I wonder idly if being ripped apart by a coyote would be more painful than whatever the killer has planned for me.
A second later, I jump as a loud detonation erupts in the forest. I inhale sharply, then bring my hands to my chest and stomach, searching for the bullet. There is none. But I hear the sound of a heavy body hitting the dirt, and I realize the coyote’s been hit.
The killer saved me.
I don’t even have time to figure it out. Before I know it, I’m running again, and now, my breathing is audible, loud wheezing punctuated by little strangled sobs and groans.
Of course: he saved me becausehewants to be the one to kill me. He probably wouldn’t get paid by Damien if…
That thought is interrupted abruptly as two hands grasp at my legs, pulling me down forcefully onto the ground. I feel the heavy weight of a person throwing himself on my thighs, pinning them down beneath him, and a moment later, two arms press themselves violently around my waist.
I struggle for a few moments, flailing around uselessly, panting harder than ever, before the person brings his face to my neck, and inhales.
It’s Damien. Oh, my God. It’s Damien.
I would know his scent anywhere. That faint fragrance of cedar cologne mingling with his muskiness. I close my eyes and breathe it in, even as my heart breaks anew.
He flips me over onto my back and stares at me, still sitting on my legs, his arms pinning mine to the ground.
“Fight me,” he growls.
I shake my head, tears pricking in my eyes.
“I said,” he shouts, “fight me!”
He closes a hand over my neck and presses down. I gasp, trying to breathe in air, but he’s constricting my air flow. White spots edge into my vision, and soon I’m nearly blind, wondering if this is how I will go, strangled to death by the man I love. At the thought, a tear spills out of my eye, then another one.
He lets me go then, only to slide his hand down to my chin, grabbing my cheeks hard and pressing them together. I take in little spurts of oxygen, my vision clearing at last.
“Speak, then,” he thunders. “Say something!”
But it’s impossible. My voice is lost under heavy layers of sadness and loss. I haven’t said a word in nearly eight months.
More tears bubble up in my eyes, and his own flash angrily. He flips me around again, so that my mouth is in the dirt, and panic coils in my chest as I breathe it in.
I can’t bear to be buried again. I can’t bear it.
But he doesn’t seem to want to kill me. At least, not yet. He rakes his hands over me possessively, clawing at me, leaving red streaks all over my skin. He grabs a fistful of my hair and snaps my head back, breathing me in as though he can’t get enough of me.
“What is this?” he spits out, noticing the shirt I’m wearing for the first time. “You have no right to wear my clothes.” He drags it up as though he means to wrangle it off me, but he pauses. He must have noticed I wasn’t wearing panties, because I feel his stiffness against my thigh, and he reaches out a hand to grip my left bottom cheek harshly.
“Too fucking skinny,” he grimaces to himself.
Then he lets go of me, pushing me into the dirt, causing me to whimper in fright. But he doesn’t pay me any attention.
“I’m going to make you wish you’d never been born,” he utters, and a second later, I hear the sliding of leather through denim.He’s removed his belt, and I know what that means, even before it comes down on me.
He strikes me again and again, and the beltings I twice received at his hands are nothing compared to this. Each blow is white-hot, and I don’t have to look to know they leave angry red stripes all over my bottom, lower back and thighs. They rain down on me, and I barely have time to register one swat before the next one burns me.
Before long I’m squirming, dancing under the blows, trying to protect myself, trying to scurry away. If anything, my wriggling excites him, or at least, it satisfies him in some dark way, because he whips me even harder, his foot pressing down on my back, keeping me there. He doesn’t care that my hands repeatedly move backward, trying to protect myself. He only hits them too.
At last, he stops. I hear loud, wracking sobs that seem to shake the forest floor, and I’m embarrassed to realize they come from me. They’re the only sound I hear for a long time. But finally, the pain subsides enough for me to be able to raise a trembling head, and I discover he’s gone.
Slowly, I rise to my feet, my entire body shaking with pain and exhaustion. I begin to hobble back to my house, realizing for the first time just how far I ran. Pink streaks from the rising sun thread through the forest, the chilly morning drizzle sparkling in the glow, making a surreal scene that feels at odds with my bleeding, sweaty body. I walk slowly, each step making me wince in pain. By the time I’ve returned to the house the sun is high in the sky.
I hesitate in front of the door. He must have a double of my keys. I’m not safe from him inside. But I’m not safe from him outside either. And anyway, I’m not sure I want to be.
I enter the house, straining from the effort. I’m so looking forward to collapsing in my bed that it takes me a moment tonotice it.
