Chapter 14
Emerson
My arms are in chains, pulling them over my head to the point my shoulders burn. Blood trickles down my hands from my fingers from where I tried clawing my way out of the cell. I couldn’t help it. I need out of here.
I scream as the whip collides with my flesh. The burn shoots through my body as he does it over and over again. Cries choke me, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I don’t know how long he’s had me chained up here, and I don’t want to know. All I know is it feels like hours.
Each snap of the whip causes my stomach to lurch, but I’ve hardly eaten in the time I’ve been here so there isn’t really anything to come up.
“Scream louder,” the man demands as I sob harder. The whip snaps through the air and thwacks against my back once more, and the scream that comes this time is louder, just like he wanted. He laughs until I hear something hit the ground. Then I feel him move in behind me, his hands coming up to unhook my wrists, letting them fall to my sides.
I instantly drop to my knees before crying out in pain from the rock cutting into my already bloody knees.
“Emerson, Emerson.” He tutts behind me. I don’t bother to move or look up at him. I keep my head down because I’ve found when I do try to look up at him, he hits me.
“You look so beautiful chained up like that. Maybe I should do it more often,” he says.
“Why?” I whisper.
“Why am I doing it? I could say because I want to, but it’s mostly to ruin you, mark you, and leave you scared.”
“Why do you want that?”
“Why wouldn’t I want that?”
“Nothing you’re doing here makes sense to me,” I mumble under my breath.
“It doesn’t have to. In time, it will, and then you’ll understand your purpose.”
“My purpose? I don’t fucking have a purpose.”
“All of you girls have a purpose, Emerson.”
“But you won’t tell us what it is,” I say, keeping my head down.
“No. Not now, anyway. When the time is right, you’ll know. Until then, none of you will figure out how you’re all connected.”
“We’re not connected. You’re just sick,” I tell him. He laughs before I feel the toe of his boot slam into my ribs. I cough and sputter as the air leaves my lungs. I don’t know why I try his patience. Maybe because I already know we’re not getting out here.
I tried it once. To run when he let me out. He beat me. He beat me until I couldn’t see straight, and I thought I was going to die. A part of me wished for it, too. Anything to leave this hell behind.
“I’m not sick. This isn’t sick,” he denies as he yanks me off the floor and to my feet. My knees ache, the small rocks on the floor cutting into my feet as he drags me back toward my cell. I try to jerk away from him, but his hold is too strong.
When we reach my cell, he tosses me in like a rag doll and slams the door closed. I hit the floor and cried out in pain once more before the ice water hit me. He has the hose in his hand, spraying me as he laughs manically. I know what comes next. The freezing cold air. The shivers. The way I tremble, knowing there’s nothing I can do about it.
I’m pretty sure I’m sick. My lungs ache, and I can hear myself wheezing as air tries to get in and out of my lungs. I’m pretty sure every girl in this place is the same as me.
The water stops flowing, but I keep my head down as water drips down my face.
“You keep pushing me, Emerson, and you’re not going to like what happens to you. The end of this is going to be even more painful, but I can make it hurt until then.” His words send a chill down my spine, and I shiver just from hearing them. I know he can do it. I know he will do it. There’s no doubt in my mind about that.
“Turn around,” the little voice from next to me says. I shift closer to the cell bars and turn so she can examine my back for me. “Those are deep.”
“Is it strange I barely feel them?” I ask her.
“No. Your body has become accustomed to this. You don’t sound so good, though,” she says as she begins to cough.
“Neither do you,” I tell her, turning to face her now. I don’t have any clothes left. In fact, none of us do. He’s stripped all of us of the clothes we had, and now we sit naked in the cells.
“You’re worse. You need medicine,” she adds.
“That isn’t going to happen.” The lights turn off, and we both know it’s time to stop talking. The cold air blasts on, and I slink down onto the floor and curl into a ball.
Some nights, I dream of my mom. What it would have been like if she were still alive and here. Would I still be the way I am? Would I be different? I find myself wishing for her. A mother who didn’t care about me. How ironic is that? I suppose I just want someone to be out there looking for me, missing me. I want someone out there to want to find me more than anything in the world, but there isn’t anyone.
I also dream of a dad. A dad I never knew. A man I never met. What would he be like? Do I look him? Did he have other children? Maybe there was a chance I had family out there somewhere if only he’d known about me. Would he have wanted me?
And then I think about Brandon and a tear slides down my cheek. Brandon. He’s dead because of me, although I’m not sure why. It had to be because of me, though. Why else would he have been in my house on the couch? His life was ended, and for what? Was it this sick fuck who has me now? Did he do this?
And the man from the club? What if I had kept seeing him? Sure, he had me drugged, but I went along with it. I didn’t try to stop it, and I didn’t want to. He made me feel good, and that’s all that mattered at the time.
But now? Now I’m thinking about life. My life. The life I’ve never had and probably never will after this. Maybe I wanted a husband and a family. Maybe I wanted to be a mother. The thought that all of that has now been taken from me causes my chest to tighten. I’ll never know if I was good enough for someone. I’ll never know if I was a good mom, better than my own.
Tears stream down my cheeks as I cough and keep myself curled up as tightly as I can until I finally drift off to sleep.