Page 3 of Beyond the Temptation: Vol 2

They didn’t care so much about the spoons, or even the knives. They weren’t sharp enough to cause any real damage. But the small metallic tines of the forks could pierce skin, even take an eyeball out of its socket. Every fork was accounted for after every meal, but the fact that they were counted at all gave some of the older girls ideas. There was no way the counselors could stop them from scraping up some money to buy a pack of their own from the local thrift shop on their way home from school, and I could no longer depend on the silverware count to keep me from being tortured by Big Tammy and her hoard of lackeys.

I get out of bed and walk to the small table where the stranger set the tray. I lift the dome, and on the plate sit two grilled cheese sandwiches and a bag of potato chips. Not the most nutritious meal, but beggars can’t be choosers. I learned that the hard way. God knows I’ve been forced to eat much worse. I bite into the sandwich without thinking?—

“Ow!” The hot cheese burns my tongue.

I guess I’ll start with the chips.

I tear open the bag and crunch on the chips until they’re gone. They’re a well-known brand, and the bag was sealed, so they’re probably not poisoned. I have an uneasy feeling that whoever captured me wants me alive and well-fed. After all, it’s no fun to torture a corpse.

I open the bottle of water and down half of it to ease the saltiness of the chips.

I screw the cap back on.

Better save the rest. I don’t know when this masked man will be back, and though there’s a small toilet in my room, there’s no sink. I can’t wash, can’t brush my teeth, can’t get a drink of water.

Great.

I take another bite of the sandwich, and it’s no longer scalding. I eat both sandwiches, and then I’m thirsty again.

What the hell? I finish the water. It’s a sixteen-ounce bottle—two cups. Aren’t we all supposed to drink at least eight cups of water per day? I never paid much attention to what we were told about nutrition in school. God knows I never ate enough. Water was the one thing we weren’t deprived of at the group home.

Mrs. Brugler will eventually wonder where I am.

I keep to myself, but I fix my meals in her kitchen. Sometimes I take her dog on a walk. Not every day, though, so she may just think I’m gone for the day or not feeling well.

How long until she?—

I gasp again, wondering how they got me out of her house without her knowing. Or…if they harmed her.

She’s such a kind old woman. I’d peg her for mid-seventies, widowed for a decade or so. I was lucky to find her right away after I left the group home. She rents a room to me for extra income, but we’re not family. She doesn’t concern herself with my comings and goings. It could be a few days before she realizes I’m even gone. My God, I hope she’s okay.

I head back to the bed, snuggle under the covers once more. What next? When will the stranger return?

And why am I even here?

He didn’t try anything. He didn’t hurt me, didn’t violate me in any way. Is he the one who brought me here?

I swallow the lump in my throat, determined not to cry.

Once I turned eighteen and got out of the system, I thought the worst years of my life were over.

Apparently I was wrong.

CHAPTER THREE

Seven years earlier…

“Open your mouth, bitch.”

I keep my lips pressed together.

I kick, and then another girl holds my feet down. Big Tammy is above me, holding one of her forks over my left eye, a mixture of a sneer and a grin adorning her overly freckled face.

“You going to eat this, bitch.”

Big Tammy is a bully—not the only one, but by far the worst—at the girls’ group home where I live. She’s built like a tank and she’s seventeen, which means she’ll be kicked out of the system in less than a year. She’s made it her goal to do as much damage as she can before then.

I’m only twelve, the youngest. I shouldn’t even be in this facility, but the one that houses girls my age is full.

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