by Dori Lavelle
He must have seen my tiredness too, because he sighed and reached for my hand, helping me to my feet. He pulled back the bedsheets. “Lie down. Get some rest.”
My safety was tied to doing what he wanted. I would never be able to sleep with him in the room, but I climbed under the sheets and pulled them up to my neck. I expected him to leave, praying he would. But he climbed under the sheets next to me. He reached out, drew me to him, held me tight.
My mind raced. What was happening? I needed answers. I needed to know if Miles was here to stay.
“Miles?” I said, hoping if I called him by that name, he would stay longer.
“Yes,” he answered, his voice a shade deeper than it had been a few minutes ago.
“Don’t hurt me… Please don’t kill me.” My stomach clenched as I waited for his response.
“I can’t promise you that,” he said and shifted slightly. His body tensed. “Be ready to film tomorrow.”
Chapter Eight
When we entered the studio again the lights were bright, everything already set up.
My eyes burned from sobbing all night. It hadn’t taken long for Miles to be suppressed, and for Alvin to unleash his fury on me.
My attempts to get Miles back, to plead with Alvin, had angered him further. As soon as he’d shown up, he’d pulled me out of the comfortable bed and thrown me back into my dungeon. No more food or water. Good thing Miles had fed me before Alvin returned. It could be a while until I got anything else to eat, if I even lived long enough.
Alvin looked strange, wearing a mask that made him resemble an executioner. My stomach turned over. I had to control myself not to throw up the fear, anger, and disgust that churned at the pit of my stomach.
He turned toward me, his eyes spewing hatred through the holes of the mask. “You’ve gone too far. If you dare slip again, Kelly, you’ll pay a high price.” To my horror, he reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a handgun. Memories of the past rushed in.
“No, please don’t…don’t shoot me,” I begged, even though I knew it would get me nowhere.
“Then don’t fuck with me.” He pushed the gun back into his pocket and motioned to the bed. “Take off your clothes and lie down. Spread your legs.”
Left with no choice, I limped toward the bed and sat down on the edge, glancing up at him. A hot teardrop rolled down my cheek.
He unbuckled his belt. His eyes dared me to step out of line. I was too afraid, too weak, too tired, and in too much pain to be brave now.
“I said take your clothes off.” His voice thundered in my ears. “I will not repeat myself.”
I removed my jeans slowly and deliberately, delaying the inevitable. He pulled out his erect penis without bothering to undress himself.
My hands trembled even more as I pulled off my top, then pushed down my panties.
Before I could do anything else or think about the cameras, he stood in front of me, my head level with his crotch. He put his hand behind my head, pulling me to him.
“Open your mouth,” he said. He shoved his hand forward and under my chin, his fingers digging into my cheeks. My lips parted, but for a moment I gritted my teeth, blocking him from entering my mouth. His other hand let go of the back of my head and grabbed my left ear, pulling hard. I withstood the pain for a few seconds, then opened my mouth.
Alvin shoved himself deep into my mouth, my throat. He pulled a fistful of my hair, moving my head back and forth, his face tilted toward the ceiling.
The mask hid the expression on his face, but his groans of pleasure gave me a clear picture of his feelings. I tasted hot bile at the back of my throat.
He jammed himself harder and faster into my mouth.
In my pain and anger, I took a risk. I bared my teeth, ready to bite. But the moment my teeth grazed the skin of his shaft, he pulled out, and slapped my cheek.
“Don’t you fuckin’ dare.”
While the pain was still sinking into my skin, he threw me onto my back, one of his hands pushing my legs up so my feet pointed toward the ceiling. Then he filled me to the hilt.
Sudden pain and discomfort drove my body to protest, but he was unmoved by my misery. He reveled in it.
His strokes were hard, deep. He ripped me apart, crushing my heart. My ankles ached from being held tightly together, the bones pressing painfully against each other.
As he pounded into me, I thought back to the times Miles and I had spent together, the many times we had made love. He had been so gentle and kind, had taken his time to make sure I was satisfied. I remembered how he had held me afterward, kissing me and smoothing my hair. The memories brought more agony, but at the same time they helped me survive what Alvin was doing to me.
His hands were rough on my skin, his breath hot through the hole in his mask. His sweat stuck to the backs of my legs as he pressed his body closer to mine.
His breathing became faster and more ragged. He opened his eyes and watched me weep, but he didn’t stop. His lips moved through the mask. A smile.
“Please,” I breathed for the last time, the one word I had left.
“This is your destiny, Kelly.” He thrust harder. “Enjoy the ride.” He stopped suddenly, but I still felt the memory of his thrusts inside me, the bruises deep within. He pulled out and stepped away from the bed, moving to a small desk with stacks of papers on top. He picked up a sheet of paper and returned to the bed, handed it to me.
“Read it,” he ordered. “I want to hear every word.”
I took the paper and attempted to sit up, but he shoved me back down. In one swift motion, he flipped me onto my stomach.
The sheet of paper crumpled under my hand. How did he expect me to read with my face pressed into the mattress? I pulled myself up using my elbows, but fell forward as he entered me again. I could barely breathe.
“I said read.” The words were forced through clenched teeth.
I picked myself up again, bringing the paper to my face. My tears splashed onto it. I forced myself to look at the words. I read the first line, then came to an abrupt stop, my heart in my throat. A confession.
He wanted to rape me while I confessed on camera.
I lifted my eyes, gazed at the cameras in front of me. There were cameras pointed at us from all directions, recording my humiliation from every angle. I gulped back my tears and dropped my gaze. My tears blinded me, and his jerky movements caused the words to swim. But I had to do my best to avoid any further torture.
To everyone who knows me, my name is Chloe Parker. To all of you, I’m a successful businesswoman, the owner of the gossip magazine, Sage. The truth is, I have been keeping my past from all of you. My name is not really Chloe Parker. I was born Kelly Pearson, in the small town of Misty Cove, Florida.
I wiped my tears on my arm, taking a shaky breath.
“Go on.” He slid harder into me.
Most of you don’t know about my dark past. I lied to you. I pretended I was somebody I wasn’t.
In high school, I was editor of my school paper. Each month, I wrote an article about a student, exposing their life outside of school with their consent. One of the students I wrote about was Alvin Jones. Only, Alvin did not sign up to be featured in the magazine. Someone set him up.
I gasped for air as I recalled wondering why a shy and introverted kid like Alvin Jones would want to be featured in the school paper. Even as I wondered at the time, I never did anything to find out. The signature was all that mattered. It never occurred to me that someone else could have been playing a prank on him.
I misused his trust to get into his home, to search for secrets nobody else knew. I pretended to be his friend, pretended to be interested in him, but it was all a ploy to find out information for an article that would go viral among the students. I found what I was looking for, and although it was none of my business, I wrote about it. I revealed that Alvin Jones’s mother was—
“Stop,” he demanded sharply, cutting my confession short. Relief washed ove
r me. But the damage had already been done.
I buried my head into the paper, wishing my tears could erase the words, destroy the memories.
Alvin’s penis thickened inside me, pressing into my inner walls, invading me, marking its territory.
Then his movements came to a halt. His grip loosened on my ankles, but he didn’t release me. He pushed into me again and stiffened, injecting his hatred deep inside me. Then he withdrew, took the damp sheet of paper from me, and zipped up his pants.
“We’ll continue where we left off next time.”
I remained on the bed, sobs racking my body, while he went about switching off the cameras.
The shoot was over, but thoughts of the next one already made me want to curl up and die.
Chapter Nine
I raised my face to the cloudless sky. The sun’s warm rays coated my face, showering me with comfort nothing else could give me.
My last confession had been a week ago. Since then, Alvin had raped me repeatedly, but not inside the studio, and not inside my chamber. Each time, he took me to the main room, where he did despicable things to my body.
After wrestling with my body and emotions, on the second day, I learned to be absent, to remove the essence of myself from the situation. My bruised and battered body was his to shatter. He didn’t seem to mind; he loved it when I didn’t fight him.
I lived for the moments after the rapes, when he gave me permission to take a shower and brush my teeth. I welcomed the scalding water that helped me scrub his scent off my skin. After a shower and a change of clothes, he took me back to my chamber, where a plate with my daily meal awaited. He never gave me more than fifteen minutes to eat. Whether I’d finished the food or not, he showed up to take the plate and cup away. I learned to count in my head. The plate was always empty when he arrived. I was desperate for every morsel of food, every drop of water.
The real highlight of my day came after the meals, when I could go up on the upper deck for exercise and fresh air. The clear, untainted view of the sky and ocean, the sun on my face, the wind in my hair, were the things that kept me sane. The short time outside reminded me I was still alive, albeit in pieces.
Today, I held on to the metal railings, watching a bird in flight, aching for my freedom.
After my shower earlier, I’d glanced at myself in the mirror. The amount of weight I’d lost in such a short time was shocking. I had never been so skinny in my life. My collarbones and hip bones jutted out, my eyes looked too large for my face, and my cheekbones were sharp under my sallow skin. Being skinny didn’t suit me. I’d come to love my curves, and they were fast melting away.
Before I’d learned my lesson, I’d tried to stand up once more to Alvin, but the resulting punishment was devastating. At one point, he’d held a knife to my throat, and sliced into my skin deep enough to draw blood, but not to kill. He wasn’t done with me yet.
I touched the side of my neck, the place where the cut was healing. I traced it with the tip of my finger. One more scar. He had bruised and scarred me inside and out, and I would bear those marks forever.
I watched the waves longingly. The sea was deserted. No boats or ships in sight. We were all alone, navigating the Caribbean. I wished the waves could sweep me away to safety. But where would they take me? To a life that no longer belonged to me?
Several times the yacht had stopped at island ports for fuel and supplies. But each time we approached an island, Alvin locked me up.
Inside my prison, I was well hidden. Nobody would suspect a thing. One look at me and anyone would see the damage stamped all over my face and body.
The only people I came into contact with were Alvin and Jim. Miles hadn’t shown up again. But I didn’t stop searching for him in Alvin’s eyes, hoping, wishing he would break through the wall of evil. I was always crushed with disappointment when his monstrous side didn’t retreat.
On deck, Alvin would hang close by, sitting on one of the deck chairs, often reading a newspaper he had picked up at one of the island ports. Still, he was well aware of everything I did, every movement I made.
From where I stood watching him, he looked like Miles, wearing a crisp white shirt and black jeans. No shoes. I couldn’t fathom how such a handsome body could hide so much evil, such rot beneath the beauty.
How did I end up a battered wife? I’d heard stories of women whose husbands beat them. Like most people, I’d wondered why they never left. Now I understood. The worst prison to be locked up in is an emotional one. Even when you manage to leave, you could still be imprisoned.
I turned my attention from him, looking down at the water. My time would soon be up.
While manning the yacht, Jim gazed past me, straight out at sea. He never spoke to me, never even met my eyes. He had to know everything that went on below deck. He chose not to help, remaining loyal to his boss from hell. He did his job, nothing more. How much was he being paid to turn a blind eye?
None of my business. He was not on my side, and that was all I needed to know.
I bent forward to stretch. The muscles in my hamstrings and calves extended and relaxed. The tension melted out, but the pain remained.
When I straightened up again, Jim’s eyes were on me. His gaze met mine, but his face lacked emotion, his eyes pools of nothingness, as though he had locked himself out of the situation.
My lips curled in a tiny smile, an attempt to show him my human side, to touch his heart if I could. He didn’t return the smile. I hadn’t expected him to, not with Alvin only a short distance away. Alvin would probably castrate Jim if he even thought of helping me.
I looked away from Jim and did a few more stretches, then walked around a bit.
Alvin rose from the deck chair. He tossed his paper onto the chair and strolled toward me.
“Time’s up,” he said.
The fifteen minutes were not over. I had counted. I had gotten good at keeping track of time. Inside my chamber I counted the days, as prisoners did inside their cells. Knowing how much time passed gave me some kind of control. Instead of creating marks on the walls or floor, however, I used strands of my hair. I plucked them out and kept them underneath my mattress, one for each day on the yacht. Occasionally I managed a peek at one of Alvin’s newspapers to confirm the days of the week. Today was Monday—one week until our planned wedding in Boca Raton.
What was everybody thinking? What did my friends think when I didn’t show up after the weekend getaway? Did they think something had happened to both Miles and me? Or did they simply think we decided to extend our trip? What bride made herself unavailable so close to her wedding? People had to be asking questions.
Sometimes I wondered if Alvin contacted people back home, telling them lies that kept them from becoming suspicious. If only I could reach out to even one person.
My phone had to be overflowing with messages from concerned friends, business partners, and employees. I had to find a way to get off the yacht. I wasn’t dead yet. I had to survive, to make things right again. I would strive to be a better person. I’d be careful about hurting people. No more monsters created by my hands.
One more chance was all I asked for.
Alvin didn’t return me to my chamber, but took me to the stairs leading to the studio.
Trying to keep calm, I breathed in quick, shallow gasps.
Within minutes, the lights were on, the cameras running, and I followed his orders to undress myself, dread rolling over me in furious waves.
Chloe, you’re nothing but a body, I reminded myself. Flesh and bones. Don’t give him anything more than that.
Maybe, if I continued being absent, he would lose interest in raping me. Except the danger then was that if he found no further way to humiliate me, he would kill me.
This time, Alvin also undressed completely. He handed me the script, the paper wrinkled and crispy from my dried tears, rustling at my touch.
My stomach was rock-hard with fear.
“Start where you stopped last t
ime. Read every line carefully and clearly.”
I bit my tongue to prevent myself from talking back, not that I said much these days. I took orders; I did as I was told. I felt no need to communicate with a man that wanted me dead.
The rape started. I wept and begged, but I kept it all inside, imagining there was a bottle inside me to collect my pain.
As he continued to crash into me, I read the confession, each word a knife to my gut, to my soul. I ignored the cameras, pretended they were not even there, refused to think about someone else seeing the videos.
Alvin’s mother was HIV-positive, I read. I published her private health information in the school paper.
Alvin stopped fucking me but didn’t withdraw. His breathing was rushed and labored.
Unsure of what to do, I stopped reading. Should I continue, or did he want to say something to me? My answer came a moment later in the form of his hands around my neck, his mouth pressed to my ear.
“Yes, you bitch,” he croaked. “You shared something that was none of your business.”
Air. It left my lungs too fast. As fast as the tears running down my cheeks and neck, tears that landed on his skin. His hands were so tight around my neck I felt the bones of his fingers pushing into me. If he didn’t let go, my head would explode like an overinflated balloon.
Pain came in flashes of red and white. I couldn’t hold on. I had to let go.
Before I could fade into unconsciousness, he released. This time my own hands wrapped around my neck as I gave in to a coughing fit. Then my head hit the pillows. I unscrewed the bottle to my emotions and poured them out onto the sheets. Maybe death would be the easiest way out after all. Anything but this.
Chapter Ten
