Nearly Broken

by Devon Ashley

  “When I finally figured out the vent, I began trying to get it off. It took four days.” And four more rapes. “I had to move the bed and jump up and down while trying to loosen the screws. I was so exhausted and weak because he only fed me once a day. And the drug was always coming out in some dosage. He only upped it when he needed me knocked out and only turned it off once I was too drugged to fight him off.

  “Finally, I got the cover off and stuffed the vent with the fitted sheet. Then I waited for him to come back down. I laid under the covers and hid the vent cover under the pillow. And when he got close enough, I bashed his head in with it.” He reeked of liquor, just like he always did when he used me. The stench was usually strong enough to waft up my nose and snap my mind free of the drug’s trance momentarily, like a shot of adrenaline, but still rendered my body useless, forcing me to know what he was doing against my will.

  “I ran out of the basement but I only succeeded in replacing one prison for another. There were still iron bars and steel doors. I was desperate, and thought the only way I was going to get out was if the people monitoring the security system disarmed it. So I set the fire.”

  I looked to my horribly damaged arms. My sleeves had been pushed up this whole time and I didn’t even notice.

  “But the damn curtains weren’t burning very well. So I grabbed some wine bottles from the kitchen. The first I threw did nothing but hit the ground rolling and settle beneath the fire. So I smashed off the top of the next one and slung it at the fire and along the walls so it’d travel faster. I did it over and over again, but I guess one of the bottles weren’t wine. The moment I slung the liquid, I swear it caught fire midair and flashed back at me like the hand of God.”

  Tears really began pushing their way out then, burning and stinging my raw eyes and sensitive skin just beneath them. “I think I angered God or something for what I did, because all I know is there was a loud boom and I was thrown backwards. Whatever was in that bottle splashed against my skin during the boom, and most of those spots were on fire. The arm holding the bottle got it the worst. I consider myself damn lucky that it didn’t get my hands or face, but it got my arms, my chest and my abdomen. And all I could do was roll myself over the rug and beat myself with an afghan to put it out.” I still shuddered over the pain.

  “It took forever for the doors to unlock, and by then I was in so much pain I just wanted to lay there and die. The firemen grabbed me and had me sent to the hospital, but I snuck out before the police could question me.”

  Squeezing myself harder, I whined, “I didn’t want to go to jail. I was glad that asshole was dead, okay? But it was still my fault. I set the fire that killed him. And when the fireman asked me if anyone else was in the house, I said no. Because I wanted him dead!” And I didn’t care. I’d do it all over again, except next time, I’d burn that other fucker, too.

  They changed me. Now I was ugly…both inside and out.

  “But all the police had to do was check with his lawyer to know I was the one staying in that house. They’ll know it was me.” My breaths deepened, my insides so queasy I wanted to throw up. I swallowed, hard. “Sometimes I think I should’ve just let the fire take me, too.”

  “No. No!” Nick finally said. Arms pulled at me, as I still lied on the floor in a tight fetal position, trying desperately to protect myself from an enemy I thought long gone. He gathered me up, and my vision spun a few circles, but calmed when his hands squeezed both sides of my face. His eyes were red and puffy, and streams of tears marked his paler-than-normal cheeks. I never even heard him cry.

  Firmly, he said, “You listen to me. No one’s coming for you, because you did nothing wrong. That man… He…” His eyes closed, finding it hard to continue. “That fucking bastard was killing you little by little every day. Fire was too merciful for his sins. What you did was self-defense, and even if the police did find you one day, I promise you they’ll never charge you with anything. You did the world a fucking favor getting rid of that piece of shit. And don’t you ever fucking call yourself ugly again. Don’t you ever feel guilty for what you had to do to escape.”

  I couldn’t answer him, my jaw quivering too hard within his grasp, the tears pouring harder than ever. “But there’s still the other guy,” I whispered.

  “What guy?”

  The one who loved to cut me. “There was a friend that knew about me. With only one body recovered from the fire, I knew it was just a matter of time before he caught up to me. He’ll never let me get away with it.” Agitation growing within, my voice began to panic. “And I saw him tonight! Outside the diner. He found me and I won’t stay here to be taken again!”

  “You listen to me. No one is coming for you. You’re just seeing things. I was right behind you and nobody was hanging around the diner. If that man had any way of tracking you, he would’ve found you a long time ago.”

  I didn’t believe him. He was still out there, and as long as he was, no part of me would ever believe otherwise. I shook my head, my body shaking so violently I was unable to offer anything more.

  “Damn it, Megan.” He released my face and stumbled to his feet. Once grounded, he swooped me up and carried me to bed. Practically swaddling our bodies in the blanket, he forced my body to lean into his. “You’re safe now. No one’s ever going to hurt you anymore.”

  Safe. That was a word that hadn’t been in my vocabulary for quite some time, and I still didn’t believe in it. But locked within Nick’s firm grasp, I could almost actually believe it. Mentally and physically exhausted, I willingly succumbed, and he held me in the world’s tightest embrace even long after I cried myself to sleep.

  When I awoke, I felt cold. Nick was no longer behind me, and the blanket he had pulled over me just didn’t provide the warmth and comfort his body had. I sat up, my heavy eyelids trying to focus on the dimly lit apartment. Light was shining outside, but it wasn’t squeezing brightly past the edges of the blinds, so I knew morning had already come and gone.

  Nick was sitting on the sofa, his back to me, head pointing down. “Nick?” I called softly, even the muscles controlling my mouth was still numb with sleep.

  He turned his upper torso, a small smile trying to form. “Hey,” he replied softly back. “How are you feeling?”

  “Sleepy.” I tossed the blanket off me and swung my legs off the bed.

  Nick bent over and disappeared a split second before he arose from the sofa, his sights set on me now. “Then why are you getting out of bed? Go back to sleep.” He sat down beside me and my body involuntarily swayed toward him as the bed sank. His arm reached around my shoulders and I leaned my head against his neck, a trace of cologne lingering from the night before. I felt really dazed.

  What did I do? I told him. Everything. Admitting that was like baring a huge piece of my soul, and I felt more naked than ever. I had shared that horrible secret, and the ugliness inside me, thinking it would run him off, leaving him so repulsed he’d throw me away like the used tissue that I was.

  But it didn’t. He was still here, still trying to wrap his arms around me, to comfort me.

  Even worse, I was relieved, my body aching for the touch he supplied me, like the relief that followed when an addict gave into temptation during withdrawal.

  But my nightmare was far from over. Even though I had admitted the cause of my pain, of the torturing images that would haunt me until the day I died, it didn’t alter the truth of my worst fear. That I had killed, and there was someone out there that knew that, someone who was probably just as cruel and sinister as the one who burned. I buried my head in my hands and hung my neck. “What if I’m not seeing things and that guy really is out there somewhere? Looking for me?”

  “I stand by what I said before. If he had any way of tracking you, he’d have found you by now.”

  Oh, how I wanted to believe every single one of those words. To think that I could walk away, move forward and make some attempt at a life.

  He must have sensed the hesit
ation in my sigh, because he gingerly tilted my chin until we were eye to eye. “You’re safe with me. I promise I’ll protect you.” I moaned when his forehead pressed against mine, his hand reaching over to caress my cheek, our lips brushing so softly that I actually believed the passion behind those words.

  “But be honest with me. Did you ever talk to someone about what happened? I mean about what happened before your last day? ” he skirted.

  My head swayed lazily. After being taken to the hospital, it wasn’t easy avoiding the staff to sneak back out, as the pain killers they managed to get in me before I could rip out that IV made me lethargic. My arms and abdomen had been wrapped up at least, but I had nothing on my back but a hospital gown. I had to risk getting caught entering a staff locker room to dig some used scrubs out of the laundry bin near the door. I suppose I could have ventured farther in to find fresh ones, but the risk just wasn’t worth it.

  It wasn’t long before I stumbled upon a girl my age working the street. I think she knew, like she could read it in my eyes, see it by the way I wrapped myself up in my arms and had trouble making eye contact. She told me about a women’s shelter she knew would take me in. I don’t know what would’ve happened to me if they hadn’t. They gave me food, clothes…even let me help out for two weeks so I could earn the cash that paid for my ticket out of there. Luckily, they had a nurse that volunteered for them, and she was able to help me deal with the pain and apply clean dressings for my burns. The women there wanted to help me more, but I wouldn’t let them, wouldn’t tell them anything that had happened. I just wanted to get as far away as possible. And they respected my decision once I lied and told them I was eighteen.

  “Do you need to talk to someone? Other than me?”

  “No,” I whispered. And it was the truth. Though some of the images still haunted my thoughts, it had been a year and a half already. I felt letting a shrink get into my head at this point would be counterproductive, only dredging up what I had successfully put to rest.

  “Tell you what,” Nick said, his lips hovering near my cheek. “Let me take a quick shower, then you can shower while I go get us something to eat.”

  I nodded and murmured in agreement, even though I had no desire to eat anything. He kissed me tenderly once more, then disappeared behind the bathroom door. The sound of water helped to snap me out of my Nick-induced haze and I made my way to the sofa. I didn’t want to think, because I knew the darkness all too well, my mind always trying to pull me under. I needed to drown myself out, needed to focus on something else, anything else, and I began to search the area around me for the TV remote. Nick was the one who actually watched it these days, and I had no idea what he did with it in between uses. Checking the floor, I noticed the corner of a book sticking out beneath the sofa and pulled it out.

  It was a brown leather album, one of those with sticky film, with enough room to hold either one picture vertically or two horizontally. I opened it up, expecting to see pictures of Nick’s family, but what I saw was a baby dressed in pink. There was no writing, only pictures, and my first thought was Nick had a daughter? I knew we’d just began dating, but still, how could he not mention that yet? And now I really began to wonder why he never wanted to discuss his family, or what the real reason was for him fleeing to this small town in Oregon.

  I kept flipping pages, and what I saw disturbed me. The girl kept getting older and older.

  And familiar. Way too familiar. As were the people in the photographs with her as she grew up.

  No…

  I didn’t believe it. Nick couldn’t do this, wouldn’t deceive me so badly. Not the guy I was completely falling for, who I just shared my deepest, darkest secrets with.

  No…

  The bathroom door opened and heavy steps made their way towards me. I never even heard the shower go off. I stood before him, waving the album in the air. “Nick? What is this?” When he saw what was clenched within my grasp, all expression fell from his face. “This is that girl that thought I was her sister. And that couple you insisted you take care of the other night? They’re her parents, right?” I hesitated, but still received nothing on his part. “Is that why you’re here? Why you work at my diner and asked to room with me?” My voice kept rising and rising because he wasn’t even offering a head shake to deny he’d been invading my personal space for his own agenda. And that just really pissed me off! “Fucking answer me already!” I yelled, chucking the photo album at him.

  He caught it awkwardly, and the jerky movement brought him to life. “Yes,” he stuttered. After releasing a deep sigh, he gave me a more profound yes. My eyes narrowed as my head began to swing with slow, determined shakes. His hand patted the air before him in attempt to calm me down. “Please, let me explain. I’m just here to watch over you.”

  Watch over me? He was ready to bed me!

  “Why?” I asked bitterly, gritting my teeth and fisting my hands. I already told that girl I wasn’t her sister. Why the hell were they secretly hounding me?

  “Fuckin’ shit,” he muttered, dropping the album on the coffee table. Resigned, he said heavily, “You were so close to figuring this out on your own. The album… I was going to give it to you once you began fitting the missing pieces together. God, Claire, you’re so close.”

  “I am not Claire,” I declared slowly.

  “Yes. You. Are,” he replied, just as slowly. “I was with you when you got that hydrangea tattoo on your hip, so unless you have a twin in the world with that exact tattoo, then you are Claire.”

  Annoyed, I spat, “My mother took me to get that tattoo when I aced my SATs. It was my reward.”

  “No. You got that tattoo as a birthday present to yourself when you turned seventeen. I was with you when you swiped your sister’s ID and I went with you to get it. And I was there to make fun of you the entire weekend afterwards because the damn thing wouldn’t stop itching. I have pictures on my old phone if you’d like to see some proof.”

  I crossed my arms and shook my head. It was like talking to a brick wall. “This is fucking ridiculous.” I got four steps closer to the door before Nick rushed over and wrapped his arms around me from behind, holding me firmly in place. Oh, hell to the NO! Fuming, I very distinctly said, “Nick. Let. Go.”

  I struggled against him, but my effort was futile, as his physical strength far surpassed my own. I was just about to start screaming when he pleaded, “Just hear me out for five minutes. If you don’t like what I have to say, I’ll walk out that door forever.”

  I huffed in exasperation. “Like I can trust what you say. You’ve been lying to me!”

  “No, I haven’t, Megan. I may have omitted a few details or intentionally avoided a few subject matters with you, but that’s only because I didn’t want to lie to you.”

  Apparently, he’d never heard of lying by omission.

  His arms slacken around my body, but still kept me captive against his chest. “I promise. After I tell you everything, you’ll know in your heart what I said feels right.”

  So long as he lets go. “Five minutes,” I said sharply through gritted teeth.

  “Fine. Five minutes. But you have to listen to what I have to say whether you agree with it or not.”

  Bitterly, I snapped, “Fine.” He released me then, and I stepped a few feet out of arm’s reach, my arms still hugging my body.

  “Since I only have five minutes, I’m not going to waste too much time over the obvious similarities.” He began ticking off his fingers. “You and Claire having the same height, same age, same brown hair and eyes and a matching tattoo you’re trying to play off as common, because it’s not. I’m going to just hit you with those nightmares you’ve been having. I’m not shouting for you to look up in the air. I’m shouting Claire. And that sense of fear, the danger that always seems to get you in the end? I’m trying to warn you that the danger is your so-called parents.”

  I rolled my eyes and groaned. So not only was I not me, but now my dead parents were a threat to
me. Please.

  “Don’t do that,” he demanded, pointing his finger at me. “You agreed to hear me out.”

  Narrowing my eyes tightly, I began chewing my lower lip. I didn’t like that coincidence, but when I didn’t protest any further, he continued.

  “Claire was a senior in high school when she went missing October 30, 2010. Nine other girls disappeared that same day. Some, like Claire, were in a car that got hit. Some were off walking by themselves. Shit, two of the girls were apparently walking together when they went missing. The police said all ten of the girls were most likely stolen by traffickers, who came into the city, abducted a handful, and got the hell back out again before anyone even realized what was happening.

  “Those people in your dream, who you think are your parents, were probably your handlers. They kept you for as long as it took to brainwash you into thinking whatever lies they needed you to believe. And I doubt they’re dead like you think they are. And that man you said was a family friend that took you in? Your handlers sold you to him. And when you didn’t go along with the transition, he locked you away. Because if he couldn’t have you willingly, he was going to have you…”

  One way or the other.

  Nick couldn’t finish that sentence out loud. Probably because I began cringing the moment he mentioned that sick bastard. And now that Nick knew what that asshole did to me, he had to know my head was filled with images I couldn’t keep suppressed. And the thought that I may have possibly been sold as a sex slave completely disgusted me.

  I didn’t like how my story began to align with Claire’s. I had always feared she may have suffered a similar fate, but now to imagine her story and mine were one in the same? The pain behind my eyes had been building the past few minutes, and I roughly stroked my brow bones in an outward motion. Could I really be Claire? The same girl who looked like my twin and apparently shared the same tattoo on the very same spot?