Again.
I pushed away the self-hatred that came with that thought.
The damsel was not all it was cracked up to be in fairy tales. In fact, that was the only place it belonged, in fiction. I needed to learn how to save myself. Which would, of course, start after I was inevitably rescued from this situation. I didn’t like my chances of escaping handcuffs. I would try, of course. But it was good to have a backup.
Because I was Polly.
And I screwed up.
Again.
Craig was scowling at me. “Yeah, I fucking know your family, I know that they meddled in our shit, they didn’t like me from the start. They’re what kept us apart.”
I was surprised at his delusion. Yes, he had shown himself to be an asshole, but I at least thought he was a lucid one. “No, Craig,” I said. “As I mentioned before, it was your fist in my face that kept us apart.”
He started pacing again. I guessed he wasn’t going to acknowledge or apologize for this. Not that I expected an apology. One didn’t kidnap his ex-wife if he planned on apologizing to her.
“It’s all fucked up now,” he muttered. “I need it, the money. I knew if I separated you from them that you’d give it to me.” He faced me, his expression now soft and kind and familiar.
This was the man I’d fallen in love with.
And he wasn’t even real.
Because he wore that expression like a mask that didn’t fit quite right. If you only glanced, not knowing any better—like I had before—then maybe you could be convinced. But upon closer inspection, you could see where it didn’t quite cover the hardness in his eyes, how it was a little too perfect to be genuine.
“But you,” he said, in that perfect soft voice that matched that perfect soft face. He stepped forward. “You, my kind little idiot, you will understand. You’ll give me the money back. Because you don’t want me to get hurt.”
He had made it to the side of the bed and was now gently caressing my face. His hand was soft and gentle over the throbbing bruise he’d created with that same hand.
I flinched inwardly, not able to physically do it because I was afraid of the quick transition from kind to cruel. I knew how fragile his hold on calm was. It was just a precursor to violence based upon my reactions.
“You don’t want me to get hurt, do you?” he asked sweetly.
He didn’t wait for me to answer and suddenly the grip on my face was no longer gentle, it tightened, and my throbbing eye screamed as the pads of his fingers pressed onto the damaged skin.
“And I know you don’t want to get hurt,” he continued, the false veil over his voice slipping. “Because the people that will hurt me will try to do it first by hurting my pretty wife who I love so very much. They will do horrible things to you.” His eyes roved over my body and it was now I realized that Heath’s tee had ridden up high on my hips. And that was the only thing I was wearing when I opened the door because I thought it was Heath, I’d hoped he’d find me wearing it and we’d pick right up where we left off.
Craig’s gaze told me he had something in the same vein in mind. But something that would be brutal, horrific, jarring against the beauty I had last night. It would pollute and taint every touch that was still a shadow on my skin, disappearing by the moment.
My stomach lurched with the gaze and the knowledge of how very helpless I was. Another horror I hadn’t imagined would happen to me became actualized with Craig’s leer. It was tangible. It was real. The brutal act had the possibility to become reality based on the actions and decisions of a man who hasn’t hesitated to hurt me in the past.
My physical wellbeing was now dependent on him. And my emotional wellbeing. Because if that leer became physical. I’d scar. I’d break. On the inside. And I wouldn’t heal like the bruise on my face. I could still recover if this was all it was. I wouldn’t be quite the same, but I’d recover. I’d still recognize myself when I looked in the mirror.
But there was a cold knowledge with the fact that if he did...that, then I wouldn’t be the same. That something would shift inside me and I would never be able to be the person I was before. That I wouldn’t even resemble her.
His eyes yanked themselves back up and I exhaled slightly, I wasn’t stupid enough to think the end of the stare would be the end of the possibility of rape.
“They will do unthinkable things,” he whispered, his other hand trailing lightly over the exposed skin of my leg. “Things that I used to do to you out of love. And you did love them, didn’t you?”
A cold sweat settled on my temples as his finger moved higher.
“You did,” he murmured. “You loved it.”
It wasn’t exactly true. The act itself was meant to communicate love, but it was only physical with Craig. With Heath, it was everything. Every cell in my body responded physically. And every facet of my being emotionally and physically.
Craig’s hand stopped moving and clenched the skin on my thigh roughly, painfully. “But you won’t love this,” he said, voice cold and cruel again. His eyes had that malicious grin that was becoming more and more common as his hold on his façade loosened. “I promise you that.”
Bile crept up my throat.
He let my thigh go.
His face cleared. “Of course I want to protect you. Because I still care for you. You’re such a gentle soul,” he said it like a threat. “So very breakable.” His hand relaxed on my face and the release of pressure was almost as painful as the grip itself. “I don’t want you to be broken. You don’t want to be broken, sullied, dirty, do you, Polly?”
I swallowed. “No,” I croaked.
“Good. It’s decided.”
He stood, and I sank into the bed as it sprung up with the release of his weight. But there was still an immovable weight on my chest.
I watched him move to a bag on the armchair by the window.
He pulled a laptop out, went to sit across from me on the other bed and opened it up.
The tapping of the keys echoed in the room.
I wondered if I’d be able to hear the tapping of laptop keys again and not be reminded of this moment. But that would be a blessing, I told myself. Because that would mean this moment was in the past and I was okay, whole in the future.
“I’ll need your bank login details,” he said, glancing up from the screen. “And then we can arrange the transfer.”
I blinked. “The transfer?” I repeated.
He sighed, long and exaggerated as if he were a tired parent dealing with a sullen child. “Yes, Polly,” he said. “The people I told you about, the ones who want to hurt you. They need money. Money I don’t have because your stupid fucking...” He stopped himself from saying the word that I guessed was his label for women he couldn’t control. “Because I lost it in the divorce,” he said after a beat, his voice shaking from the effort it was taking him to keep it even and pleasant. “Now you don’t need that money. It’s one of the things I love about you. You’re so low maintenance.” He worded it like an insult. “So it’s not hurting anyone by transferring the money. In fact, it’s saving the hurt.”
The threat was painted in the air.
But he didn’t need to keep reminding me. It was carved into my bones.