11. Chapter 9
Zoe
“Jeremiah, keep an eye on Ashley and Zoe while I’m gone.” Rick’s words ring in my ears, followed by the slam of the front door. Though I’m in our room upstairs, his words—and the meaning behind them—are crystal clear.
Rick is our foster parent. Since his wife, Ingrid, passed away, he has been running this house on his own. Let’s not kid ourselves—he only cares about the money he gets for us. I’m under no illusion that I’m here because of the goodness of his heart.
And Jeremiah is his favorite for many reasons. Not just because he sells weed for him at school and fills his pockets. Because they’re the most alike. Almost like father and son. Like an actual family.
Rick turns a blind eye to almost everything Jeremiah does. Sometimes I think he could kill me, and Rick would help him hide the body. And he’s as unpredictable as the weather. Some days he ignores me, and it’s like I never existed. Other days unfold like a nightmare.
“Little Zoe,” Jeremiah sings as he calls my name, drawing it out. “We’re home alone…”
A shiver races through my body.
It’s one of those days.
My heartbeat picks up, my breathing too, and my palms sweat. This is what it means.
“Little Zoe! Come out, or I’ll find you and I’ll have to punish you!”
The frustration is building inside him. It’s audible in his voice. All too familiar. I’m also aware he’s not joking. Still, I have to take the risk. He might not find me. Perhaps Ash will come home sooner.
With fear, I look around the small room. This place doesn’t offer many hiding spots. Ash and I only have a closet, a desk, and two beds.
But I can’t go out to face him either. Something bad is going to happen—I can sense it.
The room spins as I jump to my feet, legs shaking like jelly.
What should I do? What should I do?
A blanket covers Ash’s bed, its ends almost reaching the floor. That’s the best option.
In two steps, I get to her bed and drop to my knees. Since I’m petite, it’s easy for me to crawl underneath. Right when the door to our little room slams against the wall, I hold my breath.
Jeremiah knows I’m here. Tears fill my eyes. My heart wants to burst. It hurts. My hands press against my mouth, trying to stop my breathing. He might hear it.
Right now, all I want is to be invisible.
“Hiding from me, little Zoe? Playing hide-and-seek?” Jeremiah’s laughter follows those words. It’s sinister and reminds me of the horror movies he sometimes watches with the others.
The first tear rolls down my cheek.
He opens and shuts the closet door. His footsteps echo on the wooden floor. I can smell his hatred in the air.
My eyelids are clenched tighter than ever. This can’t be real. If only I could vanish…
The pounding of my heart drowns out everything around me. Neither the outside sounds nor his footsteps reach my ears. It’s like he’s toying with me. Except that I—
“Gotcha,” he says under his breath.
His hands land on my ankles, pulling me from under the bed without a second thought, and a scream fills the entire house. A blood-curdling scream. My own.
On impulse, I grab the floor, but it’s no use. The splinters just dig into my fingertips. I have nothing to hold onto. Nothing to defend myself with.
He’s a few years older than me. Bigger and stronger. My chances are slim.
Jeremiah hauls me across the room.
“And now it’s time for your punishment.”
He drags me into the hallway where our rooms are on the upper floor. I try to break free, but to no avail. His grip on my legs is tight.
My crying grows louder. I beg him not to hurt me. I beg him to let me go. He’s deaf to my pleas.
“Are you going to walk down on your own, or do I have to keep dragging you?”
“I’ll go. Please, I’ll go,” I tell him in a broken voice.
He finally lets go of my legs, and in a surge of hope and energy, I crawl forward on all fours. Not to the stairs, no. Just away from him. Wanting to escape. Wanting to hide.
“Bad, bad girl.” He chuckles before I take two steps. Once again, he grabs me like a rag doll and pulls me to the stairs with all his might.
I don’t know if he planned it or if it’s a coincidence, though I don’t know if coincidences even exist in my life.
The next thing I remember is the world spinning.
My head hits every single step leading down.
I roll and roll until I land on my back with a groan.
Lying on the cool floor, I blink several times, a tremor running through my limbs as the world slowly sharpens.
And when that happens, Jeremiah descends the stairs, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. My stomach clenching with dread.
Everything hurts. My jaw clenches too, and a sharp pain shoots through my temples with every slight movement of my head and shoulders. I feel sick.
Why did I do that? I didn’t have to run…
His face is still before my eyes. Dark eyes full of evil. A smile that promises pain. How I hate that face. I would kill him if I could.
Before I can find the energy to move, Jeremiah grabs my shoulders and pulls me upright. I don’t even reach his shoulders. His hold is like an iron grip.
He pushes me toward the basement.
“No, no, no…” I moan, terrified. “Jeremiah, please don’t do this.”
Once again, he’s deaf to my pleading. Immune to my pain and tears.
“You must face your punishment. You know that,” he says as he opens the basement door.
Four steps down, and I’m pushed into a damp room. It stinks in here like something’s dead. Maybe it is. I think this is where my hope for a happy childhood died.
Turning to face him, he says, “Get undressed.”
“Wh-what?” I sputter. “Wh-what are you going to do?”
“I said get undressed!” he yells in my face.
With trembling hands, I reach down my dress and pull it up. Pull it over my head. I stand there in just my T-shirt and underwear, trying to cover myself with my hands from his gaze. I’m eleven years old, but it doesn’t change a thing.
He crosses a line he has never crossed before.
“Against the wall.” He points, and I do as he says. “On your knees, hands up. For every single time your hands drop, you’ll get a belt.”
Fear is the only thing I feel. I’m so terrified I don’t know what’s happening. I’m shaking all over, and tears are streaming down my face.
It’s your fault! You brought this on yourself.
“Do I need to repeat myself?” he demands in a grave tone, and I jump in place.
I obey his commands. Standing against the wall like a condemned prisoner, I fall to my knees.
Eight.
Eight times I get whipped across the back. Each one is worse than the last. Until my white T-shirt is stained with blood.
I can’t pull myself together all day. That dream threw me off. A nightmare.
But I can’t convince myself it was just a nightmare because it really happened. A long time ago. Ever since I decided to take revenge for what they did to me, the memories keep coming back. They torment me at night. They toy with me.
I remember when Ash came home that night and I pretended to be asleep. But I couldn’t sleep. Lying on my back was out of the question. Lying on my side hurt too. So I lay on my stomach with my eyes closed.
Ash watched me for a moment and then stroked my back before going to her own bed. The moment she touched me, I wanted to howl like a wild dog. My skin burned with a living fire. And in the darkness, I was grateful she couldn’t see my jaw clenching in pain.
I didn’t tell her. Why didn’t I ever do that? I could give a hundred reasons, but would any of them be good enough to justify suffering in silence?
My concern was that they would separate us, given it was the sole residence where we could stay together.
I was afraid Ash would slit the throat of everyone in this house and, as a result, I would lose her.
My greatest fear was that she would abandon her search for a way out of this wretched situation and stay behind to shield me.
So I suffered in silence and prayed for when we would finally be able to escape this hell.
I shake my head as if I could shake off unwanted memories. Slowly, I pull stockings over my shaved legs.
I have a date. An actual date.
The day started with a call from Damien asking me out to dinner. I couldn’t say no to him. Correction, I didn’t want to say no to him. Not after I’d thrown myself at Eli that day.
Just the memory of offering him my virginity, handing it to him on a silver platter, embarrasses me. How could I have been so stupid? I’m not blaming it on being drunk, because I knew exactly what was happening. Still, I’m horrified by my behavior.
Especially since he vanished without a trace after that evening. Poof… Just like that.
Damien seemed excited, as did I. True to form, as soon as I put down the phone, I went to my computer. I had to find out everything about him before our date. What I found out… To put it mildly, it wasn’t what I expected. But it didn’t change my plans.
I’m getting ready for a date with Damien Estrada. Wanting to look sexy and mysterious, I choose a magenta dress with a slanted hem. I pair it with black stilettos, which I don’t like. But what wouldn’t you do to make the right impression?
My new favorite hairstyle, left messy. The new look is perfect for me.
The doorbell interrupts my thoughts. And when I open the door, the sight of Damien takes my breath away.
He looks elegant and irresistible. I’m sure more than one woman will turn to look at him tonight.
He’s wearing a charcoal gray suit. The top button of his navy blue shirt is undone, and a bit of a tattoo peeks out from under the collar.
His hair’s pulled back again, and those brown eyes are locked on me.
“You look stunning,” he breathes, his voice hoarse.
“Thank you. You look great too.”
I cross the threshold, and he leans down to kiss my cheek.
“I’m a lucky man.”
Closing the door behind me, his hand catches mine, enveloping me in warmth that radiates up my arm.
“I didn’t know what to wear, since you wouldn’t tell me where you were taking me.”
“It’s perfect,” he says, giving me a quick once-over. “You’re perfect.”