8. Chloe
Chloe
T his shouldn’t be difficult. It’s clear what sort of man Zack is yet my mind, body and heart are still torn. Each one tugged in a different direction.
Looking out for myself should be my only priority yet here I am, wondering if I’ll ever see a change of heart in him. There are brief seconds of vulnerability between his psychotic episodes. Is it because of the drugs? If I got him to stop taking them, would I see the real him?
He climbs off me and flops heavily back down into the driver’s seat.
“What happens next?” I ask.
He bumps his head back against the headrest in frustration.
“Zack?” My voice is hoarse from being choked out.
Angry eyes bore into mine. I’m not getting through to him. My hand shakes as I reach to him, but before I can touch him, he grabs the steering wheel with both hands and slams his forehead against it.
“Stop!” I grab his shoulder, and try to hold him back, but it’s useless. He hits himself again .
The only thing I can think to do is threaten him to calm down. But how? Looking around I spot the pills. I grab them and shake the tin so they rattle loudly. He freezes with his forehead on the wheel.
“Please stop hurting yourself.”
Slowly, he turns his head to face me. I shrink back at the coldness in his expression.
“You need to stop taking these. I think they’re making you unstable.” I try to sound strong, but my voice shakes.
He sits up straight, and holds his palm out flat. “Give them to me.”
I shake my head. “No. Give yourself some time off them, see how you feel.”
“See how I feel? See how I fucking feel? That’s the whole fucking point, Chloe!” Before I can move away, Zack grabs my wrist. “I don’t feel a fucking thing unless I’m on these or I’m near you!” His eyebrows shoot up as he realizes what he’s just said.
“Me?” My voice is barely above a whisper.
He pinches my wrist tighter and uses his other hand to pry my fingers off the tin. Once he has it, he tosses it back down and lets me go.
“What do you mean you feel—” I start to ask.
“I mean I can’t stop thinking about all the ways I want to hurt you, and how I’ll enjoy every second of your death.” He smiles at me, but it’s different. His wild malice is missing. His chaos gone. He’s lying?
I can’t risk waiting around to find out. My heart beats hard against my chest as I slowly move my hand toward the door handle.
“If you wanted to kill me you would have done it already. I serve no purpose to you being dragged along like this. Which means you must feel something more than pain in that dead heart of yours.”
“Shut your fucking mouth. Or do I need to give you another reminder of why you’re here?” He moves closer, his face looming over me as he leans over the seat to cage me in against the door.
“I’m more than my body!” I say defiantly. My fingers finally find the door handle, and I maneuver my body so he can’t see.
“Nah, you’re a cheap slut who’s only good for a quick fuck. I’m starting to think this whole nun get-up is all fake. How about we strip it all off, and you can be your true self for the rest of the night?”
His eyes burn into me with so much hatred. It’s not going to get to me though. His words mean nothing. All of their words mean absolutely fucking nothing.
Gripping the handle tightly I lean in until my nose touches his and our breaths mingle, becoming one. “Fuck. You,” I whisper. Then I pull the handle and push back. I fall onto the road. My head and back burn with pain from the impact. Zack remains in the car, his jaw slack as he watches me.
I take off into the woods once more. It didn’t work out for me last time, but here’s to the third time being the charm.
The pain in my muscles as they’re pushed to their limits is becoming easier to ignore the more I have to do this.
I’ve never worked out or done any exercise other than walking.
Physical education wasn’t on the curriculum.
Now I know why. To make us weak. To make it impossible to fight back and escape.
Foliage whips at my ankles as I run. Branches catch in my hair, slowing me down. I’m being too loud. Although my adrenaline-filled heart wants me to keep going, I force myself to stop.
Zack hasn’t followed me. That’s a good thing. He’s not taunting me as he chases me down like last time. I don’t have to feel that tension building in my body as he gets closer and pins me down. It’s not like I miss the weight of him on top of me or wish that I could smell that warm cinnamon.
I lean against the nearest tree and press my face into the soft moss on the bark. “I’m so messed up.”
Once my heart settles down, and my breathing steadies out, my senses start to come back to me. The first thing I hear is running water. It makes a knot form in my stomach.
The first time I heard it was a few days after the Fathers took me for the first time. I cried into my pillow every night, and the meaner girls in my dorm told me to keep quiet. When I couldn’t, I slipped out so they wouldn’t tell on me and get me punished for causing a disturbance.
I discovered that not all the doors were kept locked.
A back door out of the kitchen was kept open as the cooks worked overnight.
I snuck through and saw how close I was to the woods.
Every cell in my body screamed at me to go back inside.
I knew that if I got caught, I’d deal with worse than what they’d already put me through.
Because if they were able to do something so cruel to someone being good then the possibilities of their cruelty to a sinner would be unthinkable.
Still, my heart longed for peace. So I darted to the trees, and waited in the dark for them to hunt me down like hounds. When nobody came, I ventured deeper into the woods until my anxiety got so bad I had to return for fear of punishment.
Every night I repeated the same route. It became a ritual for me.
I’d go further each time. I learned the exact steps to get back without being seen.
If it was cold, I’d wear an extra layer.
Sometimes I’d sneak a piece of fruit or a pastry from the kitchen and take it with me to enjoy as I lay back and watched the stars through the gaps in the canopy.
The mossy earth beneath me was more comfortable than the beds inside.
Each night, I was reluctant to leave its soft cushioning embrace and drag myself back.
After a few weeks, I found a river. I stripped out of my clothes and waded into the water to find out if it was crossable.
A quarter of the way across, a strong current scared me off, and I retreated.
When I went back that night, I felt a sense of hope that I would one day fully cross it.
But I was careless. I was lost in the fantasy, and didn’t see the Fathers waiting at the door to the kitchen until it was too late.
One of the girls was stood next to him, a smug smile on her face as the one on the left—Father Stone—stroked her hair.
“Thank you, Rebekah, you can return to your bed now, we’ll see to the little sinner.”
A deep pit formed in my stomach as she left me alone with them.
Father Stone was the oldest and most respected member of the convent, but he wasn’t the one who scared me the most. That right belonged to the man stood next to him.
Father Daniels. He looked at me the same way he always did, like I belonged to him and only him.
I never confessed to how far I got from the convent. Instead, I lied and pretended I got lost in the woods. Father Daniels didn’t seem to care for the reason as to what I was doing out there. He relished in the fact that he had something to punish me so severely for.
Rebekah had told him and Father Stone exactly how long I’d been sneaking out for.
They discussed my punishment as if I wasn’t stood right in front of them.
Eventually, they settled on Father Daniels being the one to dole it out privately in his chambers.
He hurt me for each instance that I snuck out.
He flogged me, used every hole without any preparation, he held himself down my throat until I almost passed out. Over and over again.
For twenty-seven nights, I endured our private sessions. Even on the nights I was chosen at the selection, he would carry me back to his room after and continue to try and break me.
I don’t know how I survived or why I still refused to fully give in.
After that, I never returned to the water.
I follow the sound of it until I finally find it again. Chances are the convent isn’t anywhere near this section of it. But it’s like I can feel it staring back at me through the dense trees on the other side.
If I return before morning, I could pretend I never left. I’d get to live, but then I’d be subjected to that abuse forever. That’s not living.
I’m stuck. Lost. Where the hell do I go from here?
I untangle the rosary from around my neck and squeeze it tight in my palm. The tiny beads dig into my skin.
“What am I supposed to do?”
My faith flickers on and off in my heart like a bulb about to die out. I try to capture a piece of that light before it’s gone for good.
“Please give me another sign.”
Something stirs behind me.
He’s found me.