Chapter 2 – Camille #4
I had to hold back a gag when I heard cheers from downstairs—clinking glasses and laughter.
I was sure they had been listening behind the door the whole time but hurried away once it got quiet to congratulate my brother when he made his way downstairs.
My eyes burned in their sockets, and I shuddered as I finally forced myself to sit up.
An electric pain ran from my arms up toward my neck as I gasped and fell back down.
My wrists were likely sprained from the rope that had held them together this whole time.
I rolled onto my stomach, shuffling off the bed so my feet met the floor, careful not to let my legs come together with the warm stickiness that oozed between them. My feet and calves were the only parts of my body that didn’t feel too sore.
I choked back a sob as I picked up my underwear, gently unfolding them from a crumpled ball and sliding them on without touching the inside of my legs.
I only had them on for ten seconds before I was too disgusted and ripped them off again, nearly tripping over my own feet in my haste to remove them.
I had to pause before I continued. What was the next move?
I needed to get dressed and hide myself in something, as if it would help the shame I held in my chest. But I also needed to clean up, or I’d never be comfortable in anything I put on.
I fought the tremors in my legs as I tiptoed over to the bathroom door, biting back the bitter humor at the luck of living in a mansion with a bathroom in each room.
I flipped the light switch on while avoiding the mirror directly in front of me, then gingerly lowered myself into the tub and turned on the hot water.
If I could burn my own skin off, I would’ve welcomed it.
I finished my bath quickly, as I had no goal or reason to enjoy it aside from being clean.
I lathered my whole body, scrubbing furiously with the washcloth to remove the skin I was no longer secure in.
I stood up and retreated from the tub, pulling the plug for the drain before wrapping myself in the white towel that hung on the hook by the door.
I stood in the bathroom in only a towel.
I had to face the challenge of dressing myself when I could barely lift my arm without choking back a groan of pain.
I was not about to wear the clothes I came into his room in, even if it were an option.
I had already been traumatized enough. Maybe a sleeping bag would be ideal, something I could hide in, as if I could hide the fact that I used to be a person.
In the pit of my stomach, I knew what I needed to do. It sounded like a pipe dream when it crossed my mind in the bath, but I knew it was my only option—aside from staying, obeying, and doing whatever this was until I drank myself into an early grave.
It was not a battle I could fight on my own, and at that point, I had no one on my side to fight it with me.
As long as I stayed there, I was trapped and destined for a future of abuse at the hands of my family.
No one could help me but myself, and the only way I could think of helping myself was to leave.
To run away. That was my only option aside from staying and enduring whatever else these people had planned for me.
I tiptoed over to Reed’s closet, opening it quietly.
I grabbed one of his plain white V-neck shirts and a casual pair of jeans, pulling the shirt over my bare chest and sliding my legs into the jeans.
I yanked a belt off the top shelf of the wardrobe and ran it through the loops as quickly as I could, tightening it enough to ensure the stolen pants wouldn’t fall off my hips.
After some more digging, I discovered an “Ole Miss” baseball cap and a thick flannel jacket to disguise myself in case I was seen by someone in town.
I stuffed my hair up into the cap, biting the inside of my cheek through the shooting pain in my wrists and arms. I drowned in the huge jacket, thankful for how it hid the fact I no longer had a bra to wear.
I pulled the collar up to cover my bruised neck and roughly wiped my tears from my face with the sleeve before slowly making my way to the window, opening it and feeling the crisp breeze as I pulled myself over the ledge.
I paused, trying to come up with a plan, but it was futile. If I jumped, I’d break an ankle. The chill of the air pressed into the skin on my feet, reminding me I needed socks at the very least.
My arms spasmed with tremors of pain once I got off the ledge and returned my bare feet to the wooden floor of Reed’s bedroom. I pulled open a dresser drawer and grabbed a pair of white socks, then scanned the room for something to make a rope out of as I lifted each foot and covered them.
I wouldn’t bother with shoes. Reed’s feet were twice my size, and my mind spiraled with the thought that some Belham police officer would track my footprints—a ridiculous, intrusive thought with no merit.
I ripped the bedsheets off, bundling them together as I rolled them as tightly as I could.
Then I had to think of what I could anchor them to.
I could push the bed closer to the window, but I knew that would be a battle on its own.
I was already in pain, and even before everything happened, I didn’t have the upper body strength to move a king-sized bed frame.
The dresser closest to the window became my target.
As I knotted one end of the sheet to the leg of the dresser, I tossed the rest out the window and tried again to pep-talk my way into my plan.
It wasn’t long enough to reach the ground, but close enough to lighten the fall.
I climbed onto the windowsill again and swallowed back the lump in my throat.
I would take two sprained ankles over staying one second longer. That was nothing compared to the pain I was already in.
I gripped my makeshift rope, my teeth finding the grooves inside my cheek to bite again, dulling the electrifying pain in my wrists. I was running on pure adrenaline as I scaled down the side of the house, thinking only about how to fall into the camellia bush beneath me.
I decided not to think. Just do it.
Two stories down became about one with the help of my makeshift rope. I fell into the camellia bush, hoping for cushioning but instead feeling branches scratch my arms and legs through my disguise. I barely registered the additional pain as my knees crumbled beneath me.
I brushed off the twigs, and I got up to start my walk.