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TWO

BETRAYAL

WHAT IT IS TO BURN—FINCH

7 YEARS LATER

CALISTA (21)

S itting on my bed, looking at all eleven names on the list in the back of my journal, I try to guess whose name I’ll be adding tonight. From councilmen to senators, the list is full of child predators and sex offenders, not to mention people I thought would protect me.

Mother

Father

Holden Graham—Senator

Gunnar

Adam Moretti—Ash’s father

David Blacksburg—Killian’s father

Jackson Gray—Dominic’s father

Paul Gallagher—state senator

Kyle Benjamin—Mayor

Marcus Rutherford—city councilman

Hayden Wilson—Judge

No one in this fucking world has protected me, no one except for Addy; she’s stayed by my side all these years.

Hearing heavy footsteps stomping down the hall, I quickly tuck the book back into its hiding spot and then sit on my bed with the chain locked tightly around my ankle.

I can hear my heart racing as the footsteps get closer, and I pray that it’s just my imagination. But then the door bursts open, and a shadowy figure fills the doorway; it’s him again—the one who I had trusted, the one whose name is now on the list in my journal— my father .

“Happy Birthday, Calista,” he says proudly, a wicked grin on his face as he moves into the light. “Be a good girl for your mother, okay?” He smooths out my hair and kisses my forehead before adjusting his tie and walking back out of my room.

“She’s coming,” Addy says, visibly shaken as she hides on the other side of my dresser. No one else can see her, but she still likes to hide when mother is around. She’s afraid of her, too.

I look at the outfit laid out for me, still refusing to put it on. I know it’ll piss my mother off, but the more I fight, the more alive I feel. Chaos seems to motivate me, and I crave it more than anything.

She pushes my door open and storms in, the look on her face evil and threatening.

“Put the fucking dress on, Calista! I’m sick and tired of fighting with you about it,” my mother screams at me, throwing a slutty red dress in my face.

“I don’t want to wear it; it’s way too short.” As soon as the words leave my lips, I regret them.

My mother charges at me, her evil eyes wild and frightening. I try to back up, but there’s nowhere to go—nowhere to run with this chain around my ankle.

She’s in front of me before I know it, and her open hand connects with my cheek before I can blink. A punch comes next, but not in my face, of course. She hits me where no one else can see, at least not right away. My ribcage is her favorite; kidneys are a close second.

I try to protect my malnourished body, but everything is so weak, and I end up succumbing to another brutal attack that leaves me broken even more.

“Put the fucking dress on or I’ll send your father up here,” she threatens, and I grab the dress off the floor and begin undressing to put it on.

When she’s satisfied, she leaves the attic, locking the door from the outside so I can’t escape. It’s been like this since I turned thirteen, and for the last eight years, I’ve been trapped in a nightmare I can’t get out of.

Mother likes to host ‘shows’, and I’m the main attraction. She parades me in front of men old enough to be my father, making each one bid on me just so she can make an extra buck. My father finds those men through his job. Being a state senator, he knows a lot of wealthy people—disturbed people.

They’re a sick and twisted team, and if I ever get out of here, I’m going to take every last one of them down.

Slipping into the dress that ends just below my ass, I look at myself in the broken full-length mirror, seeing how much damage I have to try and cover up before the show starts. Mother will be mad if anyone sees a mark on my body. She doesn’t know about the scars on the inside of my thighs—the ones I’ve made myself with a razorblade I keep tucked under the mattress on the floor.

I started cutting myself not long after my thirteenth birthday, when everything went to shit. If other people, including the ones I loved and trusted the most, could hurt me, then why couldn’t I hurt myself? I did it to remind myself that I was still alive, even though I didn’t want to be. There was something addicting about watching myself bleed from wounds I made.

Just thinking about it, my thighs begin to tremble and ache, and the urge to cut myself begins to grow heavier and heavier. But I force it aside and focus on getting ready, knowing I’ll have plenty of time later to cut as much as I want.

I put foundation on and a little bit of bronzing powder to make my face smooth and shimmery. I blink, coating my lashes with jet-black mascara, adding a few extra coats to make them longer and thicker. Using my eyeliner on my upper lids, I do a little flick at the end to help make my eyes pop, and it doesn’t come out too bad. Lastly, I grab the red lipstick—the one that matches the dress—and coat my lips in it, looking like a completely different person when I look at myself in the mirror.

I look like a fucking whore.

I sit on the mattress on the floor, without a sheet or a blanket, and slip my feet into a brand new pair of black pumps, giving me a few extra inches from the height of the heel.

My hands shake, and the voices begin to start. I hear them in my head nonstop. They tell me not to take my medication, but my mother makes sure that I do—usually by shoving it down my throat.

They tell me to do things, but I do my best to ignore them. The meds do a good job of suppressing them, but it’s never for long. Addy loves to come out and play the most. Out of all the voices in my head, she’s my favorite.

One minute I’m happy, and the next I want to kill the entire world; it’s my bipolar, mother says. Our family doctor diagnosed me with manic bipolar, depression, severe anxiety, PTSD with nightmares and flashbacks, and a slew of other things I feel like are made up.

They say I’m crazy, but Addy tells me I’m perfect. They keep me on all of these meds to keep me quiet.

They don’t want me to talk; nobody does.

The attic door opens, and my mother and father stand in the doorway, dressed as if they’re going to some fancy dinner or some shit. They don’t look evil, but they are.

“It’s time for your meds, Calista.” My father comes in and hands me a blue pill, an orange capsule, a green pill, two pink ones, and six different white ones—all to help control the crazy inside of me.

I take the pills from his hand, swallowing the lithium first, then the Xanax and Klonopin, and I keep going until all eleven pills are gone. I chug the water they give me, taking advantage of the lukewarm liquid moistening my throat since I haven’t had a drink in days.

“Stand up and let me see you,” my mother orders, and I listen immediately, afraid of another senseless beating.

I spin around, letting her inspect my body and outfit, praying I did everything right. When I hear a sigh slip from her mouth, my entire body shuts down and I freeze, trying to brace myself for her fists. But they don’t come.

“You look perfect. You’re going to make us a lot of money tonight.” She gives me an evil smile and yanks my arm, digging her nails into my skin until she breaks the skin and makes me bleed.

I’ll pay for that later, especially if someone sees it.

I’m dragged out of the attic and led down to the basement of the mansion, where all their shows are held. Dark red walls and black silk curtains decorate the space, giving off a dungeon vibe. As soon as we descend the long hallway, I spot the boys that I knew from school—before I was pulled out and “homeschooled"—and I begin to wonder what they’re doing here.

They used to be my best friends, and I haven’t seen them in years. They don’t even look the same. They’re grown now, each with an array of tattoos that cover almost every inch of their skin—tattoos that tell a story I desperately want to read.

But when we walk into the decorated room with neon signs, sex toys, and candlelight, I know exactly why the boys are here. Their fathers are here, lined up to partake in the bidding.

I feel rage instantly boil inside of me as I face the crowd of vile men, and as I stand on the platform, my resolve crystalizes. With every breath that I take, I’m already working on a plan to bring down this house of horrors—to exact my revenge on those who have kept me locked away for so long. And this time, there will be no fucking escape for them. I’ll make sure they all pay for what they’ve done to me.

Their reign of terror will end, and it’ll end at my hands.

Standing on the pedestal I was placed on, I take notice as everyone finds their seats. I’m used to this part now—I’m used to all of it.

The posing.

The eyes.

The bidding.

The eyes.

The win.

The eyes.

The night.

The eyes.

But what I’m not used to is seeing my three ex-best friends take their seats next to their fathers. What makes me feel better is that none of them look like they want to be here.

Tonight is another ‘special night’ mother says; it’s my twenty-first birthday. She’s thrown these giant, elaborate ‘shows’ once a year, always on my birthday. Tonight’s is different, she says, but I haven’t figured out what she means.

I try to ignore the sinking feeling in my chest as the lights dim and the room falls silent, but I can’t. At least Addy is beside me—always right beside me.

There’s something about the way my mother is looking at me that makes me uneasy, but I push the thought to the back of my mind as the familiar routine begins.

“Ignore her, Cali,” Addy says in a soft, calming voice.

“Easy for you to say,” I fire back, feeling my limbs start to shake even though my meds are making my entire body numb.

As the show starts, I force myself to focus on the faces in the crowd rather than the familiar faces that I wish weren’t there. But before I can get lost in the sea of hungry eyes, my attention is pulled back to the stage as my mother’s voice booms through the crowded room.

“Good evening, gentlemen. I present to you the main attraction,” she says, her tone eerily excited.

I feel a bead of sweat forming on my brow as I try not to let my anxiety show. I glance at my ex-best friends, but they’re looking away, their expressions a mixture of discomfort and guilt. Then suddenly, as the curtain draws back, I see what my mother meant by ‘different’. Standing before the crowd, I see not a familiar face but a shiny, silver pole and a single chair beside it.

“Tonight,” my mother announces, her voice filled with malicious delight, “we have a very special performance by our birthday girl. She’s going to dance for you all.”

My heart drops as the realization hits me.

This was different.

This wasn’t about the bidding or the win. This was about me being put on display and humiliated once again.

“Not only that, but one lucky person from the crowd is going to join Calista up on stage for a dance.” She laughs sadistically, walking toward me in slow, light steps. “And she’ll be in her purest form for everyone to see. Tonight, you get to look at the prize you’ll be bidding on,” she adds, grinning.

My stomach flops, and I feel like I’m going to puke. My anxiety creeps up, bringing on the manic part of my bipolar, and I can feel myself slipping into the darkness I try to stay away from.

The crowd cheers louder than I’ve ever heard, which makes it all worse. My mother grabs my arm and pulls me behind the curtain, taking out a bottle of pills from her bra.

“Take these. They’ll make tonight a hell of a lot easier for you because the surprises are just getting started.” She pours an assortment of my pills into her hand and forces them down my throat, making me gag and almost throw them up.

Next, she pulls out a loaded syringe and holds it up to the light, flicking the top to make the bubbles in the liquid disappear. And then she sticks the needle into the meaty part of my thigh, the liquid burning my insides as she pushes the plunger down. She pulls off my dress as I stand here, motionless, almost like a zombie. Thanks to whatever she gave me, my entire body is numb, but unfortunately, not numb enough.

“Don’t,” I beg her, but my pleas fall on deaf ears.

“You’re going to be a good girl, Calista, because if you’re not, you’re not going to like what happens,” she spits out one last threat before holding my hand with a smile on her face, parading me back in front of the crowd of hungry, perverted me—and Ash, Dominic, and Killian.

“Who’s ready for Calista to dance?” she asks the crowd, and of course, all of them holler and clap. “When it’s time, I’ll be choosing one of you to come up for your dance, but until then, enjoy the show.” She walks off stage, and I stand here, wearing nothing but heels and a pearl necklace that hangs just above my collarbone.

As the music starts and all eyes turn to me, I take a deep breath and grab the pole, my body trembling with a mixture of fear and determination. And as I do, I make a silent promise to myself that this will be the last “special night” my mother ever makes me endure.

I close my eyes and let the music take me away to a different place, one where I’m not naked and dancing for fifty men. I spin around effortlessly, my hair weeping against the stage as I bend back. Holding the pole with two hands, I rise up and drop, winding my body as I climb up it. I hook my leg around it and spin, gripping it with one hand and stretching my body for the crowd to see.

My hands run up the front and sides of my body, cupping my breasts to put on a show. When I turn, I spread my legs and grip the pole, slowly bending down toward my toes with my ass on full display.

I feel disgusting. But I know what’ll happen if I stop.

I’m not sure how long I end up dancing for, but by the time I hear my mother’s voice in the microphone, I can’t feel any lower.

“I can see how many of you enjoyed that. Let’s see…” She looks around the room, an evil smile on her red-painted lips. “Dominic Gray, you’re our lucky lap dance winner.” She claps, and the crowd roars.

I thought I couldn’t feel any lower. I was fucking wrong.

She did this shit on purpose. It makes me wonder what else she’s got up her sleeve.

I can hear Dominic refusing, but a threat from his father has his ass up on stage faster than I can blink. He won’t even look at me, but I don’t want him to anyway.

My mother forces him into the seat, snatching my hand and dragging me over to him. “Dance for Dominic, Calista. Be a good girl for your guests.” She winks, and I want to fucking punch her.

She walks away as the spotlight shines on me and Dom, suffocating tension floating between us. I straddle his lap, putting my hands on his shoulders, my naked body pressing against his. For the first time in years, I can feel tears falling from my eyes and my heart breaking into a million pieces.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper as I slowly start rolling my hips to the beat of Take You Down, a Chris Brown classic.

And then the strangest thing happens. I hear Dominic’s voice, and it almost breaks me the rest of the way. “I’m so fucking sorry, Cali. I don’t want this.” I hear a sob escape from his lips, even over the music. But I keep dancing, grinding on his lap, until he finally reaches out and holds onto my hips.

I shatter completely once I feel his touch. There’s so much that I want to say—so much that I want to ask—but I can’t. I can see the torment in his eyes and the desperation, and it almost makes me feel sorry for him. But then I remember that he’s a part of everything wrong in my life—that he’s one of the reasons I’m here tonight. So I push the feelings of confusion and hurt to the back of my mind, where they once again blend in with anger, resentment, and hatred.

* * *

When the dance ends, I’m pushed to center stage and told to pose. Each member of the audience gets to request that I do one thing for them before the actual bidding starts. My eyes focus on the red lights on the cameras around the room, knowing each one of these shows has been recorded. It’s not like I can do anything with them, though.

As I nonchalantly pose as instructed, my eyes catch my parents in the back of the room, talking to three very familiar men.

I blink just to make sure and see Adam, David, and Jackson—the boys’ fathers.

I swallow hard, wondering what’s going to come of it. Whatever it is, I know it can’t be good.

“When does the bidding start, Elaine?” One of the men from the crowd yells, growing increasingly impatient.

She emerges from the back corner, waking up on stage with the widest grin plastered on her face that I’ve ever seen. My heart plummets to the stage my feet are on, and I know this isn’t a normal part of the show. But nothing about tonight has been normal.

“It seems we’re going to be doing things a little differently tonight,” she says with malice in her tone. The crowd groans, but still, I bet I’m more pissed than they are.

“Alright, enough. Three lucky men have won Calista tonight,” she explains, walking back and forth across the front of the stage, the sound of her heels clicking in my ears.

“I bet I can offer more,” one man yells from the crowd, and all my mother does is laugh.

“Stewart, if you can give me three million dollars—in cash—right now, then she’s all yours.”

He curses and sits down, the crowd gasping in shock. My mother looks at me and winks before turning back to the men.

“Adam Moretti, David Blacksburg, and Jackson Gray, congratulations on your prize.” She claps and pulls me off the stage, still naked.

As the audience clears out, highly upset as they shake hands with my father, my mother drags me over to the sitting area and pushes me down onto the couch. Right in the middle of Ash, Killian, and Dominic.

Fuck .

She then goes off to talk to their fathers, leaving the four of us alone. No one knows what to say, but judging by the looks on their faces, they know what’s about to happen, and they sure as fuck don’t want to talk about it.

I wish I knew what was about to happen.

I can’t believe my own parents would do this to me. As my mother returns with their fathers, I draw strength from the bond the four of us used to have between us.

But I have no idea how long it’ll last.