Chapter Thirty-One
MARLEY
EVEN THOUGH I told myself that I didn’t want to use the bucket in the corner, my bladder feels like it’s about to burst. I’ve been lying here staring at this damn ceiling since I woke up from my fitful sleep. At least at home I can count my fan blades, I’m counting cracks and cobwebs here.
The sun has come up and I’m so thirsty that I might consider drinking dirty water off the floor if it were available. The little room I’m in is just that - a little, dirty, stone room with a cracked, dirty floor.
D never brought Hallie back and I’ve been pushing imaginings of whatever hell she might be going through out of my mind. I can’t think about that without letting my fears take over to send me into a static bundle of nerves.
The window high on the wall is small, maybe just big enough to crawl through, but it looks like it sits just at ground level based on the grass and sand next to the glass.
No matter how I adjust how I’m lying, it hurts. Bottom line, I’ve gotta pee.
I’ve been distracting myself with thoughts of what I was just doing twenty-four hours ago. I was with Jax. I’m not sure if I’m just delirious from dehydration, or maybe it’s a side-effect of a concussion, but I chuckled to myself when the thought ‘I was doing Jax’ crossed my mind.
I’m delirious.
They just kind of left me here. No one has been by to check on me since that asshole cut me.
My cheek has been aching all night, and every time I rolled onto my side in my sleep, it would pull the wound and more blood would dribble around my face onto the cot.
That, combined with the headache I still have, made for a pretty uncomfortable night.
Pushing myself up with my bound hands, I listen for any type of movement on the other side of the door, but I hear nothing.
The bucket in the corner is a bright orange bucket from one of the local hardware stores.
There’s nothing to wipe with, but I guess I should count myself lucky to even have the stupid plastic container.
Curiosity has me pushing the cot Hallie was on against the wall under the window to see if I can see anything. The burlap of the cot sinks a little as I put all my weight on it, but I’m able to see just over the bottom of the window.
Gravel. Trees. A forklift next to a pallet of pipes. Maybe we are at the port, a couple of times through the night, I heard the deep whistle of a ship on the river. It sounded pretty close.
Sounds of feet walking down stairs nearly has me jumping out of my skin and I almost lose my balance. I drag the cot back to the wall it was at and sit on my cot, my heart beating so hard I can feel my body spasm with each frantic bu-bump.
A slider lock glides open on the other side of the door before it opens. A man I haven’t seen before is standing in the doorway with a bottle of water and what looks like a bologna sandwich. He doesn’t even look like a full man yet, I’d bet that he’s closer to late teens, early twenties.
His brown eyes move to the cut on my cheek and his eyebrows twitch together with what I think is disapproval as his lips press into a tight line. When his gaze makes contact with mine, I can see he doesn’t really belong here, he’s softhearted.
Maybe I can use this to my advantage.
“Hi.” My voice is shaking and I hope I don’t regret this.
Anger crosses his face and he lowers his eyes to the floor without saying anything before walking into the room. With a glance around, he walks to Hallie’s cot and sets the sandwich and bottle of water on the burlap and turns to go.
Before he gets the door closed, I say, “Wait.”
He stops, but won’t look at me.
“Is Hallie okay?”
His hand fists at his side. “She’s alive.”
My already erratic heart nearly drops to my stomach. Does that mean he’s beat her up? Is she suffering? What are they going to do with me?
“Are you going to kill me?” My voice is shaking so bad that my teeth are nearly chattering.
His angry brown eyes meet mine, pity swirling in their depths, and for two breaths he doesn’t say anything. “I’m not.”
Tears prick my eyes. “Will you help me?”
His eyes drop to the floor and before he closes the door and slides the lock in place, he says, “I can’t.”
I stare at the door for nearly a minute, my mind swirling in every direction. I know Jax and Mason are doing what they can to find us, but pushing away the thoughts of what could happen is getting harder with each passing hour.
Remembering the water, I grab the bottle and look it over for any kind of tampering, but I don’t think the seal is even broken. I want so bad to chug the entire bottle, but I don’t want to make myself sick, so I force myself to sip it.
The sandwich is another matter. Just looking at it is making my stomach growl, but what if they did something to it? How hungry am I?
Maybe I can just eat a small piece at a time and judge how it makes me feel. Tearing off a corner, I inspect it before popping it in my mouth. I don’t think dry bread has ever tasted so good.
That’s how I spend the next however amount of time, tearing a small bite off the sandwich and take a drink of water to wait and see if it does anything to me.
The brightness of the sun in the sky says it’s around midday and the temperature of the little room is getting hotter, but that’s the only way I’m able to tell time.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs flips my stomach and I wonder if it will be the boy again. The lock slides in its cradle and the door opens. It’s him. The man from the feed store. The way he is looking at me is making my skin crawl.
Even though it’s still nearly one hundred degrees outside, this guy is in dress pants, a long sleeve shirt and loafers. All black to match his slicked back hair.
He steps through the door, rolling his sleeves up, his eyes traveling down my legs that are left bare by the old, worn-out jeans shorts I put on to work in the stables yesterday. I dressed for the weather and to sweat, not to hide myself.
Pictures flash in my head like a slideshow from my attack fourteen years ago. The punch, his hand around my neck, the pain. My next thought takes my breath away. It’s going to happen again. Every muscle in my body starts trembling.
I think this time I’m going to die.
The air in the little room suddenly becomes thick, and no matter how much air I suck in, it’s not filling my lungs.
The sandwich and water I just put in my stomach feels like it might come back up. He hovers over me, looking at my body, the disgusting leer on his face betrays everything his is thinking, so I turn my face away from his and close my eyes and clench my teeth to stop them from chattering.
He jerks my arm and pushes me against the wall, his hand cups my jaw and squeezes, the cut on my cheek screams in pain and I feel the edges pull apart again. “Uh-uh, you have to watch. Open your eyes.”
In response, I squeeze my eyes tighter.
I make a conscious decision to turn off.
If I’m going to go through this again, I don’t want to be here.
Just as I’m letting myself slip into a dark place that is free from pain or heartache, I hear an explosion.
It shakes the little pane of glass in the brick wall and some dust falls from the ceiling.
The man hovering over me jerks and looks over his shoulder. “The fuck?”
Pulling me with him, he drags me against the wall, his hand tight around my arm, and looks around the corner and yells. “Hey! What’s going on?”
He waits, but there’s only silence. Turning to me again, he squeezes my cheeks again as he slides his nose along my jaw. “We’re not done, blondie, this will only take a minute. I’ve been wanting to sink into your little cunt since I first saw you.”
Letting my focus drift over his head, I lock my gaze on a brick across the room. I can’t fight this guy, he’s too big. My stomach churns as I hear him unbuckling his belt, but it doesn’t stop there. Everything I just put in it comes up and spews out on his chest.
“Mother fucker!” He bellows and the back of his hand slams into my cheek that isn’t cut.
The force of it sends me sprawling across the floor and I start to scramble on my knees toward the open door. His hand closes around my calf and pulls me back to him, my other leg slides out to the side as I land on my stomach. Part of my outstretched arms is dragged through the vomit on the floor.
“Just for that, I’m gonna go fast and hard.” He sneers in my ear and straddles my back.
He tears the vomit shirt from his body, the sound of some buttons hit the wall next to me, but then his hand goes to the back of my neck to hold me still on the ground. He slides his body down to sit on the back of my thighs.
I’m not sure what is happening behind me because he becomes still and his hand on my neck loosens. Something warm and wet lands on my cheek and when I see the splatter on the cement next to my head, I know it’s blood. His weight leaves my legs, but I can’t move.
There is a tussle behind me, skin hitting skin. I hear grunts and I think I hear a bone break.
Squeezing my eyes closed, I bend my arms back and cover my head the best I can and pull my legs up to my chest, twisting my body to make myself as small as possible. I can’t take any more. I can’t do this.
“Marley!” I hear a yell next to me, but it sounds far away.
Have you ever tied cans to a string and went to one room while your sibling or friend went to another to yell into the cans? The idea is that the string works like a walkie talkie. Everybody knows it doesn’t work, but you can still hear the person yelling in a can in another room.
That’s what it sounds like. Someone is yelling my name, but it sounds like he’s yelling into a can.
Strong hands flip me over, pulling my hands away from my head and cup my jaw, but I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to pull my face away.
I don’t want to see anymore.
I don’t want to feel anymore.
Powerful arms pull me up to standing right before slipping behind my legs and back to sweep me up. We’re moving, but I don’t want to know.
I don’t want to.
I don’t want to.
I don’t care.
“Is she okay?”
A familiar voice moves over me. “Marley!” A warm hand is on my forehead. “Marley!”
“Fuck! Get her to the truck.”
“Give her to me and get in, I’ll hand her to you.”
“Don’t touch her! “