But then I hear Joe laugh. “The best fucking bit was when she was hanging all drugged up and smiling. She was like a beautiful siren. I couldn’t resist, so I fucked her.” My head snaps back to him with a gasp.
He did what?
But then it all comes flashing back. All the men with their hands on me, the auction, the winner who almost fucked me, but he didn’t get a chance to when I told him I was Drake’s. Then, there was the argument with Isaac about it before I was left in the room on my own. I remember Joe coming in soon after and that’s when he… I feel the bite mark on my neck and remember it was him. He did this before he raped me.
Fresh, hot tears sting my face and run down my cheeks as the memories of that night come flooding back. I stare back at Joe and start shaking my head, but all he’s doing is smiling at me.
“My only regret is that I didn’t take the opportunity to go into that room sooner. I would have had the time to pull out before coming all over that sweet pussy of hers.”
And then Drake does it. He pulls the trigger and blood sprays out before landing on the floor. Joe’s head falls forward, and when Drake looks at me, I start stepping back. Before I know it, I’m running up the stairs, taking two at a time and fleeing to the room I used to sleep in as a child. Once there, I run to the en suite and vomit up bile after bile. My head pounds. My eyes pound. Everything pounds as image after image of what happened at Isaac’s and just now wash over me. I don’t want the images to come, but they do. One after the other, I’m being taken to a place I never want to see again. If I could bleach out those images, I would.
After emptying everything I can, I grab a glass by the sink and fill it up with water. I take two paracetamol from the cabinet and pop them before drinking all the water. I walk to the bed and climb in wondering if Drake will come after me. For some reason, I already know the answer.
And it’s not the answer I would ever have imagined.
Present Day
Three days go by and no word from Drake. I had meals brought up to me, but always from one of the maids. The next day, I went in search of him, but I couldn’t find him anywhere. The same on day two. I asked one of the guards where he was, and all I was told was that he was away and should be back soon.
Yesterday, I had a visit from the doctor who was pleased with my recovery after my drugging and raping incident. In the end, he told me I could only take paracetamol for any pain, which I thought was weird, and that I had to come in for a scan in six weeks time. I thought that was weird too, but then I thought maybe it had something to do with the fact that I had run out at my last one. I told him I was fine, but he insisted, saying it was normal procedure. Whatever the hell that means.
I didn’t question him, as he is a doctor after all. I just thought a lot of fuss was being made over nothing. I know I was raped and bruised, but the physical scars are healing well. It’s just my emotional scars I’m unsure I’ll get over.
As I take a leisurely stroll on top of Ireland, I stare at the grounds ahead. The house that stands tall on them doesn’t look as huge as it once did. I guess, after living here a while, it seems familiar and therefore doesn’t seem as big as it used to be.
I rub my hand up Ireland’s neck before patting her. “You’re the only girl who listens to me without judgment, aren’t you, Ireland?” I rub her fondly with a smile, but feel when the tears begin to fall. I don’t want to miss Drake, but I do. I understand him now, but that means I also know the truth. He hid it from me, and I can also understand why, but it doesn’t stop me from hating him for what he did, and it doesn’t stop me from asking the same damn question over and over again.
Why me?
Out of all the women in the world, why did he choose the twelve-year-old girl who hadn’t lived her life yet? Why did he love her so fiercely and so strongly in all the wrong ways imaginable? Why did he choose to put that same girl in danger—so much so that it led her into that same danger he was trying to protect her from? All those questions and more roll around in my head. He was a monster who was trying to better himself, but because of my stubbornness, I kept pushing until he cracked. Does this excuse his behaviour? Hell no. Does it make me want to leave and say a big fuck you? Hell yes.
But there is this part of me … a big part of me … that can’t help yearning to be with him. I tried to find the logic in that, and the only explanation I could come up with is that he’s all I have. He is all that I’ve ever had. My parents hated me enough to agree to sell me, knowing what the consequences would be. I was a virgin. An innocent child who longed for dates, time out with friends, and the freedom to choose her own path in life. Was that really so much to ask?