The next time he dragged me by my hair to the bathroom where the bright light stung my sleep-dimmed eyes. He scrubbed my body with the harsh soap, as if to remove every trace of him. Then he took me back to the bed, spread me open, and sprayed ropes of cum across my breasts, ruining all his work.
There was an inconsistency there, as if he were fighting himself just to fuck me. I started to fear that he would kill me after all. Maybe it would get to be too much. Maybe we were stuck in an infinite loop of lust and hatred, and the only way to end it would be to kill me. Which would I prefer—to spend an eternity in purgatory or take a gamble with hell? But these were only the meandering thoughts of an exhausted mind, because this would end soon. Already morning light whispered through the curtains. Our sex had turned sluggish and sloppy, though he seemed reluctant to end it.
I knelt, my face and shoulders pressed into the coverlet as he pushed into me from behind. When he came, his groan sounded like an animal in agony, a cry for help. He jerked back his cock, and I knew it was as sensitive and raw as my own tender flesh. It didn't make sense why he pushed himself to the pain, but we weren't operating on the laws of logic here, not inside the looking glass. There was only our primal senses, a sort of ironic inevitability, like an animal who fights to the death just to prove that he's dominant.
I dozed on the bed, too broken to move, as I heard him get up and rummage around the room. The sink in the bathroom went on briefly. There was the sound of water nearby, and then he was raising my head, tilting it up. The curve of a cup touched my lips. Cool water slid down my parched throat, following by a bitter aftertaste and powder residue.
I made a face and tried to pull away.
"Shh," he said, nudging the cup against my lips. "Drink up."
My limbs were too heavy to push him and already the liquid ran down my neck. I opened my mouth and drank. Relief filled me.
"That's a good girl." He leaned down, whispering into my ear. "I'm sorry about this. I really am. You’re too good."
He'd really done it, I realized as my consciousness faded. He'd killed me, and now we could both be free.
CHAPTER FIVE
The Niagara Falls State Park is the oldest state park in the United States.
I woke up in a rumbling, rattling darkness. My body was jolted around. I heard the hollow bang of metal, but some sort of thin padding protected me from the worst of the blows. Every time I tried to move, pain seared through my brain. As blood returned to my fingers and toes, agony followed. So I focused on staying as still as possible, eyes shut tightly against the possibility that was becoming more and more certain.
The back of a truck. I was in his truck.
He hadn’t killed me. He’d been apologizing for kidnapping me. It wasn’t hard to figure out what I would be used for. This was a nightmare, exactly the kind of thing my mother warned me about. I would take all of the precautions she wanted while secretly rolling my eyes because that kind of thing only happened to girls on TV. Not to me. Oh God, not to me.
Whether from remnants of the drug or just fear, I felt exhausted, and I allowed the steady motion of the truck to lull me into a thoughtless place. Nothing so comforting as sleep, but free of the nightmares my mind drew for me. Last night had only been the beginning. There was more.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, I took inventory of my body. My hands were tied behind my back, cuffed at the wrists by something soft but intractable. My feet were similarly bound, though I couldn’t see them at all. I was lying on something mildly soft, maybe a padding or a thick blanket.
And I was naked. Of course I was naked and damp and aching down there where he had entered me. I didn’t even know what to call that place. My vagina. That seemed wrong, too clinical. A gasping, desperate laugh escaped me. I could barely put a name to it, but he’d been inside there. Inside my cunt.
My innocence suddenly seemed sinister, as if it were the true cause of my predicament. Maybe if I’d had more experience with men, I would have anticipated this. If I’d had regular sex, I would be able to handle this.
It seemed to go on forever, the whistle of wind, the rumble of wheels. Occasionally we would slow and turn, but then we’d find some even road again to barrel away for hours. Untraceable hours away from my car, from my new job, from my mother’s house. She wouldn’t even know I had gone missing. Suddenly that seemed like a relief. At least she wouldn’t know. It would only make her more afraid. It would only make her gloat.
I must have been dozing because the screech of brakes startled me. The long drive had calmed me into a sense of complacency, as if I could exist forever in the dark, but I knew it would end. I’d have to face him and whatever he would do to me.