Page 2

Chapter One

RAELYN

The body on top of me smells rancid, like B.O. and smoke. His breath is a pungent mix of bad breath and alcohol. This person isn’t my captor.

Blinking, I try to get the fuzz out of my eyes. Whatever I was given hasn’t cleared my system enough to help me see straight. But I have enough sense to know I just need to lie here. Everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion.

The weight on me makes it tough to breathe as his grunting starts to pick up. Silently, I pray that whoever this is finishes soon. The sweat from his face drips onto mine, and bile rises in my throat.

My stomach turns, and there’s a foaming in my mouth. Vomit fires from my mouth and all over myself and the body on top of me. Almost immediately, the weight above me is gone.

“What the fuck? You fucking cunt! Did you seriously puke the fuck all over me? Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” I can hear him gagging and coughing.

I blink a few times, and I can almost make him out.

He looks short and round. I can see a bit of his stomach as he tries to put on his pants, still cursing at me for puking on him.

Maybe don’t fuck unconscious women who are here against their will.

“Fuck! David said you were going to be out for another few hours!” he screams at me.

David. Is that my captor’s name? David is a stupid fucking name. I roll onto my side as I start to feel my stomach turn again. More bile rises in my throat as I start to dry heave. My entire body lurches as it tries to bring up whatever else is in my stomach.

“Fuck this. You are definitely not worth this. Shit, now I need a goddamn shower.” The man throws the bedroom door open so hard it slams against the wall, and I hear the drywall crack and break. Just one more fracture added to the many in this room of horrors.

The minute I watch him leave, I expect my captor, apparently who is called David, to come in here and punish me for throwing up on his bestie or whoever the fuck that was. The thought sends me over the edge. Spittle flies from my mouth as I heave through it.

Except I can’t move. My muscles feel frozen, like they are being held down by weights.

My eyes get heavy, and I feel myself start to be pulled under again.

I fight with every ounce of strength I still have to keep my eyes open, but ultimately, I fail.

And my body succumbs to the drugs still in my system once more.

I wake with a start. My eyes fly open as my nose is assaulted by the disgusting smell of vomit. I can’t see much. The room is dark, and I can only guess that it’s late at night now.

With a wince, I sit up. My hair is covered in puke and dried to the carpet. It takes me a moment to remember what happened, why I am stuck to the carpet? And then it hits me. I was being raped by some random guy. My eyes start to tear up from the horrid memories.

I look over at the door, which still stands open from when the asshole stormed out of here.

I shake my head and slowly turn around, walking toward the bathroom.

I’m sure my captor is just waiting for me to try to walk toward that open door.

It will give him more reason to beat me mercilessly.

But when he’s ready to use and beat me, he will expect me to be clean.

My beating will only be worse if I’m not.

My body hurts with each step, but I am hoping a shower will help ease the pain. Between the drugs and the abuse, I’m in a constant state of agony and uncertainty.

I look forward to showers, though; it’s like a cleansing. I can rid myself of the evil before it creeps on my skin again. The water here is never hot, only warm at best. But it beats it being ice cold.

I turn the shower on and step under the shitty shower head.

I don’t wait for it to warm up; I just need this shit off me.

As the water barely sprays out of the nozzle, I run my hands through my hair to try to get it wet, reaching over and grabbing my shampoo and lathering the hell out of my hair.

The fruity smell starts to overtake the smell of the puke.

The water warms enough that I stop shivering as I wash my hair. I tip my head back and let the flow of the water rinse the soap off. My body is still tired and weak, but I need this shower badly.

My brain is still fuzzy—it always is. Everything is a haze, like it’s in my grasp but then slips away. I hate this.

When the water is no longer full of suds, I reach over and grab the cheap soap my captor got me and start to scrub.

The clean smell doesn’t help to take away the feeling of that body on top of me.

Grimacing, I scrub my face where his sweat dripped down onto me.

My stomach where his rubbed against me. I wish I could skin myself, remove the vile feelings.

But all I can do is scrub until it hurts.

My captor has always said he wants to make money off me, but I thought it was just a threat. Not something he would actually do. Apparently, he was serious.

Or maybe this was just a one-off. A test. Maybe that’s why the door is open. It’s all a test. Everything is always a test with him. It gives him an excuse to hit and kick me. To fuck me.

I stop scrubbing myself and bite my lip. He’s never not home at night. But even when I woke up, the house was quiet.

When I finish rinsing off, I turn off the water, take the dirty towel that I have been using for god knows how long, and dry myself off. Then I creep toward the open door and listen.

Not a fucking sound.

Except the beating of my heart.

That I can hear loud and clear. It feels like it’s ready to burst out of my chest as I grip the door frame. The hall is dark, and I see no lights anywhere. My eyes adjust to the black in front of me, and I can see the outlines of the house.

Do I risk turning on lights? I have never been past this door. I can’t tell if the bumping I hear is my heart or in the house. Maybe I should wait until morning? No, that would be stupid.

What if this is my only chance to get out?

I look down at myself, seeing that I’m completely naked. The way he likes me. I need to find some clothes.

Fuck!

I stand frozen in the doorway of my prison. There is a door to my left that is closed and one farther down on my right that is open.

Ever so slowly, I tiptoe toward the open door. My feet move quietly along the carpet under them. After several steps, I try to squint to see what is inside the room. There is a night light along the wall that helps illuminate where I am.

The laundry room.

The washer and dryer sit along the wall in front of me. The fresh smell of the detergent hits my nose. It smells clean in here. A stark difference from the horrible smell of my cage. I creep closer toward it and see that along the wall opposite the machines is a rack with clothes hanging from it.

I start to salivate at the prospect. But then I freeze up. What if this is a test? This is too easy. The door was open, the clothes… this is way too fucking easy.

My hands shake with the rest of me. The coldness from being wet starts to seep into my bones. These clothes would be so nice to wear, so warm. I don’t know if this is worth the risk.

But I need to escape. I need to get out of this hell.

I shake my head and try to steady my panicked breathing. I need to take this risk. If I stay here, I will die here. If I get caught, he will probably kill me. But if I escape, I can be free. I don’t know where I will go—fuck, I don’t know where home is.

But maybe I will remember. Maybe it will come to me, and I can find my family. Whoever they are.

Are they still looking for me?

My hands shake as I reach up and grab the T-shirt. It smells like him. It still has the scent of his body on it. The detergent isn’t strong enough to get rid of that putrid stench. I almost gag as I throw it over my head.

I just keep trying to remember the goal. Get the fuck out.

Before I grab a pair of shorts that are sitting on the dryer, I quickly take a listen to see if I can hear him.

Still, silence.

I need to do this. I need to get out.

I quickly grab the basketball shorts and throw them on, tying them to keep them from falling off. They are huge, and my small frame is swimming in them. Hell, I am already small to begin with. Five foot nothing, thin frame.

I think I used to have boobs. I don’t know. The skin looks wrinkled. They are flatter; they just hang there, bruised and beaten. My brunette hair is dry and damaged, hanging down to the middle of my back.

My captor tried to give me a trim once. He wanted to dress me up in these doll clothes. But he fucked up cutting my hair, making it too short and crooked. He beat me until I apologized for his fuck up. Even used the scissors to carve “fuck doll” and “stupid toy” in my back.

I look down at my feet and realize that I need something for them. His shoes will make it too difficult to walk in. Next to where the shorts were are a few pairs of socks. I quickly grab two pairs and double wrap my feet in them.

My breathing is labored as I try to hurry. I have no idea if he will be back soon or how long he has been gone. Usually, by this time of night, he is in the room, forcing me to do unimaginable things to him.

Once the socks are on, I climb to my feet and quietly creep out of the laundry room. I never got to see the lay of the house when I first got here, since I was drugged and blindfolded. Hell, I don’t even know what state I’m in.

I keep my hand on the wall as I try to adjust to the darkness. There are no nightlights to lead the way, and I am too scared to turn on a light. What if he is waiting for me in the shadows, just watching and waiting to beat me to a pulp?

My heart pounds away in my chest. I’ll either die trying to reach freedom or die at his hands. And I would prefer the former.

When I make it down the long hallway, I come upon an open room.

The light from the windows illuminates it enough for me to see that I have reached the living room.

I try to quiet my breathing and the beating of my heart to see if I can hear anything, but there’s nothing. The house is completely silent.

Trying not to wince in pain, I tiptoe toward the front door. My hand is on the handle when I see lights coming down the street. I duck down by the door as I hear the garage door open.

Shit! Shit! Shit!

He’s home. What the fuck am I gonna do? I take a peek out the front window and see the car pulling into the garage. The front of the car is already inside, so I open the front door. I hear the car shut off and the garage door start to shut.

And that is when I make my break. I need to get as far as I can as fast as my legs will take me.

I slip through the front door and quietly shut it behind me, heading down the concrete path and taking a left once I hit the street. Then I fucking run.

With every ounce of strength in me, I push my legs as fast as I can, my feet hitting the pavement with such force it hurts, and I let out a whimper with each stride. As soon as I reach an intersection, I take a right and head down another row of houses.

And then I hear my name.

“Raelyn! Where did you go, girl?” My blood freezes, my stomach sinks. I haven’t gotten that far, and if he gets in that car, he will find me. I need to hide, and fast.

I quickly run toward a driveway with a boat in it. My feet pound against the pavement, my heels already sore from running. When I make it to the boat, I use what little strength I have to pull myself up onto the boat trailer, lifting the cover up just enough to slip myself inside.

On my hands and knees in the pitch black, I try to fumble through and find somewhere to hide.

When my eyes adjust, I start opening anything I can to see if I can squeeze in.

I finally get to a door, and it leads down into a small bathroom.

I immediately slide down into it and close the door behind me.

“Raelyn!” I hear him call out. It’s more of a controlled yell; he’s not yelling loud enough to startle people and draw attention to himself, but it’s loud enough for me to hear if I am nearby.

I can hear the footsteps hitting the pavement, the sound of it getting louder as he gets closer. That sound echoes in the space where I’m hiding.

Fuck . Please, don’t let him find me. Please let me get out of this.

“Raelyn! Come on, I won’t be mad if you come back home.” He sounds closer as his fake sweet voice rings out. “Just come home.”

Home. I almost want to let out a chuckle if I weren’t scared out of my mind. It was a prison. A prison I have no idea how I ended up in. One I thought I would die in.

One I hoped I would just die in.

“Are you hiding in here?” My body freezes as I hear him and realize he is near the boat. He taps the boat, and my heart races. Tears silently fall from my eyes.

He’s going to find me.

My body starts to shake uncontrollably with fear. My breaths are short and fast as panic creeps up my spine.

“Hey! What the fuck are you doing by my boat, motherfucker!” a voice rings out.

“Oh, sorry! I was just looking for my daughter. She ran away,” my captor tells the angry voice.

“I don’t give a fuck who ran from you. I’m calling the fucking cops. Because if you don’t get off my property and get the fuck away from my boat, you better hope they get here fast to save you from holes I will be putting in you.”

I hear what sounds like the racking of a gun.

“Woah. I’m going. I’m going. No need for the gun. I will call the cops to help look for her. So sorry to disturb your night,” my captor says as I hear his footsteps walk away from the boat.

“If I see you on my property again, I will fucking shoot you. Let this be your final fucking warning!” the voice yells at him.

And suddenly, the world is quiet. I try to strain my ears to listen for anything that would tell me he is still out there waiting for me, but all I hear is the front door to the house whose boat I’m in shut.

I just need to sit here for a little bit, and then I can find my way out of this mess. I have no idea where I will go, but living on the street is better than living with a monster.

A monster who uses my body, who beats me relentlessly. A monster who will take everything from me, including my last breath.

Closing my eyes, I give myself a few minutes to rest and try to calm myself. I just need to find enough strength to keep going, so a few minutes of rest should help.

Except the minute I close my eyes, darkness takes over me.