He’s back. The door slamming wakes me and I’m immediately awake. Mr Evans rarely slams the door; he moves like a thief in the night most days, but the thump of his heavy boots on the stairs warns me that something is different today. Maybe it’s not him. Perhaps it’s the nice cop this time. I hope so because I haven’t seen him since they drove me here in the early hours of the morning what must be three weeks ago.
I almost don’t have time to grab my cardigan to wrap around my shaking shoulders before the door opens and he heads inside, cursing under his breath, “Bloody woman, fucking busybody.”
I say nothing as he slams a box of supplies on the table and turns and looks at me with a cool expression.
Maybe it’s my imagination, but something’s different about the way he looks at me today. Perhaps I’m still asleep because I detect a shift in the atmosphere as he leans against the wall and stares at me with an inscrutable expression. It makes me feel uncomfortable and I grasp the cardigan a little tighter around my shoulders as he pushes off from the wall and comes and sits beside me on the bed.
My mouth dries as he raises his hand and touches my face and my breathing intensifies as I see interest spark in his eyes that wasn’t there before. “How old are you?”
My heart races as I say nervously, “Fifteen.”
His touch feels unwelcome, hot and dangerous, and I shift slightly back. If I thought that was all it would take to stop whatever this is, I was mistaken as he says roughly, “Have you ever been with a man?”
The danger in the room is palpable and I blink the tears away as I whisper, “No.”
He leans in and his breathing has changed, it’s faster, deeper and all I can hear, as he grasps the back of my head and pulls me towards him until our lips almost touch.
I’m not sure what to do and wonder if I should just close my eyes and pretend he isn’t here because this is frightening me—he is frightening me because I know something changed the minute he looked at me.
With a low growl, he presses his lips to mine and kisses me brutally, hard and the feeling of his tongue in my mouth makes me want to gag.
I push him away but that only makes him increase his pressure and with a soft laugh he growls, “Do you think you can stop me?”
I am so terrified I don’t know what to do and try to pull away, but it only serves to excite him more. He pulls back and grips my throat with his strong fingers and presses me back onto the bed, cutting off my air supply and causing me to panic. He lifts my t-shirt and his fingers find my breasts and he twists one painfully and then says darkly, “I wonder what your daddy would say if he saw you now? Maybe I should show him what happens when he pisses me off.”
His fingers press against my throat and I almost think my time on earth is up until he releases me and I gasp for air. Then before I know what’s happening, he rips my t-shirt in half, exposing my body and says harshly, “Open your legs.”
The panic sets in as he laughs cruelly and using his knee pushes my legs apart until I’m bare before him. Then he takes his phone and snaps a picture of me and laughs softly, “Maybe I’ll frame this and give it to him as a souvenir of the time he pissed me right off.”
The bed sags as he moves off and heads toward the door, and my heart beats so fast, I wonder if I’m about to die from fright. The mention of my father replaced my fear of this situation with a fear for him. The way Mr Evans spoke about him was frightening because something’s happened. Something that has angered him, and I wonder what that means. What has daddy done?
As the door slams behind him he turns the key and I hear him say, “I’ll look forward to seeing you later Lola, I’ll have more time to spend with you then. Make sure you’re ready for me.”
His laughter is the last thing I hear as I stare at the locked door in shock. What just happened, it’s all changed now? I’m not safe because Mr Evans has shown me the side to him I always suspected was there and there is nothing I can do about it.
* * *
The next few hours are the most worrying of my life. I spent so long in the shower scrubbing my body, trying to remove the imprint of his hands on me, but it doesn’t work. It’s as if he branded me and I can still see the angry bruising on my throat developing, as a reminder of what he can do. I’m at his mercy here and there is no way out. I consider opening the window and jumping out, but I’m so high up here I would break my neck. Then again, I would have to smash the glass because there is some kind of limiter applied to it that means it only opens so far before it stops. The shutters are locked in place and I can only open them a little and I feel so frustrated I could cry.
I’m trapped.
I look out and see the woman opposite hanging out her washing and I will her to look in my direction. To somehow see me, desperate and in need of her help, but she doesn’t even look my way once. Maybe if I pounded on the window, she would hear me and I consider doing just that because I am so frightened right now.
Pressing my lips to the crack in the window, I contemplate calling for help and then an image of the desperation in my father’s eyes stops me. If I do this, if I escape, or draw attention to myself, he will suffer. People would know I was here and his enemies would come for me.
My mind drifts back to the night I arrived here and the friendly cop sat beside me on the bed and looked at me with compassion. I remember the conversation as if it just happened.
“You must be scared, Lola, but you’re safe here. This is what we call a safe house, and it’s called that for a reason. This will be your home for a few weeks while your father does what he must, to resolve the situation he’s in. He’s upset some corrupt men and its up to us to help him put them behind bars, so they can never hurt anyone again.”
“What did he do?”
I feel so frightened because the thought of my father in trouble makes me weak with fear and the nice cop smiles reassuringly and says softly, “We need him to testify against them. He saw something that means they can’t escape justice this time. The trial is scheduled a few weeks from now, but until that happens you aren’t safe. We have assured him we will keep you safe until it’s over and they are behind bars in return for his help.”
“Why can’t he stay here with me?”
“Because we need him at the station. He will spend the next few weeks helping us sew this case up so there are no cracks for the criminals to escape justice through. These men are desperate and cruel, and if they discover where you are, they will use you to get to him. They may even kill you and we won’t let that happen. So, I can’t stress this enough. You must stay out of sight because if they find you, they will kill you and it won’t be quick.”
I remember the fear, the panic and the desperation I felt for a situation totally out of my control. The only thing I could do to help was to do as I was told. Remain here in this room, out of sight and waiting for it all to be over but now… What has daddy done to antagonise Mr Evans so much? What just happened was wrong, I know it was, no cop would do that unless he was corrupt. Maybe he isn’t who he said he was, but he must be. I saw their warrant cards; I saw proof they were detectives. My dad said they were and he wouldn’t lie. But Mr Evans, he’s so scary and appears on edge. Is this a safe house, or the pit of Hell because far from feeling protected here, I just feel the air laced with threat and tension and the promise that when—if I ever leave here, I will leave a very different person than I was when I arrived.