Translucent (14 page)

The rest of Saturday and all of Sunday pass rather uneventfully. Accepting that I’ll most likely be living in my apartment for a while, I spend the better part of both days painting and decorating the small space. I don’t have a lot of money, but I did receive the payout from Mom and Brandon’s life insurance policies once I got out of the hospital, which has been sitting in my savings account. My salary from my new job is enough to pay my monthly bills, so I’m not worried about dipping into the reserve a little to get my place fixed up.

Concentrating on manual tasks also helps me keep my mind from obsessing over everything Madden has said and done over the past week, especially the last conversation we had. I’ve replayed it in my head over and over to the point I’m pretty sure I can recite it word-for-word, but I’m no closer to making a decision. Weighing both the pros and cons, I’ve changed my mind back and forth so many times over the past thirty-six hours I’m beginning to feel bi-polar, in addition to all of my other psychological issues.

I want to believe him; I want to think it’ll be as easy as he claims, that I can just turn myself over to him and allow him to take care of my happiness and my sorrow, but I’m smarter than that. For both his safety and mine, I can’t reveal to him details of my life with Ish, or the knowledge I have about Vincent Ricci and the organization he works for in Chicago. Not to mention, I’m downright scared. I’m scared of him—who he is and what he wants from me, and I’m scared of me—I don’t want to lose myself again like I did with Ish, and the way Madden captivates me when I’m with him, I can see that happening. Yet it’s that same mesmerizing feeling that keeps me from running as far away from him as possible. This is the first time I’ve been able to forget everything that happened for more than a moment; being with him puts me at such ease, almost as if I truly do have a clean slate, a chance to start over. When I’m with him, all of the awful things I’ve been through disappear, because all I want to do is please him, drown in his desire for me, and feel free from the guilt and baggage I’ve carried for years.

By Sunday night, as I crawl into bed, I hope I’ve physically worn myself out enough to pass out as soon as my head hits the pillow. I’m tired of thinking about it, and I hope sleep will reprieve my overactive brain for at least a few hours.

Sitting on the rock-hard bed of the dingy, outdated motel, I couldn’t stop my body from shivering from head to toe. I’d done it. I ran away from him. For three long months after I unknowingly stumbled across the bloody scene at the shop, I pretended like I knew nothing. Every morning, I cooked his breakfast and kissed him goodbye as he left for work, and then I’d go to the public library to use their computer to devise a plan of escape, fearful he’d track my usage on our personal laptop. I didn’t want my mom and brother to know what I was planning, because that would put them in grave danger. Every night, he’d come home to a home-cooked dinner on the table, and then I’d use every bit of willpower I had to not throw it up as he’d fuck me until he passed out, always promising he’d give me another baby.

Finally, two weeks prior to our set wedding date, I followed through with it. I didn’t have much money, and I only took with me what I could fit in a backpack, but by the first night, I’d made it as far south as Bloomington, where I stopped at the cheapest motel I could find to get some sleep.

My legs screamed in pain from the excessive walking, and my shoulders ached something fierce from carrying the heavy bag. I didn’t even bother turning the bedspread back, afraid of what I’d find on the sheets; I laid down on top of the paisley eyesore and closed my heavy lids, passing out in less than a minute.

Feeling warm breaths on my face, I awoke startled to the image of Ish hovering over me.

“It’s time to go home,
Princesa
,” he said in the most eerily calm voice.

“Wh-what are you doing here?” I stammered.

“I think
I
should be asking
you
that, Bryleigh. Tell me why you’re here, and don’t try to say it’s pre-wedding jitters or some shit. Tell me what you know,” he demanded.

I realized there was no point in lying to him. He’d found me, and I was bound to tell him at some point. “I went to the shop a while back, and walked in on a…on an interrogation.”

“And…?”

“And I watched you kill a guy,” I admitted.

Instead of getting angry or irate, he chuckled. “Well, you’re about to watch me kill another one.”

Picking me up off the bed, he threw me over his shoulder and marched out of the hotel room, into the pitch-black night. Scared speechless, I didn’t make a peep as he strode into the small motel office and dropped me on the floor. The male front desk attendant that had rented me the room had eyes as big as saucers, obviously fearful of Ish and the scene unfolding in front of him.

“Did you give her a room to stay in?” Ish demanded.

The older man nodded, taking a small step backwards.

“Don’t you fucking move, Gramps, and answer me when I ask you a goddamn question.”

“Y-yes, I gave her a room,” he admitted in a cracked voice.

“Did she pay you with money, or did she fuck you for it?”

“She paid me with money, sir. I don’t run that kind of business.” The man looked down at me huddled in a corner on the floor, and then back up at Ish. “She never even offered that kind of thing.”

Ish stomped around to the back of the counter and held his hand out, palm up. “She wants a refund. She’s not staying here tonight.”

Trembling, the man opened the cash register and pulled out some cash, setting it in Ish’s hand. As he did, Ish grabbed hold of his wrist and twisted it behind his back.

“Please…please don’t hurt me,” the man begged. “I didn’t know I was doing anything wrong.”

“No, you probably didn’t, but she did,” Ish spat, his fiery eyes darting over to me. “
Princesa
, did you know you were doing something wrong?”

The growing sob that had built in the back of my throat escaped as I nodded and said, “Yes, I did.”

“Well, someone needs to be punished for your bad behavior to remind you not to do something like this again.”

“Punish me, Ish,” I cried. “That poor man has nothing to do with this. Please, let him go.”

He glanced over at the man he held in a tight hold, and then back at me before releasing an evil laugh that echoed loudly throughout the small room. “Sorry,
Princesa
, but I need you to be pretty for our upcoming wedding.” Then, without warning, he pulled a long-bladed knife from the leg of his pants and chopped the man’s hand clear off in one swing. I’m not sure who screamed louder, me or the man, but within seconds, it was only my high-pitched voice shrieking, because Ish took the knife and slit the man’s throat, killing him instantaneously. Dropping the bloody body, he stalked towards me, bent down to my level, and clamped his hand on top of my mouth.

“Quiet now, Bryleigh, before you alert anyone else and I do the same thing to them. You don’t want to be the reason anyone else dies tonight, do you?” he whispered in my ear.

Immediately, I stop screaming, knowing damn well he would do exactly what he promised. “Now, that’s my good
Princesa
,” he said, stroking my hair. “We should get out of here. I’m going to carry you to the car, and I expect you to be well-behaved.”

Lifting me from the dirty tile floor, he carried me like a baby out to his car and placed me on the passenger seat. Petrified of what was going to happen next, I sat as still as a statue as he got into the car and drove north, back towards Chicago. He said nothing the entire drive home, but once we were both inside the apartment, he threw me on the bed and stripped me naked. Turning me over so that I was face-down on the mattress, he yanked forcefully on my hips, raising them in the air. He held tightly onto my hipbones as he viciously thrust himself into my virgin ass—no warning…no lube…nothing. I shouted out at the intense pain, and tears immediately began to stream down my face, but he didn’t stop thrusting until he was buried completely inside of me.

Leaning over, with his chest pressed to my back, he said in low, spine-chilling voice, “Anytime you fuck up,
Princesa
, someone will pay the price, and I will make you watch as I administer the punishment. You need to see the consequences of your actions, so don’t fuck up again if you don’t want any more blood on your conscience.”

He then fiercely fucked me until he came deep inside my asshole. He pulled out, not saying another word, then showered and left. I cried until I couldn’t see, and passed out with exhaustion.

That was the only time I ever tried to run away, but sadly, not the only bloodstains on my hands. It was only the beginning.

Early Monday morning, I wake up to bloody sheets—not that I’m surprised after the nightmare I just had. Sighing miserably, I crawl out of bed and strip the linens. After I put them in the wash, I stagger into the bathroom to assess the damage. Thankfully, I’ve only reopened the already-existing slashes, not made any new ones that I can tell. Grabbing a washrag and the bottle of alcohol, I go to work on my abdomen, much like Madden had done a couple of nights ago. The thought of Madden kneeling down taking care of me makes me smile, despite the reason for the memory. I’m not sure I’ll ever escape the terrors that haunt me as I sleep, or the self-mutilation that accompanies them, but having him there to care for me in the aftermath was surprisingly soothing and sedating, aside from the initial shame of him finding me in such a state.

After I’ve cleaned myself up as much as I can, I get dressed and head to work, knowing I won’t hear from him today. And I’m disappointed.

A
S
EXPECTED
, J
AE
IS
WAITING
for me bright and early at the office, eager to hear about the charity event from Friday night. I’m sure she’s also going to bitch me out about not answering any of her texts over the weekend, but I wasn’t quite sure what to say.

She looks up from her coffee as I walk through the door. “Well, it’s about damn time, woman. Why didn’t you reply to my messages? I was beginning to get worried that he kidnapped you and kept you as his sex slave,” she says half-teasing.

“Sorry, Jae, I didn’t mean to make you worry,” I reply as I walk towards our workstation. “The event went fine, though we really didn’t talk about the video game project much to anyone. I did meet Easton, however, and he seemed very friendly.”

“That’s good! So tell me what I really want to know; I could give two shits if you talked about the damn project to anyone or met the dumbass brother.”

“I didn’t sleep with him—sorry to disappoint you—but he did kiss me goodnight.” There. That was the truth, minus a ton of other shit that wasn’t any of her or anyone else’s business.

Acting as if she’s going to bang her head on the glass surface, she groans melodramatically. “Seriously. I don’t understand you; I’d have jumped his sexy bones that first night. You’ve got the willpower of a nun! Are you holding out for marriage or something?”

One thing I can never accuse Jae of is not speaking her mind. Even before my relationship with Ish—where it didn’t take me long to learn I wasn’t allowed to have an opinion of my own—I never openly expressed my thoughts, always afraid of offending other people.

“No, marriage isn’t a part of my future,” I seethe, “and I don’t plan on being celibate for the rest of my life either, so those two things are completely unrelated in my mind. I’m just not the type to jump into bed with someone I don’t know.”

Having put away my purse, I plop down in the chair next to her and give her a can-we-please-not-talk-about-this-anymore look. She understands the look and wraps her arm around my shoulders, squeezing me briefly in a sympathetic embrace. “Sorry I’m so nosy. I like you, Blake, and just want to see you happy.”

Grateful for her thoughtfulness and concern, I smile brightly at her. “I know, and I do appreciate it. In the couple of weeks I’ve worked here, I’ve been happier than I’ve been in years, and you’re a huge reason for that. It’s gonna take me some time, but I’ll get there—slow and steady.” The last three words come out in a hushed whisper, speaking more to myself than her.

“Awesome. Now are you ready to learn more than you ever wanted to know about corner kicks, hat tricks, and being red-carded?”

Powering up my computer, I relax a bit, thankful the conversation is over and hopeful she’ll let the topic rest a while. “Absolutely.”

For the rest of the day, we immerse ourselves in our work, only breaking temporarily for lunch and a late afternoon coffee run. Several times, I catch myself thinking about Madden, wanting to check my phone to see if he’s messaged, but I don’t. He said a week, so I don’t expect to hear from him until the weekend; there’s no sense in getting discouraged by him doing exactly what he said he was going to do. Plus, I still don’t know what I’m going to tell him. I have so many questions as to exactly what it is he wants from me.