Page 8 of Beautiful Scars: Unshakeable (The Beautiful Scars Duet #2)

Chapter Seven

Sunny

The mattress creaks under my weight. It's a gift I'm supposed to be grateful for—along with the clean sheets, soft pillows and fresh towels. They're my "reward" for being good. For not fighting back. For letting him—

I close my eyes, waiting out the pit that settles in my stomach.

There are no windows in this new room, only blank walls and a single lamp secured to the table that never turns off, never lets me rest completely. I have a bathroom with a leaky faucet that ticks away the seconds for me. Not that time has any meaning here though.

The bruises on my ribs have faded from a deep purple to a sickly yellow-green. My split lip has scabbed over and is mostly healed. So, it's been a week? Maybe closer to two?

Footsteps in the hallway. My body reacts before my mind catches up. My stomach clenches. My mouth goes dry. The familiar numbness creeps in, wrapping around me and squeezing out my breath.

"Princess?" His voice carries through the door. Garrett's the only one who's ever called me that. Somehow it's worse than all the other names he calls me—his slut, his toy, his good little whore. Those don't have the history. the sting that 'Princess' does.

I'm glad he's stopped calling me Angel though. That was—is—Levi's. It was mine too for awhile. My freedom. My escape. At least that's what I thought.

The door opens. My gaze fixes on a water stain in the corner of the ceiling.

"You look at me when I come in here." His tone stays gentle, but I know what happens when I disobey. My head turns.

Garrett's wearing a wide smile—the one that means he's pleased with himself.

"You're learning. Practice makes perfect, right?

" He sits beside me, the mattress shifting and groaning under him.

His hand finds my hair, stroking it like I'm a fucking dog.

His fucking little lap dog who's so eager to please.

"Do you know how many girls would kill to have this setup? Private room, real bed..."

I stay perfectly still as his fingers trail down my neck and over my bare shoulder.

Don't flinch. Don't pull away.

"The others, they all start off in the basement here like you did. But most never make it up here." His grip tightens. "They go straight into general circulation. Do you know what that means, baby?"

I shake my head, even though I've pieced it together from his previous "talks." He loves telling me how lucky I am, how special.

"It means they get passed around. Broken in before they go to their new owners." His other hand slides up my thigh. "But not you."

My mind fractures, splitting between now and then.

I'm seventeen again, trapped in my bedroom as he reminds me who I belong to.

I'm twenty-four, in a club bathroom, feeling watched but telling myself I'm paranoid.

Every moment I thought I was alone, he was there, "protecting" me. Saving me for this.

"Do you remember when that guy at the club smacked your ass hard enough it brought tears to your eyes and then he tried to kiss you? Last summer?" His fingers dig into my flesh. "I followed him home that night. Beat him within an inch of his life. No one lays a hand on what's mine."

Focus on details, I tell myself. The water stain looks like a bird. His belt buckle is silver today. There's a scratch on the doorframe. Anything to stay present. Anything to keep some small part of myself from suffocating inside this nightmare.

"No one else could ever love you like I do.

" His mouth moves to my ear where his words are hot against my skin.

"You can't hide how dirty you are inside.

How broken. But those are the parts I love about you the most. You're my dirty, dirty girl Sunny, and I would never leave you. You know that right?"

The words slink into my mind, finding old wounds that never completely healed to nest in. He's telling me the truth. He's the only one who hasn't lied to me. Levi left me. Zane wasn't there when he said he would be. Everyone always leaves me. Everyone always lies. Everyone except Garrett.

No. That's wrong. Levi and Zane didn't leave me. They wouldn't do that. They're looking for me. They have to be. I repeat the words over and over trying to force myself to believe them.

But Garrett's voice wraps around my thoughts and my doubts like poison. It’s as if he can see them and knows exactly where the weakest spots are.

"They're not coming. Don't you think they would’ve been here by now if they were. If they really cared about you. But that's okay." His hand moves higher. "You're mine. I’ll take care of you. I won’t abandon you Sunny. Ever."

His hands grasp my shoulders as he pushes me back onto the bed. His grip tightens until my bones grind together, and I let myself go, leaving my body behind.

Count the threads in the pillowcase. Name every shade of gray in the room. Follow the crack up the wall. Memorize every detail that might matter someday—different voices in the hall, footsteps, the drip of the faucet, even the screams through the walls.

"You're doing so well here, Princess." His praise makes me want to scream, but I stay silent. Survival means being whatever he wants me to be. Until I can find a way out. Until someone finds me.

If someone finds me.

I am not his. No matter what he does to me, I'll never be that. I say the words over and over to myself, hoping I can keep believing them.

His fingers wrap around my throat and steal my voice, my air. I focus on counting his breaths instead of mine.

My body feels like shattered glass, every move he makes sends shards cutting through to the center of me. I bite down hard on my bottom lip until I feel the warm trickle of blood down my chin—anything to keep from crying out. When darkness finally pulls me under, it's a mercy.

I wake up sucking air and gasping. This time is worse. Much worse. The room spins when I try to lift my head and my throat is on fire. I close my eyes tight as a wave of nausea rolls over me.

"Open your eyes, Angel." Garrett's voice is syrupy sweet as he whispers in my ear. "I brought something for you."

I force my eyes open, still feeling sick. He's sitting on the edge of the bed, fully dressed now, watching me with that possessive gleam. I don't know how he got there so fast. How long was I out?

"Please..." The word scratches my raw throat. "I need..."

"What do you need, sweetheart?" His fingers trace my collarbone. "Ask nicely."

"Water."

He clicks his tongue. "That's not how we ask, is it?"

My stomach churns. "Please, may I have some water... Sir?"

"Better." He reaches behind him. "But first, I have a present. You've been so good for me lately."

Something small and rectangular appears in his hands. Through swollen eyes, I make out the familiar worn edges of a book.

"Beg for it." His smile widens. "Show me how much you want it."

The words tumble out before I can stop them. "Please. Please can I have it? I'll be good. I promise I'll be so good for you."

He holds up the book and my eyes scan the title. The Secret Garden. My breath catches. My favorite book, filled with memories of safety and being tucked in and read to at night. The copy in Garrett's hands is weathered, well-loved. My heart sinks when I realize it's mine. It’s my copy.

"Please..." Tears slip down my cheeks. "I'll do anything. Whatever you want."

"I know you will." He runs his thumb along the spine of the book. "Which is exactly why I think you deserve nice things."

When he places the book in my trembling hands, genuine gratitude floods through me. "Oh, thank you! Thank you." My lips curve up into a wide smile, as I let out a giddy laugh.

I freeze, catching myself a second before I throw my arms around his neck in appreciation. Horror follows a half second after. What the fuck am I doing? He just—

And I'm smiling at him like he's my favorite person in the world for giving me a book he stole from out of my apartment?

But my fingers clutch the novel tighter. This small piece of before. Of safety. Of goodness.

"Such a pretty smile." Garrett strokes my cheek. "See what happens when you're good for me? When you accept what you are? Who you are?"

My mind fractures again. I know what he's doing—breaking me down piece by piece, replacing everything I am with what he wants me to be. Part of me is disgusted and wants to keep fighting. But, there’s another part of me, a tired, worn out part that wants to hold onto this book and let everything else go.

"Get yourself cleaned up, Sunny." He moves toward the door. "I'll send someone in to change the sheets. I'll be back later, and I want you ready to show me just how much you like your gift."

He pauses looking at me over his shoulder. "I told you that you might feel differently after a couple of weeks."

The door clicks shut. I wait until his footsteps fade before letting the tears fall.

I open the book with trembling fingers, seeking comfort in the familiar words. I find my own notes in the margins, written years ago. Each one is a knife to my heard. Some of my earliest happy memories have become weapons in his hands. Not even the words on these pages are safe for me anymore.

Nothing is.