Hell by J.L. Beck
9
Rowan
I really wishI could get a handle on this guy.
And I really wish I understood why I want to get a handle on him at all. This is a temporary arrangement. There doesn’t have to be anything more to it than that. Like he said, two down. Two to go. And once that’s over, we’re finished. There doesn’t have to be anything more than that—and there shouldn’t be. I have no business in his world, no business with him.
It would be a lot easier to keep that in mind if he wasn’t so unpredictable. One minute, he’s practically throwing me around, treating me like a thing. An object. Something without any real feelings or thoughts. Like I’m only here for him, for his sake, for his pleasure.
Then he goes and tucks me in with a kiss on my forehead. I’ve never felt so cared for. My brain is screwing with me, is all. I’m so used to being treated like shit that the slightest little kindness has me all confused.
It would’ve been easier to wrap my head around last night if he had left me the way I was, on the floor, trying to pull my mind and my body together after what he did. Considering how he treated me, how rough and almost brutal he was, to leave me on the floor without a backward glance would make sense. I could understand that. There wouldn’t be any questions this morning.
I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to him than what he shows the world. Because for a minute there, he was tender. Sweet and gentle. He treated me like I was more than a few holes for him to fill. Like I mattered.
I’m not an idiot, though. I’m not about to pretend there’s more to us than a business arrangement. He’s getting what he paid for, and that’s it. And if anything, I should be grateful for his consideration. Something tells me that psychopath at the club with the knife wouldn’t be so considerate.
Just the thought of that wack job is enough to get me out of bed. A hot shower helps relax muscles I strained during all that fighting last night. It’s a good thing this is a temporary arrangement, or else I would be walking around with a heating pad all the time.
Even after that, after I fix a little breakfast and some coffee, I can’t get Lucian out of my head. I can’t stop looking toward the bedroom, remembering everything.
That’s it. I can’t stay here all day, going crazy. After washing up the breakfast dishes, I decide to get dressed and go out. It’s times like this when I feel the absence of friends. Other girls, especially. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do, go shopping together? Granted, I never did like shopping with anybody else. I loved spending time with Eve, but shopping wasn’t included in that. Her coming from a rich family was never more apparent than in the times we spent at the mall. When you grow up without any money, every purchase takes consideration. It’s a habit I’ve never been able to break. I doubt I ever will.
Nobody has patience for that kind of thing if they don’t understand how it feels. When a shopping trip isn’t just something you do for fun on a Saturday afternoon. On top of that, I hate standing around, waiting for other people to make up their minds. It bores me. I would rather shop by myself, even if I can’t help but feel a little jealous of the girls walking together in groups at the mall.
The grass is always greener, right?
I can’t help but be tempted by the aroma of cinnamon and sugar as I walk past the Cinnabon stand. Maybe I’ll stop by later before I leave. It’s been ages since I’ve had one of those completely addictive treats. There are girls who look to be around my age hanging around the coffee stand, where a pair of cute college-age guys are working. They might as well live on another planet. They’re so different from me.
What would they think if they knew about the club only a handful of miles from here? I have to bite back a smile. None of them would guess what I’ve seen, what I’ve done.
And compared to Lucian, those guys behind the stand might as well be children. Let the other girls have them.
That’s a dangerous train of thought. I need to stop thinking that way, or else I might end up regretting it. Lucian’s not mine, and he never will be. I don’t mean anything to him. As far as I’m concerned, he’s given me the funds for this little shopping trip, and he’s made it possible for me not to have to take whatever shitty job hires me first. But that’s where it ends.
As I walk away from the stand, I can’t help but feel like there are eyes on me. It’s not one of the guys working there, that’s for sure—they’re too busy being flirted with, acting like their job is super important and sexy. I look around behind me, over my shoulder, but I can’t see anybody out of the ordinary. Just people walking around, a few older folks who look like they’re getting their exercise for the day, a pair of women pushing strollers.
For one second, I wonder if Lucian is somewhere around here. If he’s watching me again. Following me around, waiting to strike. I wish the idea didn’t excite me the way it does. Like I almost hope he’s watching from across the food court as I walk through.
Just my imagination running away. After the past week, who could blame it?
I decide to stop in one of the department stores at the far end of the mall. I like the smell of the perfume counter. It reminds me of shopping trips with Mom when I was a little girl. It always felt so fancy and special, walking past the makeup and perfume and jewelry counters. Everything smelled nice. Everything was shiny. So unlike the rest of my life.
I pass the accessories department and eye a couple of cute bags—mine is worn-out, the strap a little tattered after years of use. I make a mental note to stop by on my way out, then continue to the women’s section.
It’s the weirdest thing. I still can’t shake the feeling that somebody’s watching. Sure, there are security cameras all over the place, but that’s not what I’m feeling. That’s not what makes goose bumps rise over my arms. It isn’t even the sense of employees watching because they think I’ll steal something, which I’ve experienced before.
“Can I help you?”
I jump about a mile when I hear the girl’s voice right next to me. She backs up a step, eyes wide. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s okay.” I laugh, even if my laugh is a little shaky. “I’m jumpy today, I guess.”
“Can I help you with anything?” She gestures toward the T-shirts I’m holding. “I can take them to a dressing room if you want. Get it ready for you.”
“That would be great, thank you.” I hand them to her and decide to look for jeans. I hate shopping for jeans, but I do need at least one new pair. It’s just such a hassle with every brand being sized differently. Men have it so much easier when it comes to shopping for clothes.
I decide to grab a couple of pairs in different sizes to see which fits better. I’m about to head for the dressing room when a rack full of pretty dresses catches my eye. They come in different colors—purple, blue, pink, black, and white. I don’t have any place special to wear one, but I can’t help wondering how one of them would look on me. I can’t see spending the money on something I might never wear, though, so it’s no use.
This time, when I feel eyes on me, I know it’s the girl who’s been helping. “That would look great on you.” She pulls out a blue dress and holds it up to me, tilting her head to the side. “With your hair and eyes?”
I know it’s her job, and I know she’s trying to make a commission, but I can’t help feeling a little rush of excitement. She’s right; it would look great on me. “I guess I’ll try it on.” I choose one in my size, and she leads me to the dressing room, where she’s already left the shirts I picked up earlier.
The dress I’ll leave for last, like dessert at the end of a meal. The jeans are all sort of a disappointment—the pair that fits my hips and butt best are a little too loose at the waist. I’ll have to find a belt. The T-shirts fit well but are thin, so the lace on my bra shows up. Maybe I’ll look for a couple of smooth T-shirt bras before leaving the store. Better yet, I’ll stop in at the lingerie store a few doors down.
The bottom line is, I have options, and that feels good. Of course, it’s not easy to enjoy shopping when money is tight. But I have a little wiggle room today.
Finally, I try on the dress. It’s not even anything that special. The sort of thing I’d wear to a wedding or someplace like that. But it’s pretty, with tiny crystals around the low neckline, and the fabric swishes around my knees. It’s been a long time since I owned anything nice for no other reason than it makes me feel pretty when I wear it.
I wonder what Lucian would think of it.
I wonder what that says about me.
There’s a three-way mirror outside the door, and I decide to take a look. The salesgirl will probably flatter me to hell and back in hopes of making a sale, but that’s okay. I haven’t been flattered in a long time, either. Sometimes a girl needs that.
My hand is on the knob. I turn it just enough to disengage the lock.
Which is when the door slams open, and I’m shoved against the wall.
It takes a second to understand what’s happening since it’s all happening so fast. I don’t even realize right away who pushed me back into the room.
Until he takes me by the throat and slams me against the wall, harder this time. Very deliberately.
It’s the cologne I recognize first, and the scent of it makes my stomach lurch while my brain explodes in panic. I should’ve known… I should have left the state.
His breath is hot, rancid, wrapping around my face when he leans in close enough for our noses to touch. “You fucking bitch. I knew I’d find you. I always said I’d find you if you ever ran away from me, didn’t I?”
I can barely choke out his name. “Eric, please.” It’s hardly a whisper.
His eyes are so hard, just the way they’ve been in my nightmares. “Please what, bitch? After making me look for you all this time.” His hand tightens around my throat, cutting off my air and making tears spring to my eyes. I hate those tears. I hate them because I know he loves them. He wants to make me cry. But he wants to do a lot worse than that, too.
“I should fucking kill you,” he hisses. “For putting me to all this trouble. Making me look like an asshole when you ran away.” He raps my head against the wall for emphasis, hard enough to make me see stars.
“Please, don’t…” Already the world is starting to go gray around the edges. I claw at his hand, but it’s like trying to pry at an iron band. No use. If anything, he squeezes tighter.
“Now, here’s what’s going to happen.” He’s eye-to-eye with me, and I can smell liquor on his breath. He’s always worse when he’s been drinking. “You’re coming with me. We’re going home. And if you’re lucky, you’ll be able to leave the house without sunglasses in a couple of weeks. Got it?”
I can’t stop the tears now. Everything in me tells me to fight, but it’s no use. Not against him. I’ve learned that lesson the hard way.
Still, the thought of leaving the mall with him and going back to the hell he put me through for so long is so ugly. I’ll die there. He’ll kill me, or I’ll kill myself. Either way, I’m not suffering anymore. I can’t. I’ve been through too much to get away from him.
All of this and so much more flies through my head as he chokes me. “Answer me,” he whispers, lifting his chin, baring his teeth. “Answer me now, bitch. Got it?”
I shake my head as much as I can, just an inch or two to either side. “No.”
His eyes widen a fraction, and his already red face goes a deeper shade. “What?”
“I said no.” And I won’t cry anymore. Not because of him, not ever. “I’m not going with you.”
I know I’m in trouble even before he smiles. Before the back of his other hand meets the side of my face and sets off an explosion behind my eyes. He holds me up by my throat and hits me again, this time with a fist. Blood rolls down my chin, onto his hand once he’s split my lip.
He lets go of me, and I start to slide down the wall, but he picks me up under my arms and steadies me before backhanding me again, and this time, I can’t help letting out a cry when my head strikes the wall, and the world goes gray all over again. I end up in a heap on the floor, arms crossed over my head as he winds up for another hit.
“What’s happening in here?” It’s the salesgirl, trying to open the door. He’s standing in front of it, but she manages to open it an inch or two, just enough to see me. “Oh, my god.”
“Get the fuck out of here.” Eric slams the door shut. “Nosy bitch.”
“I’m calling the police!” I can see under the door, and sure enough, she runs off toward the sales floor. I wonder if she realizes he’ll kill me before the cops ever show up.
But he doesn’t. He settles for kicking me, his foot landing on my hip. “This isn’t over, bitch. Watch your back. You can’t hide from me.” Then he opens the door and storms out. Only when I can’t see him anymore do I let my arms fall from over my head.
The girl comes running back, hands over her mouth. “My god, I’m so sorry. I was on the other side of the floor. I didn’t know—”
“It’s okay.” I can barely speak; both lips are already swollen, bleeding all over the place. Then I realize in horror that I’ve bled all over the dress, the one I felt so pretty in, the one I was ready to buy even if I didn’t have anywhere to wear it.
That’s what breaks me. That’s what makes my chest tighten, what makes me shake all over.
“It’s not okay. You look—”
“I know.” I manage to stand with her help, though I have to lean against the wall. Everything’s still a little fuzzy.
“I’m going back to the phone to call the cops.”
“No, please.” I stop short of grabbing her since I don’t want to get blood on her. “Don’t do that. It’ll only make things worse.”
There are tears in her eyes, and I realize she can’t be any older than me. She might even still be in high school. It’s almost enough to make me laugh. I might as well be a walking warning. Don’t let a cute guy trick you into thinking you’re less than nothing, or you might end up like me.
I look down at myself, and for some reason, it’s the blood I’ve dripped onto the dress that makes my eyes well up again. “I’ll pay for this.”
“Don’t worry about it. The store can afford it.” She waits outside the dressing room while I put my own clothes on—carefully, so carefully—then ushers me to an employee bathroom where I can clean myself up before stepping outside again. I’m so ashamed, but she insists it’s okay. Everything’s okay.
Everything’s not okay, and it has never been. I only lied to myself enough times that I started to believe the lie.
