by Jordan Marie
“Look at you! You think you can hide things from me, Melinda? Will you never learn? Do you think you could paint yourself up and people won’t see how ugly you are? You’re lucky I agreed to your father’s request and kept you from being on the streets. The least you could do is know your place and be grateful—instead of being a sneaky, conniving, cold bitch. Your cunt is so fucking dry it’s no wonder I have to fuck other women. You’d freeze a man’s dick off. Then again, maybe you just need more practice. You want to be a whore?” He asks, and his face goes close to my ear, and his voice drops down. “I’ll give you exactly what you want, dear wife…DONALD!” He screams, and it’s in that moment I know, if this happens, I won’t survive. I won’t even retain a piece of me. He’s been slowly killing me since I married him, but this…this will destroy me.
Donald comes in like the ever faithful dog he is. I can see him through the mirror.
“Melinda wants to be a whore, Donald, so I’ve decided we will teach her. You may fuck her face while I continue to teach my wife how a woman accepts her man.”
“Yes, sir,” he says, and the eagerness in his voice awakens what fight I have left.
I can’t do this. I can’t. I know I will never be able to stop them, but I have to try. I have to. Donald comes around to the side of me. Michael, uses my hair to pull me onto my knees.
He bends down and whispers into my ear, “Open for him and suck his cock all the way in. Show us what a whore does, Melinda—since you wish to be one so badly.”
He pushes my face towards Donald’s hard shaft, and I refuse to open my mouth. Donald yanks hard on my hair, and I yell out as he pushes my mouth down on him. It’s vile. I promise myself that I will never taste a man’s cock again. Never have them in my mouth, and never feel powerless around them again. With the last ounce of rebellion, I have, I pull away, releasing him, then I look Donald in the eye and bite. I bite so hard on the head of his cock, I know that it’s his blood filling my mouth now, not my own. I don’t let up. Michael is pulling at my head and my shoulders, but I don’t let go. I bite. I bite, and I hold on with every ounce of anger I have inside of me.
Donald is screaming. That just makes me clench my teeth together even firmer. I know there will be hell to pay. I don’t care anymore. I just don’t care. That’s the last thought I have before I see from my peripheral vision a large bottle of liquor slam into the side of my head. I don’t want to stop biting, but the world goes dark.
I don’t know how long I’ve been out. It could have been hours or even days. I am in my room. I’m lying on the bed, and I’m not wearing anything. There’s a stale smell of smoke in the room. For a minute, I’m afraid that he has set my bed on fire, but there is no heat. I can barely see. My face is even more swollen, and I feel…heavy and drugged. They’ve continued beating me, even while I was unconscious. My sides are sore and I figure I have some cracked ribs. It’s a feeling I can recognize, because it’s happened so many times before. I try to sit up, but I can’t.
Michael enjoys hurting me, but it has never been this bad…it has never been like this. I know if I don’t get away soon, he will kill me. I drag myself with my good hand up the bed, pulling on the sheets beneath me. I reach the edge and look down and there’s a waste basket with the burnt remnants of my box. My things are gone… on top of them is the medallion. It’s unrecognizable now and is charred from the fire. I’ve been out awhile, because the metal is no longer hot. I stare at the medallion. I stare at the charred, unrecognizable medal of Saint Alexander. The patron saint of bachelors, victims of betrayal and torture. If that is not irony, I don’t know what is. I grasp it in my hand and pledge to get away. I don’t know how long it will take, but I will get away from Michael Kavanagh. It’s the last thought I have before I go under again and lose myself in the darkness.
Six Months Later
Melinda
Six months…I have tried to get away for the last six months. I haven’t stopped trying since my rape. Every time…every damn time…he finds me. You would think in a city as big as Manhattan and in a state as populated as New York, I could find safety. It makes me feel stupid that I haven’t. The truth is, living with Michael and listening to him talk about me, I’ve not felt smart in a long time. I’ve not felt…able? I feel alone. I have no one, save Nicole and Ray who are friends left over from TOA days. It hasn’t been that long since I was at Three Oaks Academy, but it feels like another lifetime. I’m not that person anymore. I will never be that person again. The name Melinda makes me physically sick. I hate her. She is weak. She is stupid.
Melinda is a failure. Melinda tried to run away again, got to Maine and…got caught. Michael owns the police. He owns…everyone. I know this for sure now, because he carted me back to New York, and I’m currently locked in the basement of Michael’s house. It has never been our house, or my house. Everything belongs to Michael…even me. I’ve decided this after a week of being beaten, and having him show me over and over just exactly how stupid I was. Those were his words. “Melinda is too stupid to know when she has it made. Melinda is too stupid to know when she has everything other women would kill for. Melinda is too stupid to live.”
My bloody hands reach up to touch the leather dog collar around my neck and move it around just a little to get air on my neck.
If you’re going to act like a dumb animal Melinda, I shall chain you like one.
My hands are raw from trying to protect my body against Michael’s and Donald’s blows. My eyes are swollen shut and my lips are busted and cracked, from both the abuse and the fact that Michael hasn’t really been feeding me or giving me water regularly. I’m having trouble breathing, and I’m pretty sure I’m running a fever.
I hear the door at the top of the stairs open, and I know I must be really sick, because I can’t drum up the courage to care. The creaking noise of the wood can be heard with each heavy footstep. I can’t see, so I don’t bother raising my head off the cold cement floor. I prepare myself for more abuse. That is all I can do. Because Michael is right, I am stupid. No smart person would be trapped like this. No smart person would be living in this hell.
“Oh honey! What has he done to you?”
I hear a woman’s voice from somewhere above my head. I know the voice. It’s Mrs. Marten’s voice, from next door. I don’t know her that well. She’s an odd bird in her fifties, with purple hair, who wears yoga pants and tank tops with in your face sayings like ‘Sucking Cock since 1959’. I have always liked her, Michael refused to talk to her. He would have forced her to move years ago, but she has more money than him.
I want to talk, but I can’t make my throat work. It’s so dry and sore…
“Don’t you worry, honey. We’ll get you help. I knew when I hadn’t heard from you this past month that fucker was up to something. Someone needs to cut off his balls and shove them down his throat. Yes, indeed…Hello? I need an ambulance and the police right away at 103 Pleasant Hill Drive. Yes! It is an emergency! If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t have called!”
I want to warn her, to tell her to stop. The minute the police are contacted, they will let Michael know. I can’t manage it though. I hear some noise, and I wish I could see, but the room is black to me. There’s so much pain and my head is too foggy to make anything out. Hell, maybe she’s not even really here. Wouldn’t it suck if I am dying and my last dream is of Ms. Martens? Jesus, couldn’t I at least have Johnny Depp save me?
I don’t know how much time passes. I feel someone brushing my hair along the side of my face. I want to scream at them to stop, because even that faint touch…hurts. Eventually, there are more footsteps and voices. I want to try and stay awake to find out what is happening. I can’t, no matter how much I fight it, darkness beckons.
It is days later when I wake up in the hospital. I don’t know how Michael explained things, but somehow, he managed to. I know, because his face is the first I see when I come through. I look around the room for help, but it’s empty. I reach out for the nurse-call
button and Michael grabs my hand, exerting so much pressure I feel like he may re-break the fingers which are already splinted.
“I wouldn’t do that, darling wife of mine.”
I lick my lips and try to speak. At this point, I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve spoken, but obviously awhile, because my voice comes out dry and cracked.
“I didn’t Michael, I wouldn’t…”
He leans down closer to me, so that his lips are beside my ear. He’s wearing some expensive cologne, which might smell great on another man, but the scent is what I associate with Michael, and it makes my stomach burn in revulsion.
“I must play nice while you’re in here my dear, but I thought you would need a reminder of why you shouldn’t try to upset me.”
“A reminder?” The fear is thick in my voice. I hate it.
“Oh yes, Melinda”
He holds his phone in front of me. I’m relieved, because I thought he was getting ready to beat me again. I honestly don’t think I can survive another beating. Then he pushes a button and a video plays on his phone.
Ms. Martens is tied up in a porcelain bathtub, gagged. Her large eyes are wide, with fear. I know, because it is an expression that is permanently worn by me. My heart kicks up in denial and a moan of sadness escapes me. My hand goes to my mouth to keep from screaming, as I watch Donald place her fingers in this metal tool and with one push of a lever a finger is cut off. Donald continues, one by one with such a perfect, cold precision until all that is left is her hand from the knuckle down and blood is everywhere. I gag and try to turn away, but Michael grabs my hair pulling my face back around, and then it gets worse. I watch as he stabs her, slowly and shallowly at first, and then with more vehemence. I watch as the life drains from her eyes. I don’t cry. I want to. I don’t scream. I need to. Instead, I let the weight and truth settle upon my shoulders. I am the reason this woman died.
Michael says more words. I have no idea what they are. I’m in shock. I don’t even react when he puts pressure on my chin and forces my lips and gives me his cold kiss. He leaves, and I’m sitting in the bed, listening to the beeps of the machines around me and crying. That’s how I am when the orderly comes in. His voice works through the haze surrounding my brain.
“He’ll kill you next time. You need to leave.”
I look at him. He’s older, late forties maybe? His dark hair is definitely more salt than pepper, and he has kind green eyes. But, then what do I know of kind?
“I know,” I whisper, because I do. I just don’t care anymore.
“You have to get away.”
“I’ve tried. He always finds me.”
“Do you have any friends to help you? To help you leave the state?”
“I’ve left the state, he finds me,” I answer, tired of this conversation already.
“What about friends he doesn’t know you talk to? Is there somewhere you can go that he’d never suspect you would pick? A way for you to get lost?”
My mind immediately goes to the only two friends I really have in the world, Ray and Nicole. I don’t want to get them involved. I couldn’t live with getting them hurt…or worse. I just couldn’t…Could I?
“He wouldn’t stop hunting me down…”
“Unless he thought you were dead.”
I look up at this stranger’s words. They give me hope. It’s a strange feeling…an odd feeling.
“How? He would never believe it.”
“Make him think you died trying to get away from him.”
My mind goes over his words. Ray would be able to help. He was bragging just last month about dating a hacker. He could help me…Can I do this? Can I risk my friends and put them in danger to do this? Would they be in danger if we succeed in making Michael think I am dead?
My palms are sweaty, my heart rate is crazy, and I feel like I’m on the edge of a cliff. The orderly hands me his cell phone. Briefly, I worry he is setting me up. Then I stare at the phone like it might bite me. I have two choices. I can stay here and die—let Michael kill me. Or, I can call Ray and get his and Nic’s help. I hesitate and can feel fear crawl all around me—surrounding me. I can’t let it win…not this time.
I wrap my hands around the phone, dial Ray’s number and pray I’m doing the right thing.
1
Dani
Arrival in London, Kentucky
I’ve not had much happiness in my life, but in the last year I have managed it. Living with Nicole and Ray was the best thing to ever happen to me. They helped me rebuild my life. Ray helped me burn down the house Michael made my prison. Then, with his help and that of the orderly, we got a Jane Doe from the hospital morgue. We made it appear I had been released from the hospital, came home against doctor’s orders, only to perish in a fire. They did it all, I couldn’t help. I was in such bad shape that I couldn’t even walk. I had to finish my recovery in Ray’s tiny apartment while his boyfriend fixed up my new identity. With a camera, some major league hacking and forged documents, Dani Smith was born.
I’m not sure who Dani is just yet. I’m still trying to live up to the image I have of her in my head, but I know she’s loud, outrageous, and unafraid. She will never bow down to a man. She will never let anyone control her life. She will embrace being a woman, but be the strongest one that ever walked. The only thing Dani and Melinda will ever have in common is their love of Ray and Nic. Regardless of my name, I will always put those two first in everything.
That’s the plan, and I live up to it mostly. There are days I forget. Days when parts of Melinda and the fear that helped to destroy her creeps in, and I have to fight to push it back. Today is not one of those days. Today, I’m driving down the road with my girl Nic, in her Mercedes convertible, the wind in my hair and feeling like I’m taking another step into Dani…at least the Dani I want to be.
I hold my hands up, letting the wind flow through my hair, and yell out, “Whoooooooo….”
It’s a fake sound to my ears, but as I look to the side, I notice that Nicole is smiling. So, my mission is achieved. If she honestly knew how I felt right now, it would hurt her. I’m excited to be moving with her, but I wish it was out West. I tried to talk her into it, I figure the more mileage between me and Michael, the better. Nicole insisted we didn’t have the money to do that. I suggested we use his money. She said no, that I might need it in the future. She didn’t say it, but I knew what she meant. She thought he might find me someday and we would have to run. Just the thought of that causes me to get dizzy, making black spots fill my vision, and I want to pass out. Panic attacks…I fucking hate them! They kick in without warning, and they get such a strong hold on me, it’s hard to breathe.
I look down and see my hands shake. Shit. I can’t do this right now. I fight to keep Nic and Ray clueless to the things I deal with. They’ve done enough and I seriously don’t want their pity. I can’t handle that.
“Hey, I’m thirsty!” I call out to Nic. I’m not. We’re only about fifteen or twenty minutes from the house we’ve rented. Yet, if I don’t get a drink and one of my pills, this panic attack will go from zero to sixty, and I’m going to let all of my crazy hang out. I can’t do that. I can’t…I won’t.
We’re just thirty minutes away!” She yells back, and you can tell she’s not excited about stopping.
“Big damn deal, let’s get some drinks and chocolate, girl!” I yell back, the music is annoying me and grating on my nerves. Panic attacks and loud noises do not mix, but this song, this speaker thumping sounds like something Dani would want.
Nic flips on her turn signal to get over and takes the upcoming exit.
I wrap a band in my hair, attaching a messy bun at the back of my neck. I need to keep my hands busy and hide the shaking.
“Whatcha’ want, bitch?” I ask, yelling over the music. Ludacris is blasting through the speakers. There’s this pain behind my eyes, and the blinding black spots are still floating in my vision. I need to get out of here quick. There are people everywhe
re and it feels like all of their eyes are on me. Goosebumps skitter across my skin and a blast of cold…stark cold fear, chills me to the bone.
“Pepsi, fountain if they have it,” she says back, her attention landing on a bunch of bikers to the side of the parking lot. I nod and try not to run into the gas station. I manage, barely. It is definitely a fast pace, with my head down. I’m counting backwards from a hundred in my head, trying to stave off the attack. My eyes are glued to my feet as I say a number in my mind with each footstep, making them smooth and rhythmic to try and slow my thoughts and heart rate down. I really should have looked up, because I run into a solid steel wall—of muscle.
I look up to see the sexiest man I have ever laid eyes on in my life. Skin tanned and warmed lovingly by the sun, beautiful dark hair scattered in different directions with the wind. A leather biker cut fitted over his chest with a black, sleeveless tank, and under that tattoos, lots of tattoos. Praise Jesus, this man has gorgeous ink, and he looks like a piece of art. In another life, this man would have made Melinda pray he noticed her. Would he notice Melinda? In her retro-styled dresses, her perfectly pulled back pony tail, and looking like she belonged on the set of Leave It to Beaver?
