CHAPTER 4

 

When the orderly wakes me in the morning, my response is to throw a pillow in her direction. It has been three days since I arrived at Oakwood House and I have yet to venture from my room. I blew off four appointments with the psychologist and have refused to take part in meals at the mess hall, boycotting my family’s plan through and through. They can force me to stay here, but not to play ball with the other kids.

I swing my legs out of bed and graze the floor with my toes. The mint green linoleum is still cool from the night. It takes me a while before I get motivated enough to peel myself out of my blanket. I toddle to the window to take a peek outside.

The sky is bright blue with the sun glancing through the treetops. It’s another beautiful summer day in the making with Sabattus Pond sparkling mockingly under my nose. A small growl escapes when my eyes fall onto the wall that separates the garden from the small pebble beach. I’m a damn prisoner, allegedly for my own good. It’s just plain annoying.

With scorching eyes, I scan my so-called realm, which can’t be much better than a jail cell. Although the bed is comfortable, the mattress is covered in plastic, likely to protect the precious fabric from vomit and pee. The pillow is flat and hurts my neck. The only good thing about the whole setup is the fluffy blanket with a big “fireproof” label in the middle, undoubtedly to blight any horrific ideas to set myself on fire with imaginary matches.

There is no TV and everything with cables has been confiscated, including my laptop, iPhone, and iPod. I even had to turn in the belt of my night robe. The hospital administrator promised I would get my stuff back once I earn privileges and can be trusted again, so I am not very hopeful. All these things would require my cooperation, which is out of the question. Quite frankly, they can all kiss my behind.

With played up drama, I rattle the chair that has been bolted to the floor together with the table. They probably imagine I would stake myself with a chair leg if given the opportunity. It is absolutely ridiculous—my teachers even trusted me more in preschool. The only other living thing in the entire room is a small palm tree, planted firmly in a pot that has also been bolted down and has proven indestructible to my kicks.

During the morning, the sun moves behind the building. It gets quite dim in the room. Yet the bright fluorescent light from the ceiling bites my eyes and gives me a headache, so even reading is no longer an option. I never liked artificial lighting, but since my abduction, it drives me insane. It’s cold and makes me feel naked all over again.

My fingers run along the cream-colored walls. I want to claw them to mess up the smooth pattern. Unfortunately, they manicured me down to the skin since I could hurt myself with those sharp “weapons.” It’s as though they thought of everything to ruin any fun ideas I could come up with, which enrages me further.

It won’t be long for my body to adjust to the new antidepressant medicine that keeps me halfway in check. Then the pain will start again. This time, there is no tool around to help me fight it, so I’m screwed. The thought alone clenches my chest.

Nature is calling and I make my way into the bathroom, which is maybe the only part of my room I remotely like. It’s small and cozy; my only refuge when I try to get away from the nurse or the psychologist who stops by at random times during the day. A knock on the door and I take cover, claiming I’m not feeling well. I am not sure how much longer they are going to buy this, but so far, they have left after a five-minute rapid word exchange through the closed door, during which I usually only grunt yes-and-no responses.

To help me get rid of the fuzziness in my brain from my sleep and medication, I turn on the shower and step under the stream without checking if the water is the right temperature—just like I did the day after I was violated for the first time. Today, it burns my skin. Back then, it was so cold, it hurt.

 

I remember how hard my teeth were chattering while I desperately tried to adjust the levers, until finally, some warmth surrounded me. I turned my face upward to allow the water to pelt down on me like a gush of rain on a sticky summer’s day, letting the liquid run into my mouth and down my throat. It felt good, my thirst slowly fading, though the salt from my tears still mixed with the heavenly bliss.

Soft foam lathered my body just moments later and I scrubbed with a sponge until my skin threatened to be torn off my bones. The ultimate feeling of cleanliness was still not there, and I washed myself between my legs over and over again. I still felt dirty. The hands of Jed’s friend kept touching me in my mind and my stomach heaved.

I made it out to the toilet and threw up, but my gut was so empty that only foam came up. I choked dryly, my skin still wet and freezing cold. Shivers ran through my body while my hands desperately clutched the toilet seat, my knees soon aching from the hard floor. When I was finally done, my face was streaked with tears—not only from the effort, but also from the ultimate revelation of what I had lost.

I leaned my bare back against the cool wall tiles as sobs raged through my body, a sad wail resonating from the depths of my throat. My face was buried against my thighs until a towel was forced around me.

“You’ll catch a cold down there, honeybun.”

My head rose and I gazed at Jed through my tears. “Why?” My voice grew louder. “Why me? What did I ever do to you and your friend to deserve this?”

His eyes were fixed on me and he stroked a strand of hair from my face. “You’re beautiful, Kelsey. We both wanted to own you for so long, but you never even looked at us. I was nothing more than dirt under your shoes.” A small smile tugged on the corners of his lips. “I bet you feel different now. Now you wish you didn’t call me all those names.”

More tears pooled in my eyes. “We were nothing but stupid kids, Jed. You were the smelly boy with the filthy clothes that no one wanted to play with. It’s wasn’t just me who made fun of you.”

A shadow crossed his face. “Yes, but you were the girl I loved and who hurt me the most. I never cared what the others thought of me.”

My hands enclosed his. “If you love me, you don’t want to hurt me.” Hope was pounding in my heart. “Please, Jed, just let me go. I won’t tell anyone what you and your friend did.”

He pulled out of my grip, his fingers running alongside my cheek. “You don’t get it, honeybun. Those feelings are long gone—now all that’s left is hate.” He grabbed me by my shoulders. “Up you go. It’s time to return to your bunker.”

I pulled the towel closer around me to shield myself from the cold while trotting behind him. My body was still frozen to the bone. The floor was chilling under my bare feet and the ragged towel barely covered my upper torso. As we passed through the kitchen, a whiff of scrambled eggs and sizzled bacon teased my nostrils. My stomach growled in response. I hadn’t eaten in at least three days and was absolutely famished. For a moment, the room began to swim. I held onto the table before I fell.

Jed’s arm wrapped around my waist as he came to my aid. Our lips were only inches apart and he pulled me closer against his chest. His frame was still small compared to most men, but the muscles he developed from his boxing days flexed firmly under his shirt. His arousal pressed against my inner thigh. I turned my face with a frown just as he tried to kiss me. His lips landed on my cheek, turning my stomach into knots.

He caught my chin and forced me to look at him. “Don’t fight this, honeybun. This can be fun for the both of us if you want it to be.”

My palm smacked him hard in the face. “Your friend raped me and you are touching me against my will. It’s disgusting. I will never enjoy being with you.”

“Suit yourself, but if you want to get some decent food, you better start behaving.”

He grabbed me roughly by my wrist and pulled me outside. A warm breeze caressed me as soon as I stepped onto the heated porch, the sun tickling my skin. It was a beautiful early summer day, the scent of fresh-cut grass in the air. I glanced around, amazed by the stillness of the forest, which was surrounding the small log cabin. The peacefulness was so contrary to the violence I had suffered these last days.

My bliss didn’t last long. The trap door in the ground was only fifty feet away, right at the edge of the tree line. From the rumors in town, Jed’s dad had been some militia freak and had built the bunker in case the FBI ever raided the place. There had been talk that he had stored explosives around the house, but so far, I hadn’t even seen a rifle.

Jed pulled up the wooden board. “After you, honeybun.”

The hole in the ground was dark and menacing. I went down on my knees and grabbed the top of the ladder, my feet searching downwards for the first rung. The edges were sharp and cut into my skin. I slowly made my descent, the light and sun disappearing from my vision as dampness and darkness closed in.

When my soles touched rough soil, I knew I had reached my destination. Jed arrived right after me and opened the door to my dungeon. With a welcoming gesture, he ushered me inside. To my surprise, the bed was made with fresh sheets and covered with a patchwork blanket.

He closed the door behind him and fumbled with his shirt. With a wide grin on his face, he pulled it off, exposing his scarred body. “Okay, honeybun. Ready for round two?”

 

With a gasp, my mind returns to reality. The water in the shower has turned chillingly cold. My arms hug my knees as I cower under the stream in a fetal position, the only way I still feel safe. With a sigh, I stand up and turn off the water. My hair is matted since I haven’t washed it in over a week, but my appearance is of no importance to me. I’m not planning on leaving my room today, so no one will see me anyhow.

The towel is soft and thick, covering me all the way to my knees. I indulge in the scent of lavender which must be a byproduct of the softener. I tuck the edges firmly under my armpits before glaring at myself in the mirror.

My eyes are bruised from the lack of sleep and I’m paler than a ghost. The golden brown tan that I used to keep all year around has totally vanished, left behind with a worry-free existence. My mom would complain that I would get skin cancer from the tanning booth; now she only hopes I still make it through today. How ridiculous were our fights back then, yet I wish again for that life almost every single moment. If I could turn back the clock, many things would be different.

The second I cross the threshold back into my room, a yelp escapes my lips. I almost drop the towel. An unexpected visitor is leaning over the palm tree. As he slowly turns around, his eyebrows knot together like I am the intruder. I squint at him. He looks somewhat familiar.

“You scared me half to death,” I hiss. “What the hell are you doing in my room?”

“Sorry.” He holds up a watering can. “The warden sent me around to water the plants.”

It finally clicks in my head. It’s the Finn guy from the high school. “What are you doing here? You can’t be one of the patients.”

“Community service.” His eyes wander slowly up and down my frame with puckered lips.

My anger flares, overpowering my initial apprehension. If I didn’t have to hold onto the towel, I would have smacked him. “That doesn’t give you the right to just waltz in here unannounced. Didn’t your parents teach you any type of manners?”

He is not fazed by my rude remark. “I knocked, but there was no answer and I didn’t think you wanted me to join you in the shower.”

My eyes send daggers his way, which he finds amusing. With a chuckle, he turns back to the plant. “I’m almost done.”

“You need to leave.” I suck in a sharp breath. “NOW!” My voice is three octaves higher when I spit out the last word.

He raises his free hand in defeat. “Hold your horses, lady, I’m going.”

He strolls right past me and my tapping foot, close enough for me to take in a mixture of smoke and peppermint. In the door frame, he gives me another glance. “You know, people are totally right about you. You are crazy.”

I growl, looking around for something to throw in his direction, but the pillow is out of reach. “That’s a mean thing to say.”

“Yeah, maybe, but if you didn’t act like a total brat all the time, you might actually find some sympathy. Those tantrums don’t suit you, though your eyes do look pretty when you’re mad.”

My jaw drops as he leaves me standing there, feverishly thinking of a smart retort, but his audacity caused a brain freeze. His words sting more than I want to admit—deep down, I know he has a point. I don’t like the person I have become either.