Chapter Eighteen
I know I must have completely passed out afterwards, because I come to in the front seat of the truck. My hands are free and I see the sun is hanging much lower toward the horizon.
Looking out of the window, I watch deep gray clouds start to roll in. The sky is as dark as I feel. A deep, black hole where you keep falling and falling with no end in sight, limp and lifeless as a rag doll dragged behind a child and tossed around. The light is right there within reach; I keep clawing and clawing toward it, yet I am retreating further into the darkness as I watch it slip away.
I’m wrecked, a ghost inside my own body. I feel so dirty and I know I have been cast into hell. Trying to sit up, I grimace at the pain shooting through my arms. I manage to pull myself all of the way up and look down at my wrists.
Dark red welts adorn each one. I gently rub them, running my fingers across the rough abrasions. My upper arm has a bruise and feels like it has been pulled out of its socket. My face feels swollen and my head and stomach are throbbing as if I have been hit with a baseball bat. I fight back my tears as I recall in excruciating detail exactly what Trent just did to me.
Never in a million years would I have thought something like this could ever happen to me. How could it? Just a little over a week ago I was living as a happily married woman, working a job I loved and surrounded by a family whose bond I had believed with all my heart was unbreakable. But now it has been broken. No one is going to look at me the same and when they do, it will be with pity.
Turner. How will he ever be able to get past this? He won’t. It’s bad enough that I slept willingly with Trent, but now he’s raped me.
Oh, God! Just the thought of that word has my skin itching. This time I really am going to vomit.
I start coughing and gagging as a wave of nausea grips me.
“Jesus Christ. Are you going to get sick?”
The sound of Trent’s voice has me trembling. I turn my head to the window so I don’t have to look at him.
“Fucking hell. You’re white as a ghost.”
I still say nothing. I can’t, and I won’t. I have no words for this man who has completely destroyed every part of my world and taken everything I love away from me. I don’t even realize we have stopped until my door is pulled open and I feel him put his hands on me. That is when I snap.
“Don’t you fucking touch me!”
I recoil farther into the truck. He backs up and holds his hands in surrender, yet I don’t trust him.
“There is an outdoor bathroom right here.” I follow the direction of his hand and notice we are at a gas station. “Go now.”
He turns and walks around to the other side of the truck. Reaching down on the floor I grab my purse and exit the truck as fast as I can. My legs are wobbly as I make the few short steps to the bathroom, keeping my eyes to the ground. I know I look a mess.
Closing the door behind me, I push in the knob to lock it and slump back against the cold steel door. Several minutes pass before I am able to approach the mirror and the sink. I take a few deep breaths before I raise my head and look intently at myself. I am unrecognizable. Both of my cheeks are bruised and swollen. My lip is busted open and my hair is a frizzy mess. I can’t control the angry sobs that escape me. Tears stream down my face and sting as they make contact with my lips.
Suddenly having the strong urge to pee, I drop my things onto the floor and enter the stall. When I lift my skirt up and squat to use the bathroom, a small gasp escapes my throat as I see the purple bruises on my upper thighs, but it is nothing compared to the burning sensation racing through the lower half of my body as I try to urinate.
Placing my hands on each side of the stall for support, I finish my business and all of a sudden the nausea is back. I turn around just in time to vomit. Not much comes up because I haven’t eaten anything since this morning, but dry heaves wrack my body for a few moments after I’ve brought up everything I can.
Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I take a deep breath, and when I do I can smell him on me. That smell sends me over the edge. I run out of the stall and grab wads and wads of paper towels, then I turn the sink on as hot as I can get it. I pump and pump the liquid soap dispenser, dousing the wet paper towel with it. When I’m done, I push my skirt aside and scrub roughly between my legs, not caring if I am causing further damage to myself.
“Good God,” I mutter to myself as I assess the bruising forming on my inner thighs.
There are several of them, and they are tender to the touch. How could someone commit such a terrible act of physical violence? How did I not notice him hurting me like this? This man is going to rot in hell right along with the worst of Satan’s spawn of despicable human beings. I hope like hell I am there to witness when that bastard takes his last breath. Better yet, I hope I am the one who sends him to hell because he sure as shit doesn’t care if I live the rest of my life there, the crazy motherfucker.
A loud knock on the door makes me freeze with my hand in mid-air. The knocking turns into pounding when I don’t answer.
“Clove, if you’re not out here in five minutes I will come in there and get you, now hurry the hell up.”
He’s becoming impatient and not wanting to further delay us from getting wherever the hell it is we are going. Not responding to his command, I take my time getting changed and splash several handfuls of cold water onto my face. There isn’t anything more he can do to hurt me at this point. He’s crippled me beyond repair with the sadistic things he has done. So yeah, he can fuck off while I try and do my best to clean myself up.
I grab my brush and run it through the knots in my hair until my scalp is sore. After what I know is longer than his five-minute ultimatum, I secure my hair into a ponytail and drop the brush back into my bag. I pull out my toothbrush and toothpaste and scrub the residue of my vomit out of my mouth.
Tossing the items back into my bag, I swing it over my shoulder and grab my purse off of the counter. I take a deep breath as I open the door. I see Trent’s form leaning against his truck with his legs crossed at his ankles and his arms crossed over his chest.
I can’t even look at him and I sure as shit don’t want to sit next to him, either, so I open the door and start to climb in the back. I halt as flashbacks of the rape freeze me to the spot. A chill creeps up my spine and I drop my bags onto the floor in defeat. I raise my eyes after a moment, and that’s when I see the long, jagged knife laying on the floorboard of the truck. My eyes go wide and without even thinking, I reach for it and stuff it in my bag.
I can sense him still leaning up against the truck, watching my every move. Dear God up above, please don’t let him have seen me pick up that knife. I climb back down and slam the door with as much force as I can and open the front and climb in. After securing my seatbelt, I turn my body completely away from the driver’s seat and lay my head up against the window. I close my eyes tight as I feel him enter the truck and start it.
“There’s a bag back there with some chips and other munchies I got at the station,” Trent says as we accelerate onto the highway.
Fuck him. Even though I am starving, I don’t want a damn thing from him. Hearing his voice and being this close in proximity to him has my nerves all over the damn place. So I remain rooted in my spot and ignore him, ticking off every mile marker in my mind. For ten miles, ten damn miles, there is silence and then he reaches over and places his hand on my knee.
The color instantly drains from my face. I try and block out the fact that he has his hand on me and I can’t. My breathing becomes ragged. My teeth start chattering and a cold sweat forms on my forehead. I can’t seem to get any words to come out of my mouth. I know he must feel me shaking and when his grip tightens on my leg, I tremble more.
“You need to calm down.” His husky voice shoots a bolt of absolute terror through me, starting at the top of my head and traveling through every vein and every organ of my body until it ends at the tips of my toes.
“I’m not going to hurt you. I swear.”
Those eight words break through the trance I am under and I take hold of his hand and remove it from me.
“You’re not going to hurt me?” I all but whimper as I continue to keep my vision forward.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him run his hands through his hair as if he is frustrated. Neither of us speaks again for a long time and my mind drifts, until he pulls off onto another exit. My anxiety and panic start all over again as he drives a mile or so down the road through the middle of God knows where before pulling into the parking lot of a rundown, cheap motel.
“W-what are you doing?” I manage to squeak out.
“This is where we are sleeping tonight. Now get out.”
He puts the truck in park and exits, taking the keys with him. I don’t move and when he turns and notices that I am not behind him, he starts to walk back toward the truck. I promptly open the door as he approaches.
“I have had it up to here with your defiance. Why do you continue to push me? This would go a hell of a lot smoother for the both of us if you would just do what you’re told for once. Jesus, you really must have a death wish.”
Yeah, I have a death wish all right, buddy. My wish is for you to fucking die a very slow miserable death.
“Seriously, Trent. If I go in there looking like this, don’t you think whoever is working in there is going to suspect something? I mean, look at me. My face looks like I have been beaten up, which I have by the way, and they will suspect you. So if you want me to go in there with you, I would say that you’re the one with the death wish because not all people go around beating and raping women. Trust me, if you get me around another person I will tell them exactly what you have done to me,” I seethe.
“You really don’t listen, do you? You must want a repeat performance of what happened a few hours ago.”
His face is within an inch of mine now.
“You don’t scare me anymore, Trent. You’ve won. You have broken me and it doesn’t matter what you do to me now. I’m as good as dead already.”
My hands are clasped together in my lap to hide the fact I am shaking desperately, truly fearing what he may do to me. However, I shrug as if I really don’t care. The big problem here is I do care. I want to live to be able to see Turner one last time.
I watch several expressions dance across Trent’s face. He knows what I am saying is true. His eyes roam all over my face for several long moments and when they shift lower and land on my wrists, they grow wide as if he is the one who is in shock.
I wish like hell that I knew what he is feeling right now as he brings his gaze back up to meet mine. Is this real remorse for the things he has done? Is he being eaten up by his guilt? I hope he is. I hope it eats away at him until it kills him.
“If you even think about running, I will call my father and have Turner killed immediately, do you understand what I am saying?”
“Where am I going to go? You have us in the middle of nowhere, Trent. And despite what you may think of me, one thing is for certain. I may be an idiot for not letting my brother nab your ass and throw you in jail right where you belong. But what I am is in love with my husband, and I will do anything to see him, as you are already quite aware. And one more thing. There is no need to threaten me again, because I am very well aware of what you are capable of.”
He’s bewildered by my words, although he says nothing as he spins around and strides into the motel. I scan the parking lot looking for anything or anyone to help me, and it’s completely deserted. Only one other car sits in the parking lot and I can only assume it belongs to whoever works here. Slumping back in my seat in defeat, I shake my head back and forth and pray like I have never done before that there are two beds in this room. I don’t want to feel his skin touching mine ever again.
Trent returns several minutes later with a key card in his hand along with fresh towels.
“Let’s go,” he commands as he reaches in the back and pulls out his bag.
I open the car door and slam it shut with a little more force than necessary and retrieve my own bag.
Damn it, the knife is in there. I need to make sure he doesn’t see it. Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I follow a small distance behind him until he stops in front of our room and slides the key in. The small light turns green and he pushes the door open. When I enter, I am immediately assaulted with the smell of stale cigarettes and a very strong odor of who the hell knows what.
“Fuck, this place is a dump,” Trent mutters as he tosses his bag on the bed.
He walks into the bathroom and closes the door just a fraction. He comes back out within a minute and I hear the shower running.
“Go shower, and make it quick.”
Sitting himself down on the bed, he lays back on the pillow, stretching his free arm over the top of his head. He grabs the remote to the television with the other hand, then clicks it on and starts flipping through the channels.
Not saying a word, I grab my bag and make my way into the small bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind me and stripping my clothes off instantly.
Grabbing a towel, I close the lid to the toilet and place the towel on top of it. I check the temp of the water which is a little too hot for my usual shower, but I leave it to try and help burn away all of the remaining traces of what he took from me a few hours earlier. I may be able to erase all of him from my body, but I will never be able to erase what he has done from my mind.
I lean back and let the water soak into my hair, and when it hits my face I brace my hands against the wall as it stings and burns my bruises and cut lip. No longer being able to hold my shit together, I slump down on the floor of the shower, pulling my knees up and placing my chin on top of them. All hell breaks loose as I cry silently in the middle of nowhere. I have never felt so alone in all my life.