2. Elyse
CHAPTER 2
ELYSE
I ’m always so cold when I have these dreams. The chill is bone deep, threatening to freeze me from the inside out. It's the perfect backdrop to the pain radiating through my limbs. My shoulder twitches from the phantom bullet inside it, the one embedded deep in the muscle memory.
No matter how many times I have this nightmare, it's the cold keeping me from seeing all the pieces of the puzzle. My brain temporarily freezes, locking me out, barring me from seeing the truth.
The longer I focus on it, the more it changes, the edges becoming hazy.
Sinking deeper into the dream, my eyes catch on the glittering crystal of something above me…a chandelier? It's lovely but nothing like home, nothing like the house I grew up in, or the room where I was beaten over and over and over.
The dream feels real, like I'm experiencing it for the first time. I'm so close to the end of that night, so close to seeing what really happened, to filling in all the blank spots in my memory.
A shadow moves back and forth in the crystal light. A darkness breaking up the infinite gleaming light.
The cold breaks, and warmth wraps around me like a heavy balm. Hands cup my cheeks, then the back of my neck. I sigh.
Sebastian. Sebastian .
This is a dream. A nightmare shifting into a better light.
I’m tempted to curl into the warmth, to have it chase away the lingering cold, but I don't. I can’t. Not until I see his face.
The dream bursts like a bubble popping. A sharp burst of pain slaps against my cheek, and I gasp, my eyes fluttering open. An onslaught of sensations crashes into me all at once.
The bruises and cuts from last night ache, and the heat in the room is almost sweltering. Beads of sweat slip down between my breasts. Under my ripped T-shirt, Sebastian’s shirt, that I snatched off the bed.
I rear back, hitting the hard edge of a wooden chair with my shoulder blades and crushing my hands, bound behind me, with my own weight.
"Ely," a voice calls, and I know that voice.
His terrible fucking voice.
Tendrils of fear slither around me, tightening their grip. I blink at the hazy image before me, trying to make the nightmare of my reality disappear. But no matter how many times I open and close my eyes, the image never changes.
Yanov is still there, his lips ghosting against my cheek, his other hand cradling the opposite side of my face. No. No. No. Dread slides along my skin, soaking into my lungs with every breath I take.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. How did I get here?
The memories come rushing back into my mind.
The security guard, my damn trusting nature. How could I have been so stupid?
A hot tear slides down the apple of my cheek, and I twist, trying to tug myself from his grasp.
"Ely," he whispers my name again. "It's so good to have you back, right where you belong."
My throat throbs as I swallow, while trying to shake my head. "No, please. Don't do this."
"Don’t do what? Bring you home? Marry you? Make babies with you? This is how it was always supposed to be, right?"
I flinch at his tone, the edge in it a warning I know well.
I understand the warning. We can be happy together…if you survive. Of course, he doesn't say that. Not in so many words, anyway. The warning is clear, though, in the way he hovers over me, watching me. Waiting.
Habits are hard to break, though, and as usual, I find myself slipping back into that familiar role where I try to convince him I don’t want him, and then my efforts implode around me. It didn’t work in the past, and it’s not going to work now.
But that's all I know . How else will I survive?
My voice is squeaky, fear leaching into each word. “What do you want from me?"
His grip shifts, his fingers pinch my chin hard. "Don’t play dumb, Ely. You know what I’ve always wanted, what was bound to happen.”
My entire body trembles, the blood in my veins freezing to ice.
“You baby. It’s you. I want you. I want inside you. I want you on top of me. I want everything I was promised all those years ago, before it was ripped away when your asshole of a father decided to betray me." His hold on my face tightens with each word he speaks, and I fight against the pain.
"Why do this when you know it's not what I want?" I keep my voice small, trying my best not to provoke him.
"It might not be what you want right now, but someday you’ll see things my way. You belong to me. You always have.”
The terrible darkness blankets my skin when his hands slide down my neck then to my shoulders. His hands continue down the length of my body, and thankfully he stops once he reaches my bicep. "I see the marks he put on you. Scratches, cuts, bruises. How could you let him fuck you in the woods like some cheap whore? You are better than that, Ely. More than that.”
I fight against the desire to roll my eyes.
Yeah, treat me better by breaking my bones and apologizing afterward.
"How can I believe that? You have me tied up like I’m some escape artist. It’s not like I can outrun you, and even if I did, where would I go? I have no idea where we are." I peer around the room, making note of each detail.
We’re in some type of a hotel, a cheap one from the look of the outdated manufactured wood furniture, the thin comforter on the bed, and the dull, worn carpet covering the floor. The room is probably ground level—in the event he needs to make a quick escape, I imagine.
He only shrugs his shoulders, his gaze roving over my breasts, and then lower. "Escape artist, no. But you do have a habit of losing your shit, so I figured this would be easier once you were awake. You have a hard time accepting the inevitable."
A phone chimes somewhere on the other side of the room. He pushes away from me and stands, shoving his dirty hair from his face while giving me his back. I sag into the bonds, my hands and my feet burning from the rope as I hunch into myself in an attempt not to fall apart.
I already know what’s going to happen. He's going to rape me. He's going to rape me, and then he's going to beat me when he realizes I don't enjoy his touch. It's how I always saw my end, but after Sebastian entered the scene I thought maybe I'd be okay. For once in my life I felt safe. Protected. I thought maybe it was possible.
There's a murmur, and then Yanov stalks back over to me with his phone on speaker. "No, I have her right here. She's safe enough."
He stares down at me, his thighs too close, his free hand reaching out as if he's not quite sure where he wants to touch me yet.
The voice on the other end of the line makes my blood run cold. "And she better stay that way until I arrive. We have business to discuss.”
My father. The police chief of Oakmount. The only man with more power than some of these rich assholes running the school and the upper classes.
Whispers of safety flutter hopefully in my mind. He's going to win. He always wins. When he sold me to pay his gambling debts, I thought I was free. Even belonging to someone else, I might have had a chance at escaping, but the chance is blown to pieces if he gives me to Yanov.
He'll chain me to the floor like a dog and never let me go.
I don't hear the rest of the conversation, thankfully; my brain is too worried about how the hell I’m going to get out of here. Unfortunately, the reprieve I get while he’s on the phone ends, and as soon as he’s finished talking he crouches in front of me again.
"Come here, Ely."
He scoots forward and wraps his arms around me, pressing his scratchy bristled face into my chest. I’m rigid as a board, trying not to breathe the smell of stale alcohol and sweat wafting off of him too deeply.It envelops me, though, and I shudder, trying not to puke.
"Ely. Ely. Ely. Ely." He says it over and over like a prayer. I cringe inwardly, hating him for making the name ugly again so soon after Sebastian made it his.
It feels like an eternity before he finally releases me. I curl away from him, into myself, wishing I could cover more of my body. I’m still only wearing Sebastian’s football shirt and a pair of panties. No amount of clothing will ever be enough to make me feel safe in his presence.
"I’m going to untie your hands, but you have to promise you’ll be a good girl. No funny business, Ely.” He glares at me, but doesn’t wait for me to respond. Leaning forward, he rips at the bindings. Once my hands are free, I slowly pull them forward and cradle them in my lap. There’s nothing else for me to do. I can’t move, not with him so close.
My only hope now is when he falls asleep…maybe I’ll be able to escape then? It’s a slim chance but one I have to take.
I try not to flinch as his hands skim up my thighs, nor when he pries them apart. A scream builds in my throat. His penetrating gaze feels like a weight crushing down on my chest. I force myself to look straight ahead, at the wall over his shoulder so I don’t do anything to get me killed. He’s a ticking time bomb. And when he explodes, everything and everyone in his path is destroyed.
"Look at how pretty you are."
Bile climbs up my throat, and I have to clamp my jaw shut to keep it down, to keep myself from gagging. I hate him so much. There’s no telling with Yanov what will happen next; all I know is nothing he says is an idle threat.
His hands climb higher and circle my waist. "Such a beautiful girl. I knew the moment I met you that you would be mine.”
Disgust sticks to my insides. I was only a child when my father introduced me to Yanov.
Without warning, he stands, and I shudder with fear as I squeeze my eyes closed.
He stalks behind me, circling me like prey, and I try my best to remain still, because drawing more attention to myself is stupid, but there’s nowhere else for him to look. Nothing else he finds as entertaining as terrorizing me.
His fingers skim over my shoulders, his touch haunting, a nightmare that never ends. It’s like he’s inspecting me, inspecting his next meal. I cast my gaze to the floor, afraid my facial expression might give away how fucked up I find this whole situation.
Is it too much to hope Sebastian will notice I'm gone and come for me? That he might save me? I shake my head, refusing to let hope bloom. No one has ever saved me before.
Why would they now?
I snap back to the present when something cold and hard presses against my skin. It takes me a second to recognize the metal of the knife as he drags it over my shoulder and skims up to my neck. Try as I may to control my fear, my body refuses to hold it all in, and I tremble uncontrollably when he trails the tip of the blade around the back of my neck and to the other side of my shoulder. The shoulder with his name carved in it, the one punctured with a bullet hole scar.
Phantom pain skates up my spine. I grit my teeth, knowing more will come.
What is he going to do? Mark me again ?
I'm so tense my abs lock up, and my knees knock together.
"Oh look at you, Ely. I'm not going to hurt you." His voice is soft, soothing.
I know better than to fall for his lies.
He circles around to face me again. "Why do you think I'm going to hurt you? I didn’t work this hard to rescue you only to turn around and hurt you when I finally have you all to myself.”
There’s no right answer here so I stay quiet.
"Answer me," he snaps.
I shake and shiver again at the tone of his voice. I know that one more than ever. More sweat slips down my face, and fear tightens deep in my gut.
"Because you always hurt me when I don't give you what you want."
He leans in and whispers against my mouth. "And see, this is why you always end up hurt…not because I want to hurt you. I don’t, baby…not at all. But because you don’t think about things before you do them, you end up hurt. If you don’t want to be hurt, then all you have to do is listen. Do as you’re told, and you’ll be fine. I’ve said that a million times, haven’t I?”
It’s not that easy, but I don’t tell him that.
“I’ve always done as I’m told. It’s when I don’t do what you want that you hurt me.”
A sinister smile appears on his lips, “Then do what I want.”
I grit my teeth, biting back a retort I know will get my teeth sent through my brain. “And what do you want?"
My response only makes him smile wider. "You, my little dove. Just you. And now that I have you, I'm going to take what I've wanted for years. It doesn’t matter to me if that asshole little boy had you first. Once he’s dead it won’t matter, anyway. All that will matter is who gets to be the last person to fuck all your tight holes, and that person is me.”
His words splinter through me, making my stomach roll, bile climbing up my throat. Shit. I think I’m going to vomit. God, I hope not. I can’t. Not right now. Leaning in closer, I fold my lips together to try and stifle the nausea.
"Nothing to say?”
All I can do is shake my head, tears clinging to my eyes, my stomach aching, threatening to spill out my disgust.
He continues. “That’s fine by me. I don’t need you to speak, not for what I plan to do.”
Standing once more, he reaches to undo his belt, and I squeeze my eyes closed, contemplating my next move as the sound ripples through me. I have to do something, anything. Opening my eyes again, I watch as he tugs the leather through the loops of his jeans with a sibilant hiss and then tosses it behind him onto the bed.
Breathe . But breathing isn’t going to stop him from hurting me. It isn’t going to protect me from the inevitable. Bile climbs up my throat, inching closer and closer to its escape, and when he grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it over his head, the filth inside me comes pouring out.
My gut heaves, and I double over, watching in horror as vomit splashes against the floor, my bare feet, and his boots. Oh god. He’s going to kill me.
"Fuck!" He curses and stumbles back into the dresser behind him. "What the fuck?"
I should tell him I’m sorry, that I didn’t mean to vomit, but I don’t. It’s pointless, anyway. I wipe at my mouth with the back of my hand and then wrap my arms around my middle.
"I… I don’t feel good.”
Grabbing onto my chin, he levers it up, forcing me to look at him. "I don’t really give a shit. I’ve waited long enough. We’re doing this now.”
Tears slip from my eyes and trail down my cheeks onto his fingers. "Please…please don’t do this.”
"Is this for real? Are you really begging me right now?” He sounds shocked, flabbergasted. “I thought you were stronger than this. What happened to you? Since when are you afraid of a little pain? We’ve barely started, and the tears are already falling? Come on, Ely. You can do better than this pathetic mewling. Give it a little feeling, dove. Come on...beg for me. It won’t change shit, but I love the way you look when you’re crying”
I'm shaking now, cradling my face and bawling. There's no way I can go through this again, not when it seemed like I had safety within my grasp. Like I was going to be free of this asshole and this life once and for all.
"What if I fuck that pretty little mouth of yours? Are you going to vomit on me?”
My stomach clenches so tightly, I throw up in my mouth a little again.
“I told you I don’t feel good…” I tell him, my voice cracking.
In an instant everything changes, and suddenly I’m ripped off the chair by the hair at the nape of my neck. My legs are jelly and barely hold my weight as pain shoots through me, shredding me from the inside out. It’s only seconds that he’s touching me, but it feels like an eternity. The world spins around me, and I stumble over my feet.
“Please…please don’t.” I beg, even though it’s pointless.
“Next time I open this door it will be to fuck you, and no amount of vomit or tears will change that. Figure it the fuck out, Ely, or I’ll do it for you, and we both know you won’t enjoy that.” It’s the promise of what’s to come.
Through blurry eyes, I try to grab more details of the room as he opens a door. His touch disappears when he releases me with a hard shove, ripping Sebastian’s shirt almost all the way off in the process. Disoriented and off balance, I crash into the wall, and even as I try like hell to stay upright my exhausted body refuses, and I topple over onto the floor.
Yanov slams the door closed, and I find myself surrounded by darkness. Exhaustion makes it hard for me to keep my eyes open.
I need something to hold onto, something to live for, but all I want right now is for death to find me, because even I know in the end, the only way I’ll ever truly be free is when I’m dead.