He lowered something else next to my head. I didn’t need to touch the mug to know it was filled with hot water. Maybe for tea, but where was the tea bag? I felt the heat and watched steam curling upward.
I struggled to sit up while he towered over me. Then I stretched my shaking hand toward the pizza. Before my fingers touched it, he walked away and flicked off the light, sudden darkness falling over the room. I paused and held my breath, waiting for him to attack me again. He didn’t. Instead I heard the door slide shut. I waited a few heartbeats, listened to his footsteps on the other side of the door. He was gone. Relief flooded my body.
Swallowing the tears flooding my throat, I fumbled carefully along the floor, in search of the pizza. My hand came into contact with something hot and just as I realized what had happened, scorching pain flared across the surface of my skin. I screamed out and pulled my hand to my chest, eyes shut, teeth clenched. I scooted away and bit my lip.
That couldn’t have been hot water in that mug. Hot water scalded, but not like that. It had to be something else. Something hot and slippery. Oil? The pain was so excruciating, my appetite disappeared. He knew. He had switched off the light in the hope that I’d knock over the mug and burn myself. Mission accomplished.
Crying softly, and with both hands now injured, I curled up in a ball and wished for death. I was now Jude’s prisoner. What I had before with him had been at least a bit better compared to what I was now going through. How long would he hold me prisoner? Until he killed me?
A while later, just as my eyes were closing shut with exhaustion and defeat, I heard a click and the door slide open again. He switched on the blinding light again. I didn’t turn to look at him, just laid there hugging my thumping hand, staring up at the single light bulb hanging from the ceiling, swaying lightly. He had me right where he wanted me. He had crushed me.
“Stand up,” he said, no emotion in his voice whatsoever.
It took a long time, but I did as I was told. My legs were so weak I prayed they didn’t give in and give him an excuse to strike me.
He produced a pair of sharp scissors. I shrunk back but he pulled at me. I closed my eyes. If he was going to cut me, I didn’t want to see the blood.
He tugged at my clothes and I heard several snips. The clothes slipped from my body, cool air assailing me. I forced my eyes open. He had cut the clothes from my body, including my underwear. I drew in a shaky, silent breath, waiting for him to rape me.
Panting as if he’d just been sprinting, he grabbed me by the shoulders and turned me away from him. With the palm of his hand on my upper back, he pushed me across the room toward the wall. He pressed me against it. He pushed the other hand between us and I heard him unzip his jeans. He thrust into me before I could brace myself, thrust so hard that I almost lost my balance. The pain was so quick and sudden I lost my breath. I placed the palms of my hand against the wall for balance while sobs shook my body. He pounded into me for what seemed like hours, grunting and panting, his sweaty forehead pressed against the back of my head.
When he was done, he pulled out and zipped up his pants. I turned around to face him, to show him the crushed look on my face. He didn’t look at me, just picked up the pizza, which was now drenched in oil, and strode to the door. He flicked off the light before closing it.
Terrified, I lowered myself to the floor and hugged my knees to my body, attempting to keep warm. Gazing into the darkness, I thought back to a time that wasn’t draped in misery and pain—my childhood. Dustin appeared in my thoughts. I had been happiest when I was with him. He had been my first in every way. I went one step further and tried to remember how it had felt being in his arms. Warm and safe and loved. I hung on to that thought as I laid myself back on the cold floor and closed my eyes. Outside my body, I was cold and bruised, but inside I was safe. For now. Wherever he was, Dustin was watching over me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
A kick in the stomach woke me and I met the eyes of my worst nightmare. A real nightmare from which I couldn’t wake.
Jude looked a mess. His stubble was scattered on his chin and cheeks, his eyes were bloodshot, and his hair was disheveled and a bit greasy. Seeing him in that condition frightened me. To let himself go like that meant I was in deep shit. I had caused him to step out of his usual routine, messed with not only his life but also his appearance. Fear sucked every bit of strength I possessed in my body and the pain only weakened me more.
My gaze drifted from his face to the wall behind him, the wall that had been white before. Had he covered it with something to hide what was underneath?
My good eye widened and on reflex, I squinted to focus better. Big mistake. Slivers of pain traveled to my brain, but the pain was trumped by what I was seeing. The entire wall was a tapestry of women’s photos. None of the white color of the wall showed between portraits, profiles, and even passport photos. I pushed further past the pain to try and figure out who they were. In that moment, Jude grabbed my chin and turned me to look at him.