping onto my lower belly.
And I’m staring into his eyes, dark in the pitch of the room despite whatever colour they might be, but the whites of them seem to glow.
He touches his nose to my cheek, breathing me in, then laughs, this low, raspy cocktail of madness and evil. “It feels so good to know that what I’m about to do to you will fuck him up much more than it will you.”
Then he’s rearing up onto his knees, dropping his gaze down onto my bared body.
I hear him lick his lips, dramatic and over the top in order to make sure I know what he’s doing as he stares down at me.
His hand comes back to his dick, stroking his length, his knuckles rough against my flesh.
But that’s when I see it, as though someone decided to throw me a bone, I catch sight of his belt again, my eyes adjusting in the darkness, a small knife loose beside it, like it fell when he shoved his trousers violently down.
Without a second thought, I fight the fogginess inside my head and lurch forwards, grabbing the blade and slamming it into him. Blindly, I aim for the side of his throat, missing, and instead, stabbing it straight into his cheek.
Blood splutters out of his mouth, drops splattering my face as he releases a cough in shock, his hands coming straight to his face, I withdraw the knife, and staring hard into his eyes, I bring the weapon back.
This time, hitting my mark, I slam it with all of my strength into the side of his neck, twisting as I rip it back out, tearing flesh and veins.
I haul myself back, squeaking as my bare skin sticks to the polished floor. Tossing the knife away, I scrabble to my feet, slipping and falling in the pool of blood quickly spreading as my attacker drops forward, thudding against the floor at the same time I’m stumbling my way back to my feet.
Without waiting, I spin around, rushing forward with my bloody, soaked arms outstretched, I keep moving, wet feet skidding until my fingers collide with solid wood.
I skirt my way along the panelled wall until soft orange light warms the space and I’m bursting my way back into the hall, jumping two steps at a time as I take the curling staircase down.