“What?” my voice shakes as I try to draw a breath, “You?”
The adrenaline and shock are too much and I rush to the bathroom, throwing open the door and pitching forward onto the sink. I grope for the light switch and then the faucet handle as I heave the contents of my stomach into the drain. When there’s nothing left, I spit mouthfuls of tap water and haphazardly rinse my face with one hand. Then I turn around, sinking to the floor with my back against the cupboard doors.
Still gasping and sniffling, I look down at my shirt. The left side of my tank top is ripped along my chest, exposing my pink and purple sports bra. Pink splotches gave way to scratches and welts along my chest and neck. I flinch when I glance up again and see Bowen leaning against the door frame.
“I thought you were into that kind of thing,” he tugs the hand towel off the ring and tosses it into my lap, “or is it just with him?”
I try to speak, but it just comes out as a wheeze. Bowen looks over at the vanity, the empty lavender pill packet sitting on the edge of the sink next to the faucet.
He flicks the edge with his fingertip, sending it clattering into the sink, “You better hope to God that baby’s mine,” he growls with abject disdain.
“What?” I squeak out with an airy whimper.
Bowen glances down at the sink again, lingering on the empty packet, then turns his attention back to me with the blackest eyes.
The devil’s eyes.
I can’t look at him, my body still shaking and too terrified to move. After a few moments, he taps my bare foot with the toe of his boot. I shrink back on reflex, but when I look up, he’s reaching down, extending his hand to me. Not knowing what else to do, I take it and let him help me to my feet.
But as soon as I’m upright, he grabs the front of my shirt and slams me up against the wall, pinning me against it with his forearm. I let out a scream and go rigid, flattening my arms against the wall and turning away, squinting my eyes shut. I can’t see, but I can feel him lean closer, the warmth of his skin radiating against mine.
“You’re a fucking glutton for punishment, aren’t you, Brett?” His breath feels hot against my cheek. He doesn’t even sound like himself. “I should’ve strung you up a tree and left you in those woods. You think you can lie to me, you goddamn whore?” He presses against my shoulders so hard that they feel like they’re going to snap, “You want me to show you what happens to liars in my house?” He slams his other palm against the wall next to my head, making me cry out in terror.
“Let go,” I choke out through tears, “let me go!”
“Let you go?” Bowen pushes his face into mine, “Where the fuck are you going to go?” he snarls.
I cringe, pleading with him, “Bowen, what are you talking—”
He jerks my shirt, pulling me forward and slamming me back against the wall again, knocking the wind out of me, “You think you can hide things from me?” he towers over me, “I know where you go, I know who you talk to, I know what you do when you don’t think anyone is paying attention. You’re mine and I own you.”
Writhing beneath him, I try to push against his arm, but it’s nothing but a vice grip.
What’s he talking about? What does he mean he knows everything I do?
“Bowen, you’re hurting me,” I rasp, trying in vain to calm a situation that’s already gone off the fucking rails.
“Of course I am,” he snarls as his other hand flies to my throat, squeezing it with disregard, “I know how much you love it. I know how wet you get when you think you’re about to die, which is why I have a surprise tonight, just for you baby girl. Jay got really excited when I told him you like getting dicked by two guys.” Bowen lowers his voice to a whisper, “He doesn’t want to watch anymore…”
I squeeze my eyes close in dread, tamping down more sobs as I struggle against his grip.
“Maybe he’ll even bring his brother, finally introduce you,” he continues, “Wells has always been jealous of my toys…”
Wells? Oh my god…
Bowen looks me up and down, “Who’s going to miss you?”
And then the realization sets in—no one is coming.
I’m here with Bowen in this house, with nothing but his rage, and no one is coming.
He hovers for a few more seconds and then finally releases me, taking a step back. Without a word, he turns and strolls out of the bathroom. I force my feet to move, peering out of the bathroom as he heads for the hallway. I don’t know where he’s going, but something tells me I don’t want to know.
I step into the middle of the room, watching him walk further down the hall toward the light of the living room, until he inexplicably slows. He turns over his shoulder and looks at me. I glance at the bedroom door knob, and when he sees the subtle movement of my eyes, his muscles tense and his body spins on a dime. I lunge for the door, heart pounding, and grab the edge as he closes the distance in an instant. But I slam it and punch the lock just before he crashes into the wood.
I stumble back with a gasp, half expecting Bowen to come right through the door. He could easily bust it down, even give it a good shove with his shoulder and that would be that. But he doesn’t. Instead, I listen with shaky breaths as he jerks the handle a couple times and then exhales in exasperation. Without a word, he finally turns around and his heavy footsteps fade away.
My eyes still trained on the door, I stagger backward until my legs hit the edge of the bed and I sink down to the floor. I try to smother my sobs and screams with one of the pillows tossed off the bed in the melee, but it’s no use. They come like a rogue wave, nearly knocking me flat on the floor, and I don’t care if Bowen hears it. Overcome with terror and hopelessness, I claw at my chest and arms, uncontrollably convulsing and flapping my hands, like I’m trying to wipe the last 20 minutes from my body.
For the next few hours, I wait in pure terror, sitting against the bed nearly catatonic with my stomach in knots, listening for the sound of Jay’s tires—anyone’s tires—on the gravel. I know this happens. I know how brutal and savage humans can be to one another. I know people endure torture and plead for death at the hands of people they love. I just never thought it would be me. But who does?
I don’t know how long I wait in silence, with nothing but the sound of my own haggard breaths to keep me company. The digital clock is somewhere under the bed, knocked loose from the outlet, and my phone is in my bag by the front door—out there with him. So, I can only wait for the sound of tires grinding outside the window.
But it never comes.
What do I do now?
A million thoughts run through my mind.
Why was Bowen sending me creepy texts from an unknown number? What did Bowen mean when he said he knows where I go, who I talk to, and what I do? How does he know…Why did he say he wasn’t home? Why was he waiting here? Why did he even do this? Oh, fuck, I forgot to go to the pharmacy! How am I going to get out of here? What’s Bowen going to do to me when I leave this room?
At some point, I finally fall asleep, unable to stay awake for my impending demise. When I wake the next morning, I’m still curled up on the floor next to the bed. The house is silent and the bedroom door still securely locked.
Sore from passing out on the carpet instead of the bed, I creep over to the window and peek out the curtains, rubbing my puffy and swollen eyes. I have a clear view of the driveway. My Tahoe is still sitting in front of the garage, but Bowen’s truck is gone. Not that it means anything, it wasn’t there when I arrived home last night, either. I still don’t know what time it is, but it’s brighter than it usually is when we both leave for work.
I don’t know if Bowen’s really gone, but I can’t stay in this bedroom all day. At some point, I’ll have to open the door. I quietly make my way to the door and put my ear to the wood. The house is completely silent. I don’t even hear Waylon. If things go sideways, I’ll just have to try to make it to the front door.
Gathering my nerves, I grip the brushed nickel handle and twist the lock. Taking a deep breath, I push down on the handle and slowly nudge the door.
