I take her straight to the bathroom and set her on the counter. She leans back against the cool tiles while I turn on the water in the sink, adjusting it to the right temperature. I turn back to her and take her bound hands in mine, using my pocketknife to cut the duct tape off, and revealing the angry marks around her wrists. I rub my thumbs over them, my vision clouding with rage. I take a washcloth and run it under the water, then bring it to her face to clean it up. She doesn't even flinch when I make contact, wiping away the blood around her mouth. When I'm done and her face is clean, I lean in and kiss her swollen lip.
“I'm so goddamn sorry this happened,” I murmur against her lips, my voice breaking. I'm sure she knows I don't mean just the cuts and bruises on her face. There are things deep beneath the skin I need to apologize for.
She doesn't respond. Her eyes are unfocused, like she's looking right through me. I wouldn't want to look at me either, if I was her.
I wet the washcloth again, then take her small feet into my hands, wiping around the cuts. Why didn't she wear the goddamn shoes?
I turn the shower on, making sure the water is a good temperature.
“I'll give you some privacy,” I tell her. She just shakes her head, a dazed expression on her face.
It feels like she's inside the shower forever. I have a brief thought that she might try and hurt herself in there, but I don't really believe it. It just doesn't seem like her.
The door opens, and she walks out, stark naked, not looking at me. I try not to ogle, because it's really inappropriate and there's nothing sexual about it. She walks straight to the bed and climbs on it, and just sits there in the middle of it.
I get up and walk over to her. I take out a shirt from the dresser and a pair of panties and bring them over to her. She doesn't resist me when I pull the shirt over her head, hiding her body from my hungry eyes. I run my hands through her wet hair, savoring the silky feel of it. She takes the underwear from my lap and pulls them on herself, then lies down on the bed, tucking her elbow under her head.
I follow suit, lying down on my side, facing her. She brings her free hand up to my face, her hesitant touch whispering over my cheek. I close my eyes and lean into her hand, feeling like a hypocrite because I know she's trying to comfort me for what I just told her.
“I wish you were someone else,” she whispers, and I hear the tears in her voice. My eyes open and I kiss her wrist hovering over my mouth, wiping away the single tear streaking her cheek with my thumb.
“Me, too,” I say, and I've never meant anything more than I do those two words.
LEIGHTON
I wake up in the afternoon, if I can tell by the faint darkness I see through the sole window in the room.
When it all hits me, I still feel numb. Being locked in this room, Devon lulled me into a false sense of security. With him around, sure, I was scared, but I wasn't terrified, and I was sure I was getting out of this alive because Devon would take care of me.
I don't know why I thought it. He hasn't really done anything to make me think that. But somewhere deep down, I thought he would make sure I was okay, at the end of the day.
Being in the arms of those slimy men, being taunted and leered at, I realized how stupid I've been. It's not just Devon in this house; it's not just him who makes final decisions.
Devon's uncle is cold and unfeeling. I have no idea how he grew up with that. He is not like him, at all.
My breath hitches when I remember the moment I thought Stevie was going to rape me.
My family killed his? I glance over at Devon, hoping that it isn't true, but knowing it probably is. This whole thing is so messed up. How can he even look at me? He must despise me. He's been putting up with my shit this whole time when he didn't have to, all the while knowing that my family destroyed his.
When I saw him in his uncle's office I could have cried in relief. But the Devon I saw at that moment was a person I've never seen before, not even when he brought me here first. I never want to see that Devon again. He was cold, distant and emotionless, the kind of man who could look someone in the eye and kill them without an ounce of remorse. It scared the shit out of me.
I lay my face on his warm chest, glad that the trembling has finally stopped. We hadn't said much to each other before falling asleep, but I appreciate him holding me, making me feel safe, even if it isn't real. It looks like I'm going to pay for the sins of my family with my own life.
I guess this is what my life is about, right? Has always been about; family, pride and loyalty. Although I haven't killed anyone, I bear the sins of my last name, and now I face the consequences.
I have been envied my whole life for my status, wealth and material possessions.
If only they could see me now. I stifle a sob, thinking no money on the world will save me out of this situation.
“Hey,” Devon says, pulling me closer.
“I'm sorry,” I tell him, not knowing how to make this better. He makes a sound deep in his throat, but doesn't reply. Really, what is there to say? It's not okay, nothing can be forgiven or overlooked, and it doesn't matter how I feel about him because it doesn't change anything.
Devon rubs soothing circles on my back, offering me what comfort he can. He may wear his mask so well, but underneath I know that he’s a good man. He didn't deserve to lose his family.
Will my death really give him peace? This is the last thing I think before falling asleep again.
“Morning,” I say, when I see Devon awake and watching me, propped on his elbow.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice thick with sleep.
I nod, because we both know I’m not, but that it doesn’t really matter.
“What’s your plan for today?” I ask him, my voice wavering slightly.
He stretches his arms over his head. “I have something to do, but I’ll try to get it done as soon as I can.”
“Okay,” I say, grateful that he wouldn’t be leaving me alone all day.
“Are we going to talk about what happened?” he asks, studying my expression.
Averting my gaze, I stare down at my hands. “There’s nothing to say.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“I ran. They caught me.” I shrug like it’s no big deal.
“Did they hurt you?”
My head lifts sharply. “You mean did they . . . ”
“Touch you,” he says, his voice soft, almost breaking. He swallows hard, waiting for my answer.
“No, I mean. Stevie squeezed my . . . ” I gesture at my chest nervously. He nods, understanding. “But that’s it. I think he wanted to . . . and the other one held me.”
“Fucking assholes,” Devon growls, his hands turning to fists.
“I struggled, so that’s when they were rough, but then your uncle came out, and they backed off. I was scared, Devon. The look they had in their eyes, it terrified me,” I admit, closing my eyes.
“You didn’t tell them I left the door open. Why?” he demands, his voice hardening.
“Why, Leighton?” he repeats when I don’t reply.
“Why do you think?” I spit back at him, hating him for asking this question.
He puts his hand on my sore shoulder lightly, careful not to hurt me. “Tell me. I want—I need to know why you'd protect me, after everything?”
“Because of this,” I snap, leaning forward and capturing his lips with my own. He responds instantly, taking my mouth in a punishing kiss. He starts to suck on my bottom lip, and I run my hand up his shirt, feeling each taut muscle of his six-pack. He moans at the contact, but gently pushes me away.