Scars: Book One (4 page)

I
didn’t realize how cold I’d been until I was led into the living room that was
warmed by a fire. Faded floral wallpaper lined the walls, and the carpet was a
threadbare green. A couch and armchairs had seen better days as well. They were
also green, and whom ever had chosen them must have thought that different
tones of green went well together.

I
smiled in spite of myself; it was surreal that I was thinking about bad
decorating when I should have been pissing myself in fear. Again. When I noticed
that he was looking at me, my smile dropped.

“What
was that for?” He was almost accusing and I remembered that I wasn’t supposed
to be happy. I was supposed to be terrified, miserable and dehumanized.

I
hugged myself. “It’s just that it’s warm in here. I was cold before.” I didn’t
look at him but felt his eyes on me anyway.

“Go
stand in front of the fire.”

He
sat in one of the armchairs while I did what he said. I didn’t think his order
was one of kindness because I felt more on display than before as I stood
there, lit by the fire and awaiting his next demand.  He took a book from the
side table and tossed it to me. I caught it easily.

“Open
it.”

It
was a black leather diary with gold edging. It felt heavy and expensive in my hands.
A yellow Post-It note stuck out the top, and I opened it to that page. A date
was written at the top in a careful script.

“See,
Rachel, this is reading time. Read me the entry.”

The
psycho lounged in the armchair; feet up on a stool and casual like we were
somewhere else. I took a breath and scanned the words quickly. Something inside
me began to twist, cold and unsettling. My eyes widened slightly as my heart
began to thump. I thought about throwing the book down and running out of the
room, but that noose memory wasn’t going anywhere fast. I began to read, doing
my utmost to make sure that my voice came out smooth and strong, betraying
nothing of the tremors inside me.

“Today,
I feel like my life is renewed, spring has arrived in the form of Hannah. Her
hair is yellow like the spring daffodils and her eyes green like new shoots. I
know I sound like a romantic fool, but this one meeting has given me a sense of
hope. It’s like all those bad things can be put to rest now and I get to start
anew.

I
was sitting in Harriett’s Café, drinking my coffee and reading the newspaper,
when she came up to me. She’d been crying; her eyes were red-rimmed but she
looked beautiful anyway. She’s not one of those women whose nose goes red, and
eyes puffy when they sob. No, distress and pain looked beautiful on her.

She’d
had her wallet stolen, and she was asking for a few dollars for bus fare to
make it home. I told her to sit down, and I’d buy her a coffee to calm herself
down. She gave me a shy smile and thanked me.

‘Hannah,’
she introduced herself, holding out a hand, and then she motioned to a girl
sitting by the counter to come over. The girl couldn’t have been more than
fifteen or sixteen, and she was the spitting image of her mother. Her name is
Rachel, and she is shy and demure, not like those wild, rude teenagers that you
meet now days. I bought us all drinks and cake, and I must admit, Hannah is the
most charming woman I’ve met in a long time. So much so, that I offered them a
lift home. They live in one of the poorer neighborhoods, and the house is
pretty modest. Hannah told me it was a rental, and that she’d left an abusive
husband, and that’s why they were hiding out here until she could get a divorce
and get her fair share of the house sale.

I
gave her a polite kiss goodbye on the cheek, itching to ask for her phone
number but somehow I stopped myself. I knew getting involved with her would
bring a world of trouble. Besides, my lawyers had told me I probably wouldn’t
be so lucky if there were a next time. She asked me in for a drink, but I said
no. The look on her face was of disappointment, and that expression is what I
keep seeing every time I close my eyes and try to sleep. I might swing by
tomorrow, though, maybe just to keep an eye on them. Who knows what kind of
asshole her ex is. Hannah is so sweet; she probably couldn’t fight off a fly.”

The
entry ended, and I had no desire to turn the page and read anymore. I lifted my
eyes to meet the dark, wolf-like ones of the psycho.

“You
figured out why you’re here now?”

I
swallowed. “No, I don’t know what any of this has to do with me. Please just let
me go. You think I’m this Rachel girl? I’m not, I’m Paige. Just Paige.”

He
smiled slightly. “You’re a liar, Rachel.”

“Paige.
My name is Paige! I haven’t done anything wrong.” I hurled that book at him
with all my might; he caught it easily and placed it on the small table beside
him. “I don’t want to be here. I want my clothes. I want to go home!” Those
fear inspired words rushed out of me as I trembled, adrenalin causing a spike
of warmth to go through me and I nearly forgot that I was naked. I stood there
after my outburst, breathing heavily and watching him as closely as he watched
me. When he finally made a movement, I spurred into action and sprinted for the
doorway, and down the hall, finally until the front door rose up in front of
me. I twisted the door knob, pounded on it and screamed. It was all futile. I
knew that. That door was locked tight. I should have headed to the back of the
house; there must have been another door there. But I knew I wouldn’t have a
chance to try it. I slammed my fists into the wood and let out another howl of
rage and desperation, until finally I collapsed against it, resting my head on
my forearms as I cried.

I
knew he was behind me, waiting and watching. Eventually, I turned to face him.
He leaned casually against the wall.

“Please
don’t put me in the barn again,” my voice managed to rasp out. I shook my head.
“Please
don’t
.”

He
straightened, and made a motion with his head, indicating to the stairs that
led up to my bedroom/cell. I darted up the stairs and headed into the room,
crawling under the blankets, happy to be covered while my heart thumped as the
stairs creaked as he climbed them. I couldn’t stand to look at him. Instead, I
just looked at that awful pattern on the blanket. He grabbed an arm and
fastened it above my head just like last night, then followed suit with the
other one. Before he left, he drew the blanket up to cover me before switching
off the light and bolting the door.

In
the darkness, unsettling memories came bolting back to me, and fresh tears
erupted. What was I going to do? At least I had more information now, and
reasons why this was happening.

What
would my mother do? I loved and loathed her equally, but the only thing I
respected about her was her talent. She was a fantastic actress and reader of
people. She could change her personality in an instant to suit whoever she was
going after. She was a master manipulator. No doubt she would try and seduce
this crazy psycho or something similar to get him so charmed that he fell under
her spell.

But
I wasn’t my mother.

The
next night I refused to read the diary entry. Defiance is difficult when you’re
the only naked one in the room. I dropped the diary to the ground where it
landed face down on the green carpet. I was too scared to look at him, so I
just stared at my feet.

“No,”
I repeated. “I’m not going to read that.” My voice betrayed me by shaking. “I’m
not going to play your stupid, pointless games.” I hugged myself as he laughed.

“Oh,
Rachel. I haven’t even begun to play games. I’m in a generous mood though. I’ll
give you another chance. Pick up the book and read the marked page.” His voice
was soft, nearly gentle. As I looked at the book, I thought about how easy it
would be just to pick it up and open it to where the yellow Post-It indicated.
My fingers moved of their own accord, fear driving them in slight twitches to
do what he said.

But
my bitchy will made a stand.

I
raised my head to look him firmly in the eye. “No.”

I
shivered at the coldness I saw in his face, the loathing and hostility spearing
through me. I made to run again but before I got maybe two feet in distance, a
strong hand wrapped around my ankle and pulled. I was momentarily airborne
before landing with a thud against the floor; the firm grip dragged me
backwards with the carpet burning against my breasts. Then the grip was in my
hair and the pain made my eyes water as I was raised up and turned to look at
him.

We
were both on our knees now, with no give in the hand gripping my hair that
caused a fire-like sensation to dart through my scalp. His other hand reached
up, and I recoiled in fear as much as I could move. But there was no stopping
him. The hand stroked softly down my face in a gesture that could have been
construed as caring in any one else.

But
I whimpered at his touch as his fingers brushed over my cheekbone and down to
my chin. And there the hand stopped. It gripped, still softly, my chin, forcing
me to look up to meet him in the eyes. I did not like what I saw there.

“I’ve
been very kind to you so far, Rachel. Far kinder than you deserve. I gave you
the benefit of the doubt, but now I see that you need a firm hand. Am I right?”

I
didn’t answer, breathing heavily and heart beating so loud it nearly drowned
out his voice. He didn’t expect one anyway. With speed, I was pushed face down
onto the couch, and my hands pulled behind my back. I felt the familiar cable
ties draw tightly around my wrists. Then I was pulled up, causing my arms to
stretch painfully in the unnatural position. A whimper escaped me, and then I
firmly shut my mouth. I wouldn’t appear weak any longer. I wouldn’t give him
the satisfaction. 

I
tried to prepare myself mentally for what would come next as he pulled me along
until we were outside, and the cool air hit my naked skin. He spoke not a word;
his actions calm like what he did evoked no feeling within him. I tried to
steel myself at the thought of the noose back around my neck as we headed to
the barn. But when we went inside, he led me instead to one of the posts that
held up the structure. Something cut through the cable ties, releasing my hands
from their painful position. But just as quickly they were pulled in front of
me on either side of the post, and I was pulled tight against it. Splinters
from the rough wood pressed into my breasts, and I was held tight, my hands
were bound on the other side. Then he stood behind me. That was even worse, not
being able to see what he was doing. I jumped in fear as I felt his warm hands
start to rub against my ass. I shook my head from side to side but kept silent.
The hands kept rubbing, but delved to no other areas other than my ass cheeks.

I
jumped again when he started to speak, his smooth voice floating behind me in
this surreal-like situation. “There’s no shame in screaming, Rachel. The beauty
of being as isolated as we are out here is that no one can hear you. So you can
scream all you like. I won’t punish you anymore for it.” The rubbing on my ass
stopped, and his hands moved away. “You’re lucky. My old man use to punish me
something fierce for screaming when he did this to me. But I got rescued in the
end. I don’t think anyone will be rescuing you.”

I
heard a whoosh noise before something hard slammed into my ass. Fire raged
through me, and I barely recognized the scream that tore out. I managed to take
a breath before he hit me once more. My scream was even louder this time, and
it barely ceased before another was ripped from me. I screamed for each one until
he was finished. My ass and throat were both raw, and all I could do was hug
against the post and whimper as tears streamed down my face. I sensed him move
in front of me, but I couldn’t lift my head to look. My hands were loosened slightly,
allowing me to sink to the bottom of the pole in exhaustion and numbness,
except for the fire wreaking havoc on my bottom of course. I knelt there,
trying to position myself in the best way to reduce any added pain. I passed
out eventually though. It was bliss.

I
woke up in the bedroom he’d imprisoned me in. I lay on my stomach in the bed,
consciousness had let the pain back in, and I let out a gasp. Then I felt his
hands rub gently in circular motions against my bottom, and I hissed in both
pain and surprise. I hadn’t known he was there.

“Shh.
This cream will make it feel better.”

I
stayed silent, mortified and humiliated at being touched like this by him. I
barely dared breathe as he continued his work.

“I
didn’t break the skin. I was careful. Canes can be horrific things if you let
them.” His voice was calm, like he was talking about the weather instead of my
torture. I took a shaky breath.

“It
felt horrific enough to me,” I dared to say, nervously awaiting his answer.

“I
know, but it was necessary.” His hands continued to rub the cream in. I bit my
lip before deciding to speak again.

“I
don’t deserve this. I’m not her.” I sunk my teeth into my lip again to stop my
shaking. He stayed silent for such a long while that I thought he was going to
ignore the comment.

Then
he sighed. “Rachel, don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

I
twisted my head to look at him. “You’re the one making this hard. I’m not
her
.”

I
shivered under his gaze, but he looked away first as he started to screw the
top back on the cream. “You should get some sleep. You’ll feel better in the
morning. Do you need to use the bathroom?”

I
shook my head.

He
got to his feet. “There’s water beside the bed if you need it, and painkillers.
I won’t tie you to the bed. God knows; you’re in no state to run.”

He
moved to the door.

“Wait!”

He
paused and turned toward me.

“What
do I call you? What’s your name?”

He
frowned slightly. “Why?”

I
shrugged. “I don’t know. I just…I just want to call you something.”
Other
than psycho or crazy.
“It would make you seem more human.”

He
stared hard at me for a few seconds before replying. “Aaron.”
Aaron.

“Goodnight,
Aaron.”

He
shut the door and bolted it behind him.

Aaron