The entire car ride, I’m silent. I close my eyes and try to remember. I think I remember being here before, being tied up. My fingers graze over the faint marks on my wrists. I’m quiet. I’ll do as he says for now, but I know that will only get me so far. How the fuck did this happen? I concentrate on breathing and then I remember about a secret latch in the trunk. Well, not secret. But there’s a latch in here somewhere. My hands run along every surface looking for it. But there’s nothing. I spend the entire ride looking for it, only to come up short.

My breathing hitches the longer the car stays still. My body jolts as the car door slams. A whimper escapes me and I cover my mouth. The light burns my eyes as he opens the trunk. It’s not that bright, but compared to the darkness in the trunk, it kills my sight. He reaches in and picks me up easily by my waist. I cower under his touch as he sets me down. My feet land softly, and that’s when I remember. Like deja vu.

I remember running.

My eyes follow the path I took. I remember his hard body knocking me to the ground. And then I have flashes of memories of him pounding into me, both of us naked as he ruts between my legs, pushing my body into the dirt.

As if reading my mind, Vince growls out, “I didn’t.” His tone is defensive and hard. I swallow the lump growing in my throat. I know he didn’t. I would have felt it this morning. But I remember it. Why do I remember it happening that way? More importantly, why did he want me to forget?

“I know.” The words catch in my throat and come out much higher than I intended. I clear my throat and cross my arms to grip my shoulders. “I don’t understand, Vince.”

He takes a deep breath, but doesn’t meet my eyes. “You need to go inside, Elle.”

I look at the house. It's the same country home I thought was so cute this morning, but as I look at it now, fear makes my legs collapse. We’re in the middle of nowhere. I can’t go in there. In the movies, a secluded place like this is where they kill you. No one will hear me scream. My body begs me to run.

Vince grips my elbow and leans into my neck. His hot breath sends chills down my shoulder and back as he warns, “Don’t you fucking dare run from me.”

A whimper escapes my lips. He pulls me toward the house and I move with him. This has happened before, and I was still alive this morning despite everything. Maybe it will happen again.

“Will I forget in the morning?” I can only hope I will.

“No.” He swings the front door open as the hope dies in my chest. “It didn’t work.”

“I don’t understand,” I plead.

“Stop whining!” he yells at me as I walk inside with him. His anger forces me to rip my arm from his grasp, but it's a clumsy, uncontrolled motion, and my back slams against the wall just inside the door. My hands cover my mouth and I try to stifle the need to cry.

“Fuck!” he screams into the air, and kicks the door. I hear Rigs barking upstairs. His paws scratch against a door. I back away slowly and find myself cowering in the corner. Vince’s fists slam into the wall, leaving dents and a trail of blood on the white walls. His knuckles are bloodied but he keeps doing it over and over. Each time his fists pound against the wall my chest jumps and a scream threatens to escape. Rigs barks and growls and Vince yells at him to be quiet.

I’m fucked. I’m so fucked.

He finally stops and takes a deep breath. The only sounds in the room are the dog barking and Vince’s heavy breaths. His large shoulders rise and fall with power. He turns slowly towards me and stares at me for a long time. When he finally opens his mouth I let out a heavy breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “I’m supposed to kill you,” he says.

My body turns weak and I fall to the floor. I want to plead, but I can’t. I can’t do anything. I’m paralyzed. I don’t want to die.

“I’m going to figure something out, sweetheart.” He walks slowly toward me and picks up my trembling body. Half of me wants to push him off of me and try to run, but the other half is too terrified to consider fighting. The terrified side is the side that is winning. He carries me up the stairs and I remain as still as possible in his arms.

He speaks calmly. “You need to be good for me. You need to make this easy.” I can’t respond. But if I could, I’d tell him to go fuck himself. I’m not going to make it easy for him to kill me. I can’t speak the words, but he must sense my disobedience. “Don’t you fuck with me, Elle.”

I shouldn’t make him angry, but I can’t answer. Fear has crippled me.

He kicks a door open, and I recognize the room. It’s where we were this morning. I look at the messy bed, still unmade, and see a pink stain on the sheets.

I hear him shushing me; I feel him trying to comfort me. It just makes me feel even worse.

My chest has never felt so hollow or painful before. I never knew I could feel this much physical pain from emotional damage.