Seven years ago…
Paul Ducello sat back in the swivel chair, and for the first time he felt his fifty‐two years of life weighing on him. He'd started out as a good man. He'd earned a fellowship that took him around the world, until he landed at Stanford University. Paul thought he'd be like his old man and major in engineering, but a pretty girl convinced him to take a finance class and he had been bit by the investment banking bug. Wall Street had been kind, until it all went to hell. He didn't know when he met the devil, but he'd been trying to get his soul back since this whole thing started.
If Carter Wealth hadn't laid him off, he wouldn't be here, hanging on the edge of a cliff for dear life. When Adam broke his leg, he wouldn't have had to foot the emergency bill, because their health insurance was gone. He wouldn't have needed to lie to Aileen and pretend to go to work every morning.
Refinancing the mortgage had bought him some time. But even that was Carter Wealth's fault. If the CEO hadn't convinced him to make the bonehead decision to trade their savings for stock options, he'd be fine. But instead he was in trouble. How much longer could he keep hiding the past due mortgage letters from Aileen? How much longer would it be before the private university dropped his stepdaughter? Those were the questions that brought him to the devil.
Paul took another cursory glance and decided to reassess his approach. The Russian sitting across from him had earned a reputation for slitting throats at the slightest sign of disrespect.
“You're coming in early here. I've got another four weeks before I make my payment.”
“If you don't already have the money now, then you never will,” the man sitting on the other side of the desk countered.
He didn't have the money now, but was days away from a guaranteed payday. Paul had been in a traffic accident on the highway. His lawyer told him the settlement with the city could be finished any day now. With this knowledge, Paul hadn't worried about the first $10,000 payment he needed to make to Gustav, especially when he had four weeks left. He couldn't tell Gustav though. He feared the loan shark would only want more money. If the settlement was large enough, Paul planned to pay Gustav back in one lump sum. This included the outrageous forty‐five percent interest he was charging him.
Unfortunately for Paul though, Gustav was notorious for calling in debts before the due date. He operated under a fear and retrieval process. Pestering marks before their loan became due allowed him to collect sometimes triple what they owed. Fear acted as a powerful motivator. It didn't hurt that he enjoyed seeing them squirm too.
Paul turned his attention away from the criminal menace when a knock sounded at his door.
“Come in,” Paul called out.
“Hey, didn't know you had company,” A quiet, feminine voice said.
The door opened, revealing a curvaceous ochre girl. She wore a white long sleeve cotton shirt. Her long, athletic, toned legs shot out of some bright yellow boy shorts. Vivid violet eyes flashed beneath long eyelashes. “Um, Mom wanted me to remind you tuition's due tomorrow.”
From the corner of his eye, he caught the appreciative curl of Gustav's lips as the man eyed the girl's form. Great timing, Marnie. The last thing Paul needed right now was for Gustav to think he had a cash flow problem. He said a string of curse words to himself. This day wasn't going the way he planned.
“Okay, thank you, Marnie,” Paul said between clenched teeth.
The girl bounced out of the room, her long ponytail swishing behind her as she shut the door.
“Sounds like I came at the right time. I want my money before you pay the school.” Gustav held his hand out on the desk.
“No, that money… Well, there is no money. She's talking about some student loans her mother took out. I don't have any access to that,” Paul said, lying on the spot.
“Take out another loan and have her give you the money, either way, I want to get paid and I don't care how you do it.”
“Gustav.” Paul clapped his forehead in frustration. “You will have your money on the due date. That's what we agreed on and I'm going to follow our contract. You've got nothing to worry about.”
“Give me something to hold as collateral—you know as a sign of good faith.” Gustav lips curved into a smile.
“I've got nothing to give you, except for what's due four weeks from now.”
“Give me the girl,” he said, nodding to the door.
“That's my stepdaughter.”
“Just for tonight.” Gustav stood, taking his coat off the chair. “Or I can burn your house down instead.”
“She's my stepdaughter!” Paul reiterated.
“Don't make the same mistake as your co‐worker.”
So he was behind the gas line explosion that claimed the life of the company's accountant and his three boys.
“You have until tomorrow night to make a decision.” Gustav reached into his jacket pocket and flicked a yellow lighter over his mouse pad. Paul sputtered and wrenched the top off a bottle of water as the flames licked the pad. He emptied the water over his desk. “Here's my address in case you forgot.” Gustav smiled at him and threw his business card on the desk. It floated atop the water‐soaked mahogany. He tipped his hat to Paul and left the office.
Paul whirled around in his chair, his back to his desk. Panic attacked his vocal chords. He wanted to scream, but no sound came out. Gustav was a man of his word.
What am I going to do? He swirled around and picked the snow globe off the edge of his desk and threw it. The paperweight broke on impact, scattering shards of glass and water down the wall.
Paul sat at the head of the dining room table, contemplating as he chewed on his steak. Although he hated to do it, if it was going to happen, it would have to happen soon. Aileen planned to visit her mother for the night. The two‐hour drive meant his wife wouldn't be back until tomorrow morning. What she didn't know wouldn't hurt her. Besides, confessing he needed to pimp their daughter out in order to buy time before paying back a loan shark wasn't something you talked about over dinner.
Marnie cleared the plates and brought out the pie. It was now or never. Paul wiped his mouth with his handkerchief and took a sip of his water.
Paul glared at Marnie. “Your mother showed me your report card.”
She stopped mid‐bite, a hefty slice of whipped cream and apple pie weighing down her fork.
“I'm not paying fifty grand for you to pass Princeton with a C.”
“That was one class. The rest are three Bs and an A.” A frown creased Marnie's forehead.
“For the sacrifices your mother and I are making, I expect you to get all As. With these grades we could have saved our money and sent you to a community college.”
“I am taking five classes, so I'll finish faster than four years. That'll save some money.”
“Faster for what? So you can jump into the fast food employment line? You're grounded. You can spend the weekend figuring out how to start getting all As. Otherwise,” Paul waved his fork to Aileen and then pointed at himself. “Your mother and I aren't going to support you anymore.”
“Mom!” Marnie made a sympathetic pout to her mother. “I want to go see Gram‐gram.”
“You know where I stand on this. Paul is making a good point. I'll just have to tell Grammy you couldn't come,” Aileen avoided her daughter's gaze and spoke to her own plate of apple pie.
Marnie sulked off to her room, but not before turning around and giving her kid brother a rueful look. He snickered as she made the trek upstairs to her room.
Once their son Adam was safely out of earshot washing the dishes, Aileen pulled her husband aside.
She pinched him affectionately. “You know I don't like it when you ambush me. You could've given me a warning.”
“I'm sorry,” he said, cupping his hands around her face. “It was spontaneous, I just got angrier and angrier thinking about the money we're wasting while she's goofing off.”
“I'm not saying you're wrong. Just give me a heads up next time.”
Aileen had a sweet, supportive nature about her that Paul loved. In order for him to feel like a man and take care of her daughter, she gave Paul latitude. He would always be grateful for that.
After Adam and Aileen packed the car and left, Paul rose from the couch to put his plan into action. In his bedroom, he searched the medicine cabinet. His plan would only work if he could find something to give her. His eyes scanned the prescriptions. Vicodin? No, not for what he wanted to do. His eyes lit up when he landed on Klonopin. Perfect! He also found Xanax in the nightstand drawer. By knocking her out, these two medicines together would ensure he wouldn't be riding in the back of a police car anytime soon.
He walked briskly into the kitchen and grabbed a glass and saucer. He opened the bottle of Xanax. There were four pills in the bottle. Aileen wouldn't miss one pill, he reasoned, she rarely took the stuff. He crushed the Xanax and four Klonopin. Now he just needed a vessel to deliver the concoction. Paul rummaged through the pantry until he found the whiskey. He grabbed six shot glasses and filled a small pot with water, setting it on the stove to boil.
His hand shook, splattering whiskey on the counter. He stopped and took a few deep breaths. He had to do this. Finding his resolve, he continued filling six shot glasses. Then he took a spoon and poured a little of the boiling liquid over the Xanax and Klonopin powder. The water mixed with the pills, turning it into a milky paste.
Paul took pains to mash the paste finely. He didn't want there to be any traces left behind in the glass. He poured the mixture into one of the six whiskey shots. He swirled the liquid around while holding the glass directly over the boiling water. The heat coaxed the powder to meld with the liquid until it was fully absorbed. The plan wouldn't work if Marnie noticed something in one of the glasses. After he was confident the powder dissipated, he warmed the rest of glasses up and set them on a tray.
Paul lightly kicked Marnie's door open with his right foot and slowly entered the room with the tray of shot glasses. He found her on her bed bobbing to the music on her iPod. Marnie's eyes widened at his entrance. She sat up in the bed and ripped the headphones out of her ears.
“Can we talk?” Paul smiled, kicking the door closed behind him. He sat down on a corner of her bed and put the tray of shots in the middle.
“What's this, tequila?” Marnie frowned, her lips poked out in a pout.
“Nope. I'll make you a deal. If you can drink three of these, and walk a straight line, I'll talk to your mother about letting you return to school early.”
“Why would I want to do that?” A smirk crept to her lips.
“You can't fool me. I remember what it was like to go to college, I didn't want to hang out with my family. I wanted to have fun with my friends. And study,” Paul added.
“So what's the deal?”
“You've got to pass the drunk test. Three for me,” he pointed to three on the left side. “And three for you.” He pointed to three on the right.
A frown marred the soft face, a face that reminded him of what Aileen must've looked like when she was younger. The wheels behind her eyes turned. A look of wonder eased the frown lines. She wanted to drink with him, but she was weary of what his intentions were. But if he guessed correctly, she hadn't experimented with alcohol yet. A youthful curiosity drowned out her hesitancy. He was counting on her naivety for his plan to work.
Marnie reached for the shot glass on the left, but Paul's hand blocked her.
“Uh uh. You start from the right.”
Marnie smiled. “What does it matter what side I start on?”
He pointed to himself. “You want to play my game, you play by my rules.”
“There's got to be a catch. Is Mom behind the door? Is she going to jump out and yell gotcha?”
“Mom's long gone.” Paul lay across the bed and propped his head on his hand.
She grabbed a shot and waited for Paul to grab his. They clinked glasses and Marnie dumped the dark liquid down her throat. She made a face, but Paul egged her on to try the next one. They grabbed their drinks, but this time Marnie chugged solo as Paul watched her down the doctored liquid. Marnie smashed the shot glass down on the tray with triumph. Paul slammed his next shot and gave her a high five. There was one more to go, but Marnie was already starting to complain of dizziness. She wasn't sure she wanted to do the next one, but complied with Paul's insistence.
She collapsed on the bed in a fit of giggles and didn't notice Paul never drank the third shot. A wave of guilt passed over him. Although the two didn't get along, he cared about her. She'd made his marriage possible. He remembered it like yesterday. They were in a restaurant and Paul had gotten on one knee and popped the question. Aileen had looked over at her daughter—who was nine at the time—for her answer. She'd looked at Paul, giving him a toothy grin and said maybe. It had given Aileen the courage she needed to say yes.
Paul waited, taking time to drill the importance of studying into Marnie. The alcohol made her giddy, but soon the drugs took their effect. Marnie's words slurred and speech trailed off. Paul got up. She lay motionless on the bed, a smile plastered across her face. He waved his hand over her eyes, but she didn't respond. She was ready.
“Let's take a ride,” Paul picked her up and carried her to the car.
The streetlights passed over her in an eerie illuminated blur. A bubble of laughter overwhelmed her, but a tide of sleep calmed her.
The next time she came to, Marnie was in a dimly lit room. She struggled to lift her head. Paul was talking and gesturing wildly in the doorway to another man. This man was shorter than Paul and had gray hair. With Marnie's fuzzy sight, this was all she managed to make out. Paul walked over to her and caressed her cheek. She barely recognized him, but his rough baritone voice comforted her.
“Just relax. I'll be back in a few hours,” Paul said.
“Where—?” Marnie struggled to ask him where he was going, but the words slurred on her lips. Paul squeezed her arm affectionately and walked out of the room.
Marnie drifted deeper under, barely feeling the touch of cold hands undressing her. She felt herself stretching to meet his need. He pinched her nipple, lifting a whimper from her lips. Pain seared through her like a knife. Her mind stumbled over words, struggling to catch one that would tell him to stop. She was dry down there.
He swore, in words that sounded like English as he released.
“He could've at least told me she wasn't a damn virgin,” The man spat.
The gray-haired man reminded her of the one she had seen Paul talking to. But then his features morphed into another man. He was on top of her, stretching her. His scent was more woodsy, more masculine, making her feel dirty each time he thrust inside of her. Thick dark curls covered his bare chest. Sweat dripped from the tendrils and landed in the valley between her breasts. Her top was off. Hadn't it been on moments ago? Another more pressing question caught her attention. Why was she feeling stretched from the back and the front at the same time?
Both her anus and vagina were on fire. She quickly realized she was being double penetrated, and put a feeble hand on the hairy chest of the assailant in front of her and begged him to stop.
“Please,” she managed to whisper.
The bellies of both men trembled with laughter. They made a concerted effort to pound her harder in response.
As the fog lifted from her senses, Marnie saw men lined up, staring at her and rubbing their members underneath their pants, readying themselves to enter her. She watched in despair as they licked and bit her breasts, and came on her stomach. Her arms and legs felt like lead. She couldn't for the life of her figure out why she wasn't moving. This had to be a dream. She closed her eyes and willed herself to ignore the grunting and the smell of the different colognes of each man who entered her.
She sat up with a start and looked around. A picture of her favorite singing group hung on the wall. Her hand swept across her clothes. She was wearing her pajamas. She looked at the clock on the nightstand. 4:30. It must've been a dream, she thought, sinking back into her pillow. A sense of relief washed over and she fell into a dreamless sleep the minute she closed her eyes.
When she woke again, Marnie felt so awful, the only thing she could do was crawl out of bed. Her knees hit the floor and she crawled into the bathroom. Grabbing the sink for balance, she stood up. She rubbed her rear. It was tender to the touch. She sat on the toilet and tried to pee, but only excruciating little drops came out. Marnie held her head in her hands and sighed, her whole body ached.
What is going on? Flashes of her nightmare entered her mind. It was just a dream, she told herself, trying to shake the blurry images of men raping her out of her head. But the image of the first man shoving those yellow shorts off wouldn't leave her mind. She dashed into the bedroom and opened the drawer. One quick toss told her the shorts weren't there. She looked in the hamper, but they weren't there either. Where were those damn shorts?
If the shorts had been in her dresser, Marnie would've assumed the dream was just that—a bad dream. But not finding the shorts started to scare her. She put a robe on and dashed down the stairs. She ignored Paul's good morning call from the kitchen and walked into the laundry room.
There, sitting in the window of the washer, were her shorts. She opened the door, and snatched the shorts out of the drum. Dried semen stained the front of the shorts. She dropped them like a hot potato as the image of a man cumming on top of her sharply filled her mind. The dream was real. But how?
“Marnie, is everything all right?” Paul called down, snapping her out of her train of thought.
“Yeah, everything's fine.” Marnie snatched the shorts from the floor and stuffed them in the pocket of her robe.
She walked up the stairs and past Paul, who held the door open for her.
“Breakfast?” he asked.
The last thing on Marnie's mind was food. Paul's jubilant attitude miffed her. It was rare that he had a smile and tender look in his eye for her. She pushed her eggs around for a few minutes and then asked to be excused.
Marnie escaped to her room, barely able to shut the door before the tears gushed. They burned her eyes as they ran down her face. She leaned against the oak door and slid down to the floor. She didn't know what do. It appeared she'd been raped, but when and by whom? And if she had been raped, how many times?
She cried herself to sleep, and didn't even bother to greet her mother and brother when they came home that afternoon. She didn't think she could face anyone. She felt like she was stuck on an island, but she was only huddled in her room, leaning against her bedroom door.
After a nap Marnie's head was clearer, but still distraught. How could she not remember sleeping with…how many men? The question continued to haunt her. She'd only had sex once before this event. Even that one she wished she could take back, but at least she remembered what happened. She remembered his name and how she got there. She wasn't sure if what happened last night was consensual or not. Marnie longed to tell her mother. But what would she say?
It was a strange thing, even on Marnie's end. To be raped x amount of times and not remember. She sounded like a slut with buyer's remorse. I need to remember what I did yesterday. Marnie closed her eyes and replayed the events in her mind. She took her brother to the movies to see an action-adventure flick, she had dinner with her family and—. She was drawing a blank.
“What happened last night?” Marnie said to the empty room.
Paul, her conscience answered. Paul? She questioned back. What about Paul? He was a jerk. He wouldn't let her see Gram. Slowly an image started to appear. Tequila! No, it was something else.
Shots. Marnie watched as her mind replayed the memory of Paul entering her room with a tray of shots.
“Paul,” Marnie moaned.
But why? It didn't matter, Paul had done this to her. He had let her be raped repeatedly, she was sure of it. Marnie hopped off her knees and yanked her bedroom door open. Night had descended, and the quietness of the house told her everyone had gone to bed. But she wasn't going to let this wait until the morning. She snuck into Adam's room and slowly opened the closet door, grabbing his little league baseball bat.
She found Paul and Aileen snuggled together, asleep in bed. It pained her to see the smile on Paul's lips.
Marnie walked in and flipped the nightstand light on.
“Wake up!” She barked, her voice dripping with anger and anguish.
Aileen opened her eyes first, and gasped at the sight of her daughter standing over her with a baseball bat.
“Wake him up.”
“Paul,” Aileen said gently in his ear. She rubbed his shoulder. He glanced at her and smiled, but nearly jumped out of the bed when he saw Marnie.
“How could you? How could you let them touch me?”
“Marnie, what is this all about?” Her mother said in an exasperated tone. “Not another one of your pranks I hope. I've got an early rise tomorrow.”
Marnie pointed the bat at her mother. “Shut up.”
“Answer me,” she screeched, turning her gaze back to Paul.
“Marnie, honey, what's wrong?” Paul slowly tried to reach for the bat, but Marnie swung and smashed his fingers on the nightstand. She broke his middle and ring fingers.
Paul cursed and Aileen let out a chilling scream. He clutched his right hand, and leaned back on the bed writhing in pain.
“Tell her. Tell her what you did to me!” Marnie yelled.
“You're nuts!” Paul screamed.
Marnie reached into the pocket of her robe and flung the semen stained shorts at Paul. A look of recognition filled his eyes and they widened with fear, further filling Marnie with venom.
“Tell her what you let them do to me,” Marnie said.
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
She raised the bat over her head and brought it down with all her might on Paul's shin. She heard her mother dial the police, but she couldn't see past her desire for vengeance.
As she raised her arms to strike another blow, someone ran into the room and grabbed Marnie from behind. She turned around, trying but failing to prevent Adam from wrestling the bat away from her. Paul fell on top of Marnie and pinned her down with Adam's help.
“Don't hurt her,” Aileen moaned.
Once the police arrived, Marnie was taken into custody. Although Paul told them he didn't want to press charges, they took Marnie when she cried rape.
“So, Marnie, how you doing?”
Marnie ignored the question and stared straight ahead at the wall. If Detective Petermon had to ask her that question, she wasn't going to be of much help to her.
“Marnie, why did you attack your parents with a baseball bat?”
Marnie snapped her head in her direction. “I never laid a finger on my mother, just Paul.”
“Why?”
“Because he and some other men raped me. He drugged me, but I remember some of it. I wanted him to confess to my mother what he'd done.”
Petermon excused herself. If she wanted the full story she was going to have to speak with her parents. Aileen let Petermon know Marnie was notorious for lying about a lot of things, but it was impossible for Paul to have touched her daughter. Nevertheless, Petermon pressed Paul to leave a semen sample.
“Mrs. Ducello, the semen on her shorts tells a completely different story. Something happened. If it wasn't him, it may be someone else she knows. Often, rape victims accuse the people closest to them when they don't know who the attacker is. We're going to take her to the emergency room and do a rape kit. Afterwards do you want us to release her into your custody?”
“You're not going to arrest her?” Paul asked.
“Your statement to the police officers says you didn't want to press charges. If you've changed your mind, I will book her.”
“No, he doesn't want to press charges,” Aileen interjected.
At the hospital Marnie faced an invasion of her body all over again. The nurses and female doctor were kind, but she wanted to kick and scratch their hands off her. She was horrified when the doctor said “Come on, honey, I need you to open your legs wider.”
After the blood was drawn and the rape kit performed, Detective Petermon talked to Marnie.
“Well, you've got high levels of Xanax and Klonopin in your system.” Petermon tested the words waiting to gauge Marnie's reaction. “Is this something you have a prescription for?” Petermon asked.
“My mother,” Marnie moaned as she averted her eyes, preferring to focus on a blank wall.
Petermon pulled a chair next to her bed. “Okay. You want to level with me on what happened?”
Marnie turned her attention back to her with a glare smoldering in her eyes.
“Here's what I think happened. You went out, got drunk, took some of your mom's meds and had sex. Maybe now you're pissed because you were too drunk to remember it?”
“That's not what happened.” Tears streamed down Marnie's face. They didn't believe her!
“But it's possible. I talked to the doc, and she said Klonopin is known for blackouts and memory loss.”
“Paul drugged me, okay?” Her voice quivered as she spoke. “Then he took me for a ride and all these men raped me over and over.”
“Where did he take you?”
“I don't know.”
“What did they look like? Did they have tattoos? “
“I don't know.” She put her arms over her eyes to shield herself from the detective's disbelieving glare.
“Marnie, what do you want me to do? You took a shower, so there's no evidence from the rape kit. It's going to be a while before the results on the semen come back, but when they do what's going to prevent these guys from saying it was consensual? You can't even tell me where you were.” Petermon paused then continued in a softer tone. “I'm releasing you back into your mother's custody. Here's my card. If you remember anything, give me a call. Day or night.”
She clutched Petermon's card in her fist, vowing to remember. The detective opened the door and stepped aside, allowing the doctor to enter before exiting.
“Are you on any type of birth control?” the doctor asked. Her eyes were soft with a mother's concern, but the firm line of her lips belied her sympathy. She didn't believe her either.
“I'm on the shots,” she mumbled.
“And when was your last one?” The doctor scribbled a note on her clipboard.
“Three months ago.”
“Well, the shots usually last four months, so I think you're shielded against any unwanted pregnancy,” the doctor said. “I'm going to write you a prescription for the urinary infection and antibiotics as a precaution against any sexually transmitted diseases. Your mother is waiting for you outside. I'll let her know you're ready.”
Marnie felt defeated. Her whole world had been turned upside down in one night. Nobody cared.
“Hey, baby, how are you feeling?” Aileen peered around the curtain smiling.
“Mom!” Marnie moaned.
“I brought you some clothes.” Aileen brandished a bag as she stepped into the room.
“Mom, what are you going to do?”
“Well, I thought we'd worry about that when you got home, and deal with it as a family,” Aileen said. She bent down to tie Marnie's shoelaces.
“Paul's not family. He's the reason I'm here.” Marnie tried to remain calm, but her voice choked up as she spoke to her mother.
“Marnie, honey, whatever happened, there's no judgment from me.” Aileen stood up and caressed her cheek. “Paul was cleared. You're going to have to stop blaming him for this.”
“Mom, Paul is the one who drugged me.” How could she make her understand?
“With whiskey shots? Marnie, this story is so crazy; I don't even think you really believe it.”
“Look at me! I am not lying about this.”
“Honey, Paul is a good man. He would never do anything to hurt you.”
The harder Marnie insisted Paul had done something to her, the more her mother assaulted Marnie's character and clung harder to her husband. On the ride home, Marnie didn't say a word to her mother. They weren't close like she was with Adam, but Marnie never thought for one second if she needed her, her mother wouldn't be there. Back at the house, she was ushered into a family meeting in the living room.
“You want to tell me what all this is about?” Paul stood over her with his hands on his hips. His wide stance exuded authority. Two of his fingers were encased in casts.
“You already know what's going on.” Marnie wasn't about to let Paul intimidate her.
“Do you realize how crazy you've made your mother over this? Not to mention taking her medicine and raiding the liquor in the pantry, or going out on a night when you were grounded. What do you have to say for yourself?”
“I hate you and nothing good will ever come your way, for what you've done to me.” Marnie jumped up and ran to her room.
No one believed her, not her mother, the police. No one. She flounced onto the bed and willed herself not to cry. Tears weren't going to help her. Slowly the pain subsided and she felt hollow and numb.
“Hey, is it all right if I come in?” Adam asked through the door.
Marnie didn't respond, but he came in and sat beside her anyway. At fourteen years of age, how much could Adam understand?
“Mom and Dad are pretty angry.”
“I don't care.” She twirled a lock of hair around her finger.
“They've been yelling at each other for hours. What's going on? Why have you been acting so psycho? Dad's saying Mom should lock you up.”
“Do you think I need to be locked up?”
“After last night, maybe.” He looked down at the carpet.
Adams words stung. Even her own brother didn't have faith in her. What had she done to deserve this? She considered herself to be pretty straight-laced. Yeah, she may have broken curfew once or twice because she was hanging out with Sabrina, but other than that she rarely got into trouble.
“Paul hurt me bad. Locking me up is not going to change that.”
“Just go down there and tell them you're sorry, okay? I don't want them to lock you up.”
“Get out,” Marnie said quietly.
Although she didn't want to cry anymore, tears were starting to sneak past her eyes.
Exhausted both physically and emotionally, sleep came easy for her. However, the night was fraught with nightmares of her assault. When she woke at 3 a.m., sweat lined her forehead. Marnie got up and threw her clothes into a suitcase.
She quietly made her way down the stairs, scribbled a note and left it on the fridge. Then she deactivated the door alarm and walked out of her home for good. Marnie stopped to look longingly at her 1957 red Ford Thunderbird mustang. She couldn't take it with her though. Paul had bought it as a graduation gift for her. She didn't want anything that would remind her of Paul, or a reason for them to track her down.
She walked down the street and disappeared into the thick fog.
When the family woke up in the morning they would find the note she left for them taped to the refrigerator. In crimson capital letters, it read fuck you all.