Three Years(11)
I raise my head in time to see him toss the chair to the side and stalk toward me. I roll onto my hands and knees, crawling toward the door, but he’s too fast. Rough hands knot into my hair and pull hard, forcing me to my feet if I want to keep my scalp. I groan at the sharp pain of a million hairs being pulled out of the soft skin on my head, and stumble quickly toward him to stop the screaming pain of being scalped. He keeps one hand fisted in my hair and sets the chair straight with the other. Slamming me down into the seat, he works quickly at securing my wrists behind my back with what feels like a zip-tie. He doesn’t bother with my legs this time.
It’s not like I’m going to be able to do anything much to defend myself, anyway.
He picks up the briefcase and sets it on the bed, snapping it open with a satisfied smirk. Despite my need to look cool and collected, I crane my neck to see what’s inside, but the angle is wrong and I can’t see anything.
“What’s the surprise today?” I ask him.
“It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you,” he replies, holding up a clear vial of fluid in one hand and a needle in the other.
“More drugs to try and make me tell the truth?” I ask. “Come on, Dornan! You’re running out of shit to torture me with.”
He turns, grinning as he stabs the sharp syringe into the vial. He draws up the liquid and makes a show of flicking the tip of the needle, spraying a little fluid out of the end.
“Am I supposed to be scared?” I ask, acting bored. Truthfully, I am scared. I couldn’t resist last time he gave me that stuff, and it was a miracle I made him angry enough to knock me out before I divulged something I shouldn’t have - something about Elliot, or Jase, or the money my father stashed away for me before Dornan killed him. The safety deposit box number floats in my mind, a number I memorized before I destroyed the paperwork, and I begin to panic.
Dornan tilts his head to the side. “Breathe, Julie,” he says. God, I wish he wouldn’t call me that name. The same name my mother used to moan at me when she was too whacked out to get up and answer the front door. Or cook. Or do pretty much anything. Julie, do this, Julie, do that, Julie, why do you hate me? Her green eyes swim in my head as I remember The Prospect from only hours ago, giving me a moment’s peace and a troubling memory that I still can’t place. Do you remember me? Yes. No. I don’t know.
“You’re going crazy, Julie,” Dornan says, interrupting my thoughts.
“Tell me about it,” I retort. “Takes one to know one, right?”
He laughs at that, squeezing his thick hand around my upper arm until a fat, blue vein rises to the surface. I jump when he stabs the needle in, and squeeze my eyes shut tight as something warm and soupy makes it’s way into my bloodstream.
Oh, Lord. Whatever this is, it’s good. I suddenly feel like I’m floating on a cloud of marshmallows. I’m so completely blissed out, I don’t even notice the other needle sinking into my pale flesh. I can feel the sun shining on my face, which is kind of impossible since we’re in a windowless room, and also, it’s night. But none of that matters. For the first time in forever, I feel amazing.
Heroin. The drug that destroyed my mother. Is that what he’s given me? It doesn’t matter. I can’t catch onto a single thought, I just do not care, and when the second needle slides into my arm, I only hope that it’s enough of this shit to last a long time.
In the moment, I don’t even care if I die. In fact, if I get to die on this cloud of bliss, I’ll happily go.
And then
PAIN. AGONY. RED. BLEEDING. PAIN.
I open my mouth and scream, a howl of suffering that makes Dornan laugh. Everything becomes fast and harsh and bright as the sharp reality of my situation sinks in anew. I can’t hear anything above the roaring of my own skittering heartbeat in my chest. I gulp in a lungful of air as my heart strains and struggles and skips all over the place.
Dornan’s voice comes to me through the thick, soupy fog of panic that’s immobilizing me.
“Breathe, baby girl.”
I can’t breathe. I take shallow, rapid sips of air that do nothing except make me almost pass out.
Thwack! A hand slaps at my cheek, leaving a sting that cuts through some of the murky stupor and panic that grips me. “Juliette, get your fucking self together.”
I could hyperventilate until I pass out, but the next thing I know, another sharp pain is at my arm and more of the good, marshmallowy stuff is in my blood, soothing me, making me calm almost instantly. I can still feel my heart beating rapidly, but with every breath it slows a little, loosening until I feel good enough to think.