Zelda

 

It was still dark as I drove home. I didn’t look at the clock in the dash—it was off by a couple of hours anyway—but I knew it was the very early hours of the morning. There was hardly a car on the road and I was extremely grateful for that. I was shaking pretty badly and could only barely see through the mist of tears flooding my vision. I tried to blink them away, letting tears stream down my cheeks, but they just kept coming.

 

Sobs made it difficult to breathe and a couple of times I actually had to pull over and stop, too worried that I was going to run into something to keep driving.

 

My night had been pretty damn special thus far and I was grateful that it was almost over. Between Santos throwing the words whore and slut at me like hurling rocks, then my lovemaking—or, I suppose it was only fucking to him—with Nester, followed by a terrible, shoving fight once again about my loyalty and fidelity.

 

The problem was, they were both essentially true. Yes, I was in love with Nester and would have stayed with him through hell and high water if it had come to that, but ultimately I ended up with Santos. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t sleeping with Santos, and it didn’t matter that my decision to date him had been for the sake of Nester all along. I was still with him and I had still dumped Nester for him.

 

But then I wasn’t even being fair to Santos. Not that I felt the jerk deserved it, but he wasn’t really wrong when he pointed out the ridiculousness of my willingness to sleep with Nester and not with Santos, whom I was not only dating but engaged to.

 

There were extenuating circumstances for everything that had happened thus far, but they didn’t change the facts.

 

I was a terrible person.

 

These thoughts continued to plague me as I drove for home. Santos would be pissed as soon as he realized I was gone—hopefully that wouldn’t be until morning—and Nester had made it pretty clear that I wasn’t on his list of things worth protecting still. Which meant I would have to find a way to protect myself.

 

And I was pretty sure there was only one way to do it.

 

In my mind, I was already going through what I’d need to pack. My duffle bag is in the closet and I have a large suitcase under the bed, I thought, picturing both of these things in my mind. I can use that small makeup bag for some toiletries and whatever I can’t stuff in there I can pick up along the way.

 

I would need clothing, at least a few t-shirts and a few pants. Some underwear, a sweatshirt even though it was summer, a pair of sunglasses even though it was night, and maybe a hat. A ball cap or something. It would be a quick and easy disguise, especially coupled with the sunglasses. That way if one of Santos’s guys spotted me, I stood a chance of going unnoticed. Just another face in the crowd.

 

I was pulling off the freeway on my exit as I continued to think things through. I would pack a couple of bottles of water and some snacks—granola bars, maybe a sandwich, some apples, too, anything that would keep easily and I could eat along the way—and if I could find that cooler that Nester and I used to use when we went out camping, then I could bring a few more things. It wasn’t a big deal if I couldn’t find a lot of food to bring, there were dozens upon dozens of places to stop any direction I went. I hadn’t decided where I was going just yet, but I would rather not stop if I could avoid it. The more I stopped, the more chances I would have at being spotted. And the more time I would have to sit and think about the terrible things I was running away from.

 

And what I’d lost.

 

I made my way down the winding road that led to home, still thinking about what I’d need to do to make my escape. I had some cash stashed at the house which would get me some ways before I needed more, but it would be a good idea to go ahead and take the rest out of my account and close it. That way if Santos had someone who could track stuff like that, he wouldn’t be able to find me that way at least.

 

My mind was so busy planning things out that I didn’t notice him at first. I pulled into my driveway like I always did, running mostly on autopilot as I thought of all that I would have to do and how I would have to hurry if I wanted to get out of there before anyone realized what I was up to.

 

But that was where I’d messed up already, because someone had realized what I was up to. Or at the very least, he’d realized I was no longer sequestered upstairs in his house.

 

I didn’t see Santos until I’d turned off the car and had just popped open my door. He’d been sitting in the darkness on my porch, waiting quietly. My headlights must have passed right over him without my eyes registering his boxy frame, because by the time I realized he was there, it was too late.

 

“Oh, no,” I got out with one foot on the ground outside of the car. I tried to pull it back in and start the car at the same time, but I didn’t have a chance.

 

Santos had already closed the distance between us and was holding the door open to make sure that I couldn’t shut it on him. Maybe if the car had still been running, I would have gotten a chance to just drive away, but my hand was shaking as I tried to turn the key.

 

He reached into the open door for me and I couldn’t really get away from him. I tried moving farther into the car, hoping that maybe I could get to the passenger door at least and crawl out that side, though I didn’t know what I would do then.

 

Running wasn’t exactly a good, practical idea.

 

But I didn’t even make it that far. Instead, Santos’s thick hand grabbed my upper arm so tight that I was sure it would bruise painfully in no time at all.

 

“Bitch,” he said to me, then jerked me so hard that I felt like my arm was trying to come out of its socket.

 

I stumbled out of the car, falling onto the gravel drive, my cheek slamming onto the rocks. It ached and throbbed already, the impact not exactly making things better. I let out only a small cry, trying to be strong and not let him see how terrified I was, though I knew it was a lost cause.

 

He knew exactly how terrified I was.

 

Before I could even think to try and get up, maybe run, he was dragging me to my feet again. “Please,” I heard myself beg, and immediately I was disgusted with myself. Not that it mattered either way; he wasn’t paying me any attention.

 

He dragged me towards the house and for a moment I thought we were going inside. That set off a good, strong dose of panic surging through me as I remembered his earlier statement. How he said he should just force himself on me.

 

Was this it? Would he rape me tonight after I had finally joined once more with the only man I ever loved?

 

But before we even got to the porch, he changed trajectory. Instead of going to the front door, he pulled me along the side of the house. Around the corner and to the back. Finally, I saw where we were going, dread pooling in my stomach.

 

His car was parked in back.

 

He tore open a door then shoved me inside, causing me to bang my head against the sidewalls as I half fell into the back seats. He closed the door behind me and before I could get to the doors, he was already in the driver’s seat and I heard the click of the locks. All the doors were now tightly shut.

 

But that doesn’t mean I can’t unlock them while he’s distracted, I thought desperately.

 

As though reading my mind, he glanced in the rearview mirror to fix me with a beady stare. “Child protective locks,” he told me, then grinned maliciously.

 

I was screwed. I wouldn’t be able to unlock the door whether the car was stopped or moving. My only option would be to get into the front passenger seat and try that door, but Santos would never let me get that far. No. I was most definitely a prisoner and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to change that right now.

 

He put the car into reverse, and pulled out of the driveway, then straightened out so that he could come around the front of my house where the driveway led to the main road. I tried to get at least semi comfortable in the back, though I was unwilling to put on my seatbelt just in case, by some fantastic miracle, I did get the chance to get the hell out of the car. I didn’t want to be hindered by a seatbelt if that was the case.

 

It wasn’t until we had pulled onto the interstate that Santos finally spoke to me. Not that I really wanted to have a conversation with him, but the silence was freaking me out. I had the sinking suspicion that he wasn’t planning on raping me or marrying me or anything of the sort anymore. It might have brought me some sort of comfort if I didn’t know that Santos wouldn’t let me go, whatever his intentions were anymore.

 

Which meant I was already dead.

 

“You must think you’re pretty clever, eh?” he began, his voice calm just as it had been when he gave me that warning in the restaurant. It was misplaced enough here in this situation—he was kidnapping me for god’s sake—that I felt a sliver of fear make its way through me, causing my already trembling body to grow cold with dread.

 

I shook my head, but remained silent. I didn’t think I could speak calmly under the circumstances and didn’t want to give him the pleasure of hearing my voice crack.

 

His eyes narrowed as they stared at me like sharpened daggers. “Don’t play dumb,” he told me. “You think you can just fuck around with whoever you want and that I wouldn’t find out?”

 

I sucked in a harsh breath, but otherwise kept my mouth shut. I glanced out the window trying to determine where we were going—this wasn’t the way to Santos’s house—but it was still too dark and I couldn’t make out much of anything at all.

 

Santos kept talking. “Well, I did find out, didn’t I? Think you can make an ass out of me, but I’m always one step ahead, sweetheart.” He let out a cold laugh then, making my trembling worse. “I know everything and you’re a stupid little whore to think you could keep it from me.”

 

I didn’t even wince at the whore thing anymore. I’d been called a lot of different names tonight, been accused of a lot of different things, most of them technically true. Maybe I wasn’t immune to the sting of them, but I was tired and scared enough that they didn’t pack the same punch anymore.

 

“I know you’ve been with Nester,” he said finally, and the calmness of his tone slipped away. There was malice behind it, the truth of what he’d been feeling all along, and I knew it didn’t mean things were getting better. “Just look at you,” he spat at me snidely. “You’re a fucking mess. You think I wouldn’t notice?”

 

I didn’t have to look down at myself to know he was right. I was a mess. I could still feel the lingering touch of Nester on my body, like a ghost holding me, clinging tightly to me. My hair felt wild about my shoulders—something Santos had always hated even when it wasn’t from passionate sex with his worst enemy—and I could only assume that my clothes at the very least were rumpled from being tossed unceremoniously to the floor.

 

Yes, I most definitely looked as though I’d just experienced a wild night with someone else. Which, of course, I had.

 

“You’ve been sneaking around all along, haven’t you?” he accused, and I didn’t bother to correct him. In five years I hadn’t been with anyone—Santos’s only problem with that inevitably being that I hadn’t been with Santos either—and it wasn’t until Nester appeared back in my life that things had spiraled out of control.

 

But Santos wouldn’t understand any of that, and in the end, he wouldn’t really care anyway so I didn’t waste my breath trying to explain the difference in things.

 

“You fucking slut,” he told me, spitting out the words until I actually saw spittle fly from his mouth towards the windshield. “You’ll sleep with Nester, that jailbird piece of shit, but not me? Not the man who has taken care of you for the last five years? Not the man who put a ring on your finger and promised to make you an honest woman? Not your fiancé? What sort of bitch are you?”

 

Unwilling to continue just listening to his ranting tirade, I wasted my time. I begged him to let me go. “Please, Santos, don’t do this. Just please, please let me go! I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything!” Which I may or may not have actually been. Part of me wished that tonight hadn’t happened. More than that, part of me wished that Nester had never strolled back into my life, because I would always give in to him no matter what. But the rest of me knew that it didn’t matter. I never would have been happy with Santos and this monster within would have come out eventually. There was no stopping that. In fact, part of me should have been grateful for Nester’s intrusion into my life. After all, there was no way I would be marrying Santos now.

 

Of course, there was also a really good chance that I would never marry anyone. In fact, I would probably be dead soon.

 

The thought made my stomach twist and churn into uncomfortable knots, my hands shaking at the idea that maybe I wouldn’t see another sunrise. I was going to die and no matter how bad my life was in shambles, I didn’t want to die.

 

“Sorry?” Santos barked out a laugh, cold and punishing. “No, you’re not fucking sorry. Not yet. But you will be.”

 

I tried to swallow past a lump of dread as I realized that there was no getting out of this.

 

I was dead.