Lori

 

 

I groan in utter blissful surrender as the masseuse presses her fists into my glutes and rotates, killing me with pleasure when the pain releases the tension I’ve been lugging around for weeks.

“God, woman, you sound like you’re having sex.”

I groan again and giggle as I lift my head and look back at Lyon, who’s standing guard at the door, the only reason I agreed to come here and put myself in a vulnerable condition.

Before this whole mess happened, I would have a spa day once a month, treat myself to pampering and massages and just be a girl, you know? Now, it’s all I can do to go to the grocery store to stock up.

Last week, I lived on ramen three times a day and used powdered milk because it was all I had and the thought of going to the store made me have a panic attack right in my car in the parking lot.

I lost two pounds and had bad guts for two days from the severe change in diet. It got so bad I finally buckled and called Lyon, who is my best friend in the world—don’t tell Danny. She cries a lot for no good reason these days.

“It’s better than sex,” I moan when I get a chop to the spine and feel the knots disappear.

He laughs a deep bark of amusement that makes me giggle and bite my lip as I turn to watch him. He’s been here for me since the day I woke in that motel room and started crying. He’s my secret friend, even with this gruff, no-nonsense speak that is so not anywhere near the girl-talk I need.

But he’s sweet in his own way, and I adore him, even if his dark hair, blue eyes, and deadly expression remind me of Bear the scary one.

“Nothing is better than sex,” he says emphatically, his grin splitting his face to form a dimple in his left cheek.

You’re telling me, brother, I think morosely.

Now that I have had the mighty sex, it’s not easygoing back to my celibate existence and pretending I don’t care. I dream of it all the time, thankfully aware enough in my sleep to block out Wolf’s face which lets me orgasm. Which is wrong! But I can’t seem to help it in the moment, when my dream W-guy is doing things to my body with a mouth meant for sinning.

Man does it feel good.

It’s not enough though because while I laugh hysterically upon waking, still seeing the blurred-out face of my dream lover, I cry too. I cry because I want to have the strength to look at him as he pleasures me, just as I did when Wolf touched me. More than that, I want to wake up and feel him, the real flesh-and-blood man, over me as he kisses me and makes love to my hungry body.

It’s gross how much I miss sex with Wolf, and I am now determined to get back on that horse. I just have to find a way to get over whatever the hell is wrong with me.

My friend Lindi set me up on a date after I bailed on poor Danny, and it was a disaster. As with the airport—because Bear’s jet was in use the day I was supposed to fly to New Orleans—I had a meltdown at the restaurant door and ran all the way home in a freaking state, only realizing when I was safely behind my door that I left my car there.

That was terrible, but the airport…way worse. I went mental freak-out in the middle of the terminal and had to go to the med station and then hitch a ride with a kind old police officer who kept asking me if I wanted to go to the doctor.

That man must have thought I needed the psych ward, the way I was behaving in his car. So, yeah, no New Orleans or family reunion, because I’ve lost my fool mind. And poor Danny was so understanding when I told her I was sick and my doctor refuses to let me travel. I feel so bad for lying to her, but it’s not like I could tell her I was in a bad way mentally and emotionally.

Things are bad, man, baaaad.

The food issue finally broke me because, as much as I wish I could look like a swimsuit model, I need to eat. It makes me happy. And eating crap for seven days because I go nuts in the grocery store and have to leave is not good.

Neither is the fact that I haven’t been to work in a week. I woke one morning as I usually do, ready to go kick ass and make money off a done deal, a sale that was in the freaking bag, only to experience debilitating fear when I tried to open my front door.

It got so bad the harder I pushed, I woke up on the floor with my cell ringing and ten unread text messages. I must have switched off, like instant system shutdown, and fainted dead away. It’s all I can think of to explain how one minute I was right side up and an hour later I woke on the floor.

But it happened, and I got so scared I crawled into bed and stayed under the covers for seven hours, ignoring the phone and my cell phone when that started ringing too.

I don’t think I have ever cried that hard in my life, unless you count that time Wolf sent me away.

And I have no idea what to do to make it better. So, I called Lyon, and here I am. It feels great to be out of the house, and after the way I looked when he showed up and grimaced, I feel good being pampered and brought back to life. I’m a vain woman, and this awesomeness needs upkeep that I have been sorely neglecting.

But I can only do these things if I have someone I trust around me, and that is seriously screwing with my life. I am not happy. I’m the proactive type who doesn’t take things lying down, so I got on my computer, and after hours spent reading, I am pretty certain I have some form of PTSD. I know it sounds stupid and melodramatic, and I get that a lot of people would ask me exactly what was so terrible about my short trauma to mess me up this bad.

Trust me, I understand exactly how weak this is.

One veteran on a website for PTSD told me that I didn’t know what true suffering was, that my ordeal was nothing compared to what they go through every day for months at a time. I didn’t argue, because I agree. I totally do, and I feel stupid for being such a baby when real survivors have dealt with so much worse.

I was ashamed to the point I apologized and logged off. I gave myself the harshest pep talk imaginable and forced myself to go out. I passed out just as I opened the front door, and thank God, Sunshine was just coming home or I would have lost it if I came to alone on my front step, vulnerable and at the mercy of passers-by.

It’s all just getting so out of control, and I keep wondering why now. I was fine, just fine, for months, and now, all of a sudden, I can’t function without someone holding my hand. It pisses me off because I have been looking after myself for a long time without relying on anyone, and here I am, unable to cross a threshold.

And damn was it humiliating when Lyon showed up on my doorstep and I couldn’t even open the door past a crack without getting weird about it.

“Lori, honey, you still okay there?”

I hear Lyon’s voice as if through a barrier of water, and I realize I’m shaking like a leaf and the masseuse has taken a step back and is looking at me with concern.

I’m shaking all over, my teeth chattering like castanets, legs and arms so stiff it feels like one move will break bones.

Oh God.

“Lyon.”

He’s on me in a heartbeat, pulling me into his chest with strong arms and cooing to me. The sheet is somewhere over my ass, and I register that I’m naked in the front and my stuff is plastered all over Lyon, but I can’t make myself care about modestly when the need to cry hits me.

I can hardly breathe it’s so strong, and that isn’t even the worst of it. Despite my stiffness, my body has gone limp, like I can’t move a muscle, and that only serves to freak me out even more.

“Hhhmm.” The moan of distress is all I can manage, and I open my eyes wide when it becomes clear that I can’t even speak.

God, oh God, oh God, help me, I yell in my head, the sensations hitting me so familiar I feel my stomach churn and give a violent heave. Can’t move! Can’t…can’t breathe. God, please, not again, I beg, my face lax even as tears start meandering down my cheeks and stark terror grips me.

“Lori! Lori, honey, look at me. Look at me, sweetheart,” Lyon yells, juggling my body as he tries to lift my eyes to his.

But I can’t. I’m so gone it’s terrifying, because I can hear it all and see him and feel the heat of his chest pushing into my skin but it’s like I’m sinking and drowning right in front of him.

I can’t tell you what this feels like, not really, because it is so…but I can tell you that I know this feeling. I remember the lack of movement and the icy coldness in my veins and, God, the feeling of being trapped in my body, as if everything is not mine. It’s horrible.

“Lori!”

Darkness. I welcome the darkness when it comes, closing out sound and thought as the need to breathe becomes so real I gasp. If this is my life, if this is what is going to happen to me…I’d rather die.

It’s my last thought before I lunge at the darkness crimping into my vision.

And then I dream. Well, not dream, exactly, because I can strangely still hear Lyon going nuts and the masseuse is yelling for someone to call 911, so I know I’m not dreaming.

God, I wish.

I’m fully aware as I feel myself dancing in a sweaty mash of bodies, the tequila I knocked back with Lindi making me loose and languid as I sway to the beat.

I feel the lights strobing over me as only someone who is over the limit does, and I even see Lindi throwing me a smile before indicating that she’s going to pee.

And then the tight grip of hands at my hips and the cold press of something to my back.

“Make a sound and I’ll shove this into your spine, bitch.”

I’m loopy with alcohol but sobering fast when I try to turn and a sharp nick pierces my skin through the dress covering my back. Oh God, no, I think drunkenly as I’m half lifted and pressed back into a chest, my feet dangling inches above the floor as the man at my back starts walking toward a break in the dancers.

I can’t move, don’t dare to move, when he heads for a dark corridor that I know I shouldn’t go down. Inside I am screaming, but I’m frozen as he pushes into a door, hitting my head into the jam with a laugh.

We’re in a bathroom, the stalls a bright white as my eyes adjust to the light.

“Good girl.”

I yell out when something is jabbed into my neck, hard, so hard I feel the twist when he chuckles. In my mind, I’m screaming because I think it’s the knife, but no, it burns, and then he’s tossing a syringe into the trash.

It hits me immediately. So cold. My teeth start chattering, and numbness engulfs me, spreading down from my neck in a sharp burst of icy cold until nothing moves, not even my chest where I’m trying to pump oxygen into my lungs.

“She out yet?”

I try to twist my head at the sound of the other voice and the slam of the door, but I can’t. I can’t even lift my arms to stop the impact when I’m tossed to the floor, the cool tile slamming into the back of my head with a jarring crack that has me blinking rapidly and opening my eyes wide to stave off unconsciousness.

The sight of two men grinning down at me is not terrifying. It’s so much more, especially when they look down and laugh, telling me how good a whore I am with my legs already splayed.

I’m crying. I can feel tears pumping out of my eyes, but the sobs are trapped inside, deep where my lungs are squeezing tight in my chest.

“Her hair’s just the right color. He’ll be happy,” one says, sneering at me as he asks if it’s natural while he looks at my panties.

No, God, no, I plead. I can’t survive if they touch me there. My mind starts screaming at me, and yet no matter what I do, I can’t move, even when the big one with black hair leans down and grabs my hair, pulling me up into his chest.

“The things I will do to this one if he doesn’t want her.”

He? He who? And God, his breath when he leans in and bites into my lip, licking his fat, disgusting tongue over me.

“We can’t touch her. Come on, you idiot. Let’s get her back to the warehouse and go try some of the other merchandise.”

I’m saved by that, and I struggle when my mind starts going fuzzy, blinking in and out before finally just stopping.

I’m cold, so cold, when I blink my eyes open again, only I am not in the club and the men are gone. It’s pitch-black. I can see nothing, but I feel the hard concrete beneath me, and I become aware of my nudity when I manage to roll and feel my nipples scrape against the floor.

I’m sluggish, the way I felt last year when they put me under to take out my appendix, and moving isn’t easy. My knees hurt when I roll to them, and I open my mouth to cry out in pain, stopping when a scream and the cries of a woman rend the air.

“Please just let me go. Please!”

Her cries are met with a grunt and silence, and I hear her screaming and struggling as I put a hand to my mouth to force the sounds back in, so scared I don’t feel the cold or the hard floor or the ache in my head where it hit the tile in the bathroom at the club.

I’m strong. I can deal, I think desperately as I start feeling my way around, only to be met by four walls that aren’t very far apart and a metal door that I don’t dare hang around, for fear of it opening.

I can’t see a thing, but I know…I know that someone will be watching. I can feel their eyes on me without having to see. Hours pass as I huddle into myself, rocking to stave off the cold and terror I’m holding at bay by sheer force of will.

I’m ready too as I curl up, my body losing what energy I have with the shivering and adrenalin surges. The door opens suddenly, and I freeze where I lay, cracking only one eye when light shines in and a shadow fills the doorway.

Something hits the floor, and I wince, scrambling up only when full darkness fills the space again. Another girl. I grimace when I feel my way forward and touch her breast, the cold of her skin a degree above my own, so feeling positively warm against my hand.

Pulling away, I force myself not to curl into her, because she’ll be freezing soon anyway and I shouldn’t take what little warmth she has left. And in the dark room with no one but an unconscious girl, I feel darkness surround me and suffocate the air in my lungs.

It all feels so real, and yet I am fully aware that it isn’t as I tune out the voices and Lyon’s taps on my cheeks. I’m still in the room in the warehouse, still cold, so cold I can feel my bones beneath my skin.

I hear the screaming as women wake in their dark prisons, one by one, the crying and screaming stopping as soon as it starts because all it takes for them to come for you is knowledge that you’re awake.

I will them to stop being so stupid and keep quiet, but, one by one, it’s the same thing over and over until I’m so angry at them I want to scream. It’s colder now, so much so I can’t shift around because it hurts, feels like knives piercing through my flesh.

I sit silently, shivering, watching the spot in the darkness where the other woman is, listening and straining my ears for any sound. I can’t let her wake and cry, so I’m alert despite the fatigue I feel, the first stages of what I am hoping is not what my dad called the cold sleep.

Soon enough, I hear a slight movement, a breath, and I hold myself at bay, praying she won’t scream. I want to go to her, but I know if I touch her in her confused, fearful state, she’ll scream.

“Goddammit, Lorianna Staneslovsky, you stop this and open your eyes for me.”

I hear the yell, and the image disappears, the insistent shakes bobbing my head on my shoulders like a loose bobble head on a dashboard.

We’re moving. I know that when I feel my back lift and slam back down and hear the unmistakable wail of a siren. Ambulance?

Must be, I think, not ready to wake or become aware yet because right now, in this state where I’m not awake but not asleep, I feel safe. Nothing can touch me here, and it’s in this place that I don’t have to think or feel, just be.

It’s here that I get to pretend that my life isn’t falling apart and the one person I need to hold me and promise it will be okay is the one guy who never will.