Chapter Three
Before
Josie shrank back from his touch, but there was nowhere to go. The cold cement met her back, her chains clinking as they hit the floor. “What do you want?” she asked, managing to hold back the sob that was filling her chest, her throat.
His hand paused momentarily before resuming movement, his knuckle running over her cheek. “What do I want?” he repeated, sounding truly thoughtful. “Hmm. Everything, I s-suppose. Do you think you can give me that, J-Josie?”
“I don’t understand.” She did sob then, a pitiful sound of terror that she tried desperately to control. If she lost it, she feared she’d never be able to stop crying, screaming, begging. And she needed to try to get him to let her go. Engage him, appeal to his humanity if he had any.
“I know you don’t. But you will. I’ll m-make sure you do.”
“Please,” she implored. “I haven’t seen your face. I don’t know who you are,” she lied. “Let me go, and you won’t be in trouble. I couldn’t give a description even if I wanted to. I could pass you on the street and never know who you are.”
He let out a soft exhale that sounded like a laugh, though she couldn’t see his expression under the ski mask.
He moved closer. “You won’t know my f-face, Josie, or who I am, but you will know me.
” He leaned forward and rubbed his masked face over hers.
She whimpered with fear. She could bite him, try to head-butt him.
But she was chained up. He had the upper hand.
She’d only anger him, and then he’d hit her again, or worse.
“You’ll know me well,” he whispered, his hand sliding down the waistband of her sleep shorts.
Oh God. Bile moved up her throat, and she let out a strangled sob. Not that. Please not that.
“You don’t want it, Josie? Don’t want to be f-fucked like a whore?
Why not? You let those other men d-do it.
I’ve watched you. W-watched you take them home.
Watched them leave in the m-morning with not more than a wave over their shoulders, not m-more than a thanks for the m-memories, you cheap slut.
Even the one with a w-wife. I’ve n-noticed the tan line on his ring finger.
You m-must have s-seen it too. You’re not very discriminating, are y-you?
Cheap. You’re so f-fucking cheap.” He was talking fast, his breathing harsher.
Josie clenched her eyes shut, forcing her sobs back, willing herself to get it together. Stay calm.
He pulled off her shorts with a grunt. She sobbed, yanking at her shackles uselessly, letting her head fall back against the cement wall behind her with a jarring thud.
She clenched her eyes shut when she heard his zipper, her sobs turning to wails.
“Am I d-different than them, Josie? Not g-good enough for you? Why? Is it b-because I see who you are? Is that why, J-Josie? Did you not wear these r-red panties for me, you slut?” He ripped her underwear and used his knee to part her thighs.
She clenched her teeth as he penetrated her, moving fast, his grunts loud against her ear, the fabric of his ski mask soaking up her tears.
“This is what you w-want, isn’t it? I’m just g-giving you what you l-like,” he panted.
When he came, it was in silence.
Her soul died quietly too.
She didn’t look—couldn’t look—as he pulled himself off her, standing, the sound of his zipper loud in the otherwise quiet, empty room.
There was a crack on the ceiling. It reminded her of a lightning strike.
She wished it would strike her down. Why me?
she wondered dazedly. Why had she wished to be struck down, instead of wishing for him to be hit by a molten spear of electricity?
Interesting. She’d just been raped. He was the one who needed to be punished.
And yet she was the one who wanted to die.
When she raised her head, she saw that he was standing in a ray of muted light streaming in from the small window.
His head was raised toward the pane of glass, and he appeared pensive.
For a moment he looked like a painting, something unreal.
A sight you might come upon in some enchanted forest where an evil spell had been cast. Josie wondered if the drug he’d given her was still working in her system.
Or maybe she was in shock. Maybe both. He turned his head, the mask moving as though he was smiling.
“I’ll need a bathroom,” she finally said, her voice slightly slurred, misery lacing her tone.
He turned then and was quiet for a moment as he stared at her. “You really are a m-mess, aren’t you?” He sighed loudly. “I’ll get you a bucket.”
A bucket?
“I’m-I’m hungry too.” She needed food to soak up whatever was still coursing through her veins. She needed to be able to think straight if she was going to get out of this nightmare.
He kept staring at her, tilting his head slightly.
She had the notion he was smiling under the mask.
“Yeah, I b-bet. It hurts to be hungry, doesn’t it?
I know about that, Josie. S-someday I’m going to have to tell you about m-my upbringing.
” He shook his head. “Not a story for the faint of heart. N-not at all.”
She stared at him. She didn’t know what to say.
“I’ll b-be back.” He moved toward the door.
That walk, shoulders rounded, slightly stooped, as though he was trying to make himself smaller, less noticeable.
Or at least, that’s how she’d always thought of it when she’d seen him at her apartment building.
Timid. Graceless. It was him all right. She searched her memory for his name.
Marshall. That was it. She didn’t recall his last name, though.
And she had no earthly idea why he was doing this.
Did he feel rejected? That must be it. He’d seen her bring men home and felt personally dismissed by her?
And she supposed she had acted dismissively toward him.
She’d always been nice to him, though…never unkind. Never.
He walked out of the small room, and she heard the lock sliding into place on the other side of the door.
She leaned her head back again, gently this time, and drew her knees to her chest. She wanted to crawl inside herself and hide.
Hide from the way she felt—filthy, defiled, terrified, alone.
She wept silently, tears streaking down her face as she screamed wordlessly inside her own mind.
Why? Why? Why?