Chapter 16

 

A Message

 

Melissa

 

 

“Stop!” I screamed. “No! Get off me!”

"Oh baby, you like it. Don't you? Playing hard to get?"

"Get off me!"

"Don’t worry…rape fantasy...."

“Please. I’m begging.”

Jolted awake from my nightmare, I was shaking uncontrollably as pain radiated through my body, and nausea took over. My stomach twisted and turned, vomit lodged in my throat, threatening to be purged. My body lunged forward as at the same time a small basin was placed in front of me. My head throbbed and throat burned from the acidic bile.

My head remained over the basin until the bile ran dry, and the dry heaves subsided. A hand upon my shoulder eased me back toward the bed until my head hit the pillow. Looking up, I recognized her. She was one of the nurses from the night before, or was it the day before?

I still had no concept of time. It all blended into before or after the rape.

The nurse placed a white cloth around the back of my neck and wiped my face with another piece of fabric. Though her actions were caring, her smile appeared indifferent. Her eyes seemed cold and filled with uncertainty—like she was waiting for something. To an observer, her words and gestures would appear tender; however, her death glare toward me told a different story. It was as if she knew something that I didn't, and she was patiently waiting for an opportunity to strike.

"I need to make a call,” Peyton said, his voice tight yet controlled.

My view of him had been blocked until he stood up. His six-foot-four body towered over the nurse. Worry lines and dark circles marred his eyes. His hair was wild from all the times he ran his fingers through it. Peyton didn't have many quirks, but he had the habit of pulling his hair when he was troubled. I wasn't sure if his concern was about the possibility of our arrangement being revealed or my injuries. As he stepped closer to the bed, it was obvious that the caring man from last night was gone, replaced with a stolid demeanor.

"My secretary is bringing some clothes for you." When our eyes locked, I heard the words he didn't speak: "You will regret it if you open your mouth." I didn’t respond, the guilt of my betrayal forefront in my mind.

Turning away from me, he nodded to the nurse.

The callousness in his words and movements told me that he too had a secret but like the nurse was unwilling to share.

I glanced at the door as he left and returned my sights to the nurse. She waited, but once the click of Peyton’s shoes disappeared, her eyes drifted back to me. Time once again stopped as she measured me and contemplated her words. Planting a broad smile on her face as if she were there as a friend to cheer me up, the nurse lowered her voice, her tone sounded caring, but the words were nothing but vile and hateful. She was there to put the final nail in the casket and send me straight to hell.

"You are nothing more than a lying whore who gets paid for sex. Everyone will know the truth soon enough. If you think you can accuse Bryce Spencer of rape, you’d better think again. No one will believe you, especially the police."

I don't know what shocked me more—her words or her hatred toward me. I was in disbelief; she was supposed to be there to help not blame me.

She hesitated for a minute and looked in the direction of the door before she started speaking again. "Bryce is a good man and comes from a good family. You're nothing more than a gold-digging whore who is after his money. I saw you at the club flirting—begging for something. When I overheard what your pimp told the police, I called Bryce. He told me all about your arrangement.” She stopped for a moment before her detestation continued, "Bryce would never hurt anyone. He doesn't need to rape..." She laughed to herself as if what she said was funny. "...there are plenty of us who willingly give Bryce what he wants, and we all know what he likes. He likes to have fun." She took another breath, ready to strike another blow, but the door creaked open. Her voice lowered to a mere whisper. "You just don't want him..." She nodded toward the person entering. "...to know that you're nothing more than a lying whore, trying to get money and protect yourself."

I didn’t want anything from Bryce. I knew he had money by the way he carried himself, but I wasn’t interested in that. I’d already had someone with money who’d discarded me. I had just wanted someone to treat me like I mattered. I didn’t want to be a fuck toy anymore. I’d wanted an untainted companionship with no financial obligations.

The nurse planted a giant smile on her face, turned, and continued speaking to me. "I'll be back in a little while to check on you and…" She turned back to me, leaned in, and pretended to check the IV line as she delivered her final attack. "I know you're a liar, and soon the world will know when your name is accidentally released…"

I closed my eyes as memories flooded my mind, and my body ached. I needed to escape—to find a place to hide—even if it was only mentally. I didn't want to listen to or be touched by anyone. The thought of people looking at me made me even sicker. Not just because I was beaten and bruised, but because I was ashamed, humiliated, and now threatened.

All of the decisions of the last few months were the reasons why I was lying in a hospital bed shattered. I could blame Peyton’s indifference for my search for companionship. I could blame Bryce for abusing me, but the truth was simple. I was here because of me.

Needing an escape, I searched for the clock, but the one from before was gone, replaced with one less friendly. This one’s arms sat on the ten and two, mocking my pain with a smile that screamed ‘I told you so.’ Though the second hand ticked away minutes, it never allowed me a moment of freedom, refusing my request for happy memories. The hands continued to move as if it were just another hour, minute, or second, those without worries.

Each tick of this clock reminded me of the choices I’d made and the mistakes that had left me numb. I wanted to forget the memories, but the cruel clock continued its tick-tock, demanding that I accept my punishment. This time it wasn’t to be fun or sexy. The punishment the clock demanded was to remember and relive all the pain.

Once again, my choices had been taken away by others based on one wrong decision and one wrong turn in the road. Now, even objects that should have no say in my life controlled my thoughts with a simple tick.

I was determined to be lost in another time. I begged and begged the new clock to allow me access until finally, it surrendered, and I prevailed. As I hid behind the invisible shield, my world was again happy until it wasn't.

A loud voice cracked my shield just enough for sounds to penetrate my world, but the actual words were missing. The content of the phrase was repeated but it was distant and unclear. More sounds invaded my space like a pounding against a door. Though I tried to ignore the intrusion, the crack was too much to repair.

I was between worlds—my body was physically in the room, as my mind wandered to the other—until one final blow to the tear brought the door down. I was back from my escape.

"Melissa, we need to talk," Peyton said.

"What?"

I was confused. I remembered the nurse had left the room after Peyton came back, but I couldn’t recall how long ago that had been. Flashes of my search for my clock, my friend who previously saved me, were a blur. I recalled the argument I’d had with the new clock, begging it to shelter me, but I couldn’t remember when it finally accepted me into its world—I just knew it had.

Now I was back.

"How are you feeling?" Peyton asked with annoyance in his tone.

I didn't answer. Instead, I turned away to face the window.

He had taken away my solace, pulled me away from the clock’s protection. I didn't want to talk to anyone—especially now that I knew Bryce had people everywhere, people who would remind me that I was nothing more than a paid whore and who threatened to expose me to the press for the world to see. In their eyes, whores didn't have many rights, even fewer than those granted by the men who used and abused those whores.

"Melissa! I asked you a question. Fucking answer me. How are you feeling?"

"I feel like fucking peaches and cream." The venom in my voice spoke louder than my actual words. Tears dripped down my face as Peyton reached out to pull me closer. I pulled away as panic overtook all reasoning. "Get off me! Please just get off me."

He stepped back. Anger took over and his eyes bore into mine. The truth was clear: even broken I was still his until I wasn't anymore. I’d signed the agreement. My choice was gone. I had to listen to and obey him. Peyton controlled me. He owned me until he decided our agreement was done, which would probably be sooner rather than later. Once he discovered that this rape wasn't a random act, that I’d accepted a date from my attacker, any and all compassion would be gone.

I looked up and met the eyes of the man who promised to help me achieve my dreams. He was the same man who’d also betrayed my trust when he turned me into his whore and hid our treachery for his pleasure and my greed.

I’d broken the rule when I’d told Bryce about our agreement. No one was supposed to know about the agreement—especially family or friends. It was another decision I regretted among many. Bryce had taken that information as an invitation to use my body as he wanted. He paid for a service when he paid for lunch, and it was his right to collect. In his mind, he could do whatever he wanted to me, and the sad part was that he knew that when he did, no one would care.

At one time, I’d been too naive to understand that money and power ruled in this world. Not anymore. Now I knew. Those elements would always prevail, and I didn't have either.

Peyton stared down at me with no emotion. “I have learned a few things since I found you.” He took a breath. “This...” He swirled his hands around the room. "...wasn’t rape.”

“What the fuck? You saw me.” Pain permeated my voice. “You know—”

Once again, he interrupted me. “Shut the fuck up and listen. You weren’t attacked. You invited him in. If I would have known that when I found you, I would have left you there.”

“Peyton…” The pain he’d caused with his indifference months ago didn’t even come close to what he was delivering now. My stomach turned as vomit once again threatened. The cold was back, making my hands shake and my body shiver.

Once again, I was completely shattered.

He stood in front of my bed and waited for an answer or acknowledgment that I understood. When I didn’t respond, he bent down, his face inches from mine. “Do. You. Understand?”

I nodded.

Peyton hesitated for a few moments. “I’ve already talked to Detective March and informed him that I jumped to conclusions when I found you, but now, since you’ve confessed your whorish ways, I explained that you invited Bryce into my apartment to apparently satisfy your rape fantasy.”

“That’s a lie. You know it. W-why? Why would you lie?” Hatred and pain radiated from my body and voice.

“I have the call log from your phone. I know about the club and the lunches. I know everything.” The coldness of his voice sent a chill running up my spine.

I knew Peyton could destroy me if I didn’t follow his instructions. I shook my head, refusing to cry another tear in front of this asshole. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“Finally,” he said, “Infidelity doesn’t exist, and neither does our contract. If you are smart, you’ll forget they exist.”

He turned away and walked out the door without even a goodbye. He’d made his decision. Our contract was over and so was his concern for me.