I flinched from the cold liquid foundation she smeared over my cheeks. If I had such nice skin, why did she feel the need to cover it all up? I rarely wore makeup at home. If I did, I focused mainly on my eyes, having fun playing with different colors of eye shadow and liners. I hated the way foundation felt caked onto my face.
“There,” she said, sounding satisfied. She had been working on me for what had to be at least half an hour. She took the curlers out of my hair, and after a while of fluffing and spraying enough hair spray to eat away a layer of the O-zone, she leaned back and pressed a smile, nodding as she admired her work.
I turned and looked in the mirror. My eyes were heavily outlined in silver and black. The bruises were gone, though my right eye still looked tender. Red blush on my cheeks made it look like I was permanently embarrassed, and the dark red lipstick was just … trashy. My hair was teased and was inches away from my head. It was coated in so much hair spray that it barely moved with me. Big, wavy curls cascaded around my face.
Suddenly, a smile cracked my face, and a snort of laughter escaped my lips.
“What?” Rochelle demanded.
I shook my head, the humor in my grossly stereotyped appearance quickly fading. Rochelle glared at me for a moment longer before waving me away. She hobbled to the rack of clothing and skimmed through the section of lingerie. She pulled a short, silky nightgown from its hanger. It was dark purple, with black lace outlining the top and bottom. My stomach churned when my fingers touched the shiny material.
“You’ll need this,” she mumbled and tossed me a push-up bra. “Your boobs are on the small side.” She shook her head and sighed. “Whatever. I’ll make it work. You should gain some weight.”#p#分页标题#e#
I held my arms close to my body, feeling very self-conscious. I was thin due to an over-active thyroid. Over the years, I had tried different medications but was unable to find something with a good balance so I just stopped taking the pills. I always had eaten more than enough, but I just couldn’t keep the weight on. It had been one of my number one pet peeves to be told I was lucky I was thin. I had a medical condition that took a toll on my body and my health. How lucky is that?
“Tonight you have Travis,” Rochelle began explaining. “Give him a good show. He likes to watch.”
My stomach clenched and the sting of sour vomit bubbled in my throat. I felt like my head was being shoved into a bucket of dirty water, and no matter how hard I struggled, I couldn’t get out, couldn’t take a breath.
“I don’t know any good shows,” I mumbled.
“What?” Rochelle asked and wrinkled her nose. “Well, you do now,” she went on, widening her eyes and giving me the girl-you’re-crazy stare. She shook her head and sighed. “Just follow his lead, do what he wants, and you’ll be fine.”
Nerves audibly grumbled through my intestines. I feared something was going to come out one end or the other. Yet I just stood there, my mind wanting to shut down and refuse to process what was going to happen. There was no way around it.
I was going to go upstairs. I was going to go into a room with a sick and twisted man who would force me to have sex with him.
Or I could refuse.
And that would get me severely beaten, if not killed. For a few seconds, dying seemed better than getting raped. I shook my head at the thought. I wasn’t going to give up. Today might not be my day for escaping, but it would come. It had to.
CHAPTER EIGHT
WHEN I EMERGED from the basement, I saw Jackson sitting at the island counter in the kitchen, blotting a napkin to a freshly cut lip. He smiled slightly when he saw me, his eyes flicking over my barely covered body before quickly looking at the ground. The beginning of a bruise circled his left eye. His body stiffened when I walked past, and that look of sorrowful disgust took over his face.
Zane was in the living room. Lily let go of my hand and hurried away, reminding me of a dog being greeted by its owner with a rolled up newspaper. His clear blue eyes slowly traced every inch of my body. He stood from the couch and motioned for me to come near. I slowly shook my head.
His face twitched and he strode over and slapped me. He grabbed my shoulders and pushed me up against the wall. “Learn your place,” he whispered with his lips inches from mine. His breath smelled like peppermint and was hot on my skin. Tears streaked down my face, no doubt messing up the raccoon-style makeup Rochelle had done for me. “It’s unattractive when you cry,” he leered. “Travis doesn’t like criers. Jim, however,” he said with a smirk, “he likes the fear.” A deep, throaty laugh bubbled from his mouth.