Chapter 11 Laynie
He must have held me like that for a long time because I dozed off. I woke up, and I was lying on his chest. I saw him scrolling through his phone when I lifted my head.
The prior conversation flooded back into my brain. Was he serious? Was his sister serious? Would he let me call my mom? The thought of hearing my mother’s voice again made the tears build.
“Can I call my mom?” I sat up in his lap.
He hesitated. “Eventually, yes, but not now. If the cops are alerted and they find you with me or in my possession, they will kill me, my sister, and probably my mother. If it’s okay with you, I’d like all of us to live through this.”
I understood. It made sense. But it hurt. I wanted to call her right now. I wanted to tell her I was alive, and that I was working on a plan to get out. But he was right. If I alerted my mom, she would alert the fucking Calgary. I didn’t want to be responsible for anyone else’s death. I was already responsible for what happened to Charlie.
“I’m hungry,” I said.
“Come on, let’s see what we can whip up together.”
We walked to the kitchen. My bare feet were cold on the tile floor.
Even though it was 9pm, he made me chocolate chip pancakes. I ate slowly because of my tongue, but it was delicious. Back at the warehouse, they gave us just enough to survive, and we were constantly on edge. We barely ate or enjoyed it.
“So, tell me who you are, Laynie.” He looked at me inquisitively as he leaned back against the counter.
I didn’t even know who I was anymore. I wasn’t anyone. “Nobody.”
“Okay, nobody. Nice to meet you. I’m Lincoln, but you can call me Linc.”
I picked up my glass of water and pretended to toast to him. He smiled. He was so handsome. His black hair was perfectly ruffled on top of his head. He had full sleeve tattoos on both arms. I wanted him to be the good guy he pretended to be, but I still didn’t trust him. Everyone has a motive. I just hadn’t figured him out yet, and I lived in defensive mode.
“How’s your tongue?”
“Feels like someone bit it off.”
“Did someone?” He looked serious.
“If that someone is me, then yes.”
He didn’t respond, he just stared as if waiting for an explanation.
“Eddie slammed my chin in the ground and I accidentally bit my tongue.”
His jaw tensed, and I could see a rage behind those dark eyes. “Does he rape you?”
His question caught me off guard. I tilted my head to the side. “Why?”
“Does he rape you?” There was a pause between each word.
“Sometimes.” I got off the bar stool and put my dirty plate in the sink. I didn’t know what else to do, so I started washing my dish. He came up from behind me and put both his arms on each side of the sink, engulfing me. I couldn’t help looking at his hands as they pressed against the counter.
He put his chin on my shoulder and whispered in my ear. “He’ll never touch you again.”
I squeezed my eyes closed. Half of me was afraid while the other half was betraying me. I turned around to face him. I could smell the familiar scent of alcohol on his breath.
He pushed himself back from the sink and grabbed me around my waist, lifting me up on the counter. The granite felt cold touching my thighs. I was now eye level with him. He traced all the bruises on my arms with his thumb. Some of them were old, while some were fresh. The red marks around my wrist from last week were still healing. He turned my wrist over. “Do they drug you?”
“Not anymore.”
“They used to then,” he said, as if he were talking to himself.
“Yes.”
Because my shirt was no longer touching my knees, he could see the cuts on my thighs.
“Who did this?”
“Me.”
He raised his brow at me.
“Everyone is allowed to hurt me and cause me pain. So am I.”
He squeezed the top of my thigh and looked me in my eyes. “Don’t fucking do that, Laynie.”
I gave him a salute, “Sir yes sir.”
He didn’t laugh.
I couldn’t remember the last man I had been around that I could speak freely to. Sometimes I could push boundaries and I hoped he would not slap me across my face. But he didn’t. Instead, he picked me up off the counter and set me down.
He walked over to the couch and sat down. Standing in the kitchen, I was still. I was used to people telling me what to do every second. I didn’t know whether he wanted me to join him or just stand here.
“Come here.”
Ah, there it was, my order. I walked over and sat next to him on the couch. It was a huge couch with such large cushions you could easily curl up and comfortably sleep on just one of them.
He grabbed a blanket off the back of the couch and covered me with it. We sat for a moment in silence until he spoke. “How did you end up here?”
I reluctantly told him a small piece of my story. Just enough to give him what he wanted, but not enough for him to figure out who I was.
When I was done, he said nothing.
I started to feel sleepy again, so I eased down until my head was resting on his thigh. His hand rubbed the back of my arm until I dozed off once again.
* * *
I woke up hours later, but I was the only one on the couch. His thigh I was resting on was replaced with an actual pillow. Quietly, I got up from the couch and searched the bedroom, but he was not there. I explored the rest of the apartment, where I found another bedroom that was used for an office, a library, and another bathroom. No sign of him. I don’t know why, but I suddenly felt like I couldn’t breathe. What if he never returned? Oh, stop it Laynie, this is his house. Why we never return? I tried to slow my breathing, but those thoughts flooded my mind. What if Eddie came back, and he wasn’t here to stop him? What if they take me back to the warehouse and I never took the chance to call my parents? I fell to my knees, trying to catch my breath. It was out of the question for me to go back to that warehouse. I couldn’t do it anymore. I would rather die.