Page 5 of Save You

“No, thank you,” I finally reply, “I’ll be fine just here.”

“Get on,” he sighs with a cheeky grin, “I’ll get you to the hospital; it’s on me!”

“No, I couldn’t possibly-” I start waving my hand around in a fluster with both my manners and pride getting the better of me.

“There’s no way I’m letting a pretty, young thing, like you, stay at the dockyard, in the rain, with no money, and being completely alone. Come on, you can chat with me; keep me company!” He waves me up before leaning in closer, putting his hand up to shield his mouth from the rest of the passengers as he whispers, “Keep me from falling asleep.”

I smile nervously, taking in the darkness just as a gust of wind whips up the lashing rain all around me. The whistling sound running through the lines crisscrossing overhead has me shivering over how eerie this place suddenly appears. The moment becomes tense when I realize he’s still waiting for me, and I’m now holding up the entire bus with my indecision. I shut my eyes tightly just to escape it for a moment or two. The action inadvertently sends a stray tear down my face because someone has shown me kindness for the first time since the night Carl had raped me, when my companion had taken me inside of her arms. Anthony had only helped me because I gave him a pile of jewelry that must have been worth a small fortune.

Eventually, I nod, taking a chance and pushing my humility aside, before stepping up to slide into the seat directly opposite the driver so I can keep him company. It is the very least I can do for him.

“What’s your name, pretty lady?” he asks as he stares out the front window and pulls away from the stop.

“Rosalie Be… Bennoch,” I lie, just in case. “And you?”

“Thomas Taylor,” he grins, showcasing his obvious personality - cheeky with a healthy side order of charming. “But everyone calls me Tom. So, now you can too.”

“Thank you, Tom,” I reply, then swallow back a lump of fear. “I really mean it, thank you so much.”

Chapter 2

Beth, now

Happy Birthday, Beth!

The drive over to Oliver’s mansion was full of nothing but silence. He had had his hand firmly attached to my thigh and an expression that warned me not to show any sort of emotion. Now that I’m here, ready to enter this new phase of my life, one that won’t really belong to me, it all feels different. True, the house might look the same as it did before, with everything is in its rightful place, but now I feel like I’m walking in a foreign country. It takes me back to how I had felt when we first moved to the States. More than that, it smells chemical, unnatural, like an altogether vomit-inducing aroma hitting all my senses at once. The sound of Oliver’s staff tip-tapping across the marble floors, together with the harsh feel of the air-conditioning, is making me shiver under the goose pimples now forming all over my exposed flesh.

All of a sudden, I feel Oliver’s large hand pressing my shirt into my back, which is about as comforting as a knifepoint. I can’t help but gasp under the feel of his fingertips and automatically turn to see his wide, predatory grin looking smug over the fact that he has finally got what he’s been after for so long. Psychotic feelings aside, Oliver sees me as a ticket to the top, to achieve his ambition to rule Mayfield. Being connected to three founding fathers will no doubt put him in first place for the top spot, making him extremely powerful, even more so than he is now.

Without the need for words, he orders me upstairs to the room in which he had beaten me with a ruler, marring my skin with red, inflamed welts. This room only instills fear in me, for it is one that will be shared with him once we are married. If this house is my prison, this room will be my cage.

Oliver follows me in shortly afterward, pacing around like a man on a mission, even though his ultimate one to possess me has already been successfully completed. He walks straight over to the walk-in wardrobe, swinging the door open widely as an invitation for me to follow.

“In here!” he barks at a couple of men, who are only now coming inside with a few sorry-looking bags that look like mine from home. When I see them sat in a small huddle on the center table, they look like hardly anything at all, especially in comparison to the vast, empty space that is to house my clothes. The men nod to me on their way out, leaving me very much alone with my fiancé who I can now see walking toward me with slow but determined steps. Once they are completely out of sight, he bends to give me a chaste kiss upon my cheek.

“Don’t worry, Beth,” he says in his deep and commanding voice, “I have already had my staff purchase some clothes for you. They’ll soon be hanging in the wardrobe with your other belongings.”

I smile tightly, not really knowing how to respond to that statement, especially when I feel so dead on the inside. Fortunately, it seems to placate him enough, and he is soon leading us back into the main room. I obediently follow him, even though my heart is practically leaping around inside of my chest. Every part of me is feeling beyond anxious over the prospect of him closing us in.

“From now on, you will dress in nothing but the best. You will need to look the part when we are married.”

I have to look away to the side to stop myself from arguing with him. Nothing good ever comes from speaking against Oliver Lawrence, so, for now, I will hold my tongue, though it pains me to do so. My training to remain the dutiful, silent wife, appears to have already started.

“Come in, Doctor!” I hear Oliver announce as the doors to the room are opened, and the familiar face of Doctor Sawyer comes into view. I hadn’t even heard him knock.

The doctor looks at me apologetically, while I lose the fight to remain expressionless. Instead, I park myself on the end of the bed with my arms firmly crossed and a petulant look upon my face. Oliver must still be gleaming over his claim of me this afternoon because he merely smirks when he sees my sudden change in demeanor. I half expected a chiding remark or even a slap to whip me into submission. Instead, he paces toward me with his usual arrogant confidence and gently takes my chin between his finger and thumb.

“I’m sorry, my darling, but this is a necessity for me. It will be the last time, I promise!”

Without waiting for any kind of response, he turns back to the doctor who begins talking in hushed tones about what Oliver would like done to me. Mainly, he would like him to check that my hymen is still intact because he is creepily obsessed with my virginity.

“I will leave you in privacy,” Oliver finally declares to the room before walking away.

“Oliver?” My voice has zero weight behind it, but it manages to get his attention, surprised though he is. “When exactly, are we to be married?”

“Impatient, are we, darling?” He grins smugly toward the man who is currently opening his bag to pretend getting out instruments for my impending physical. “Tomorrow!”

His one-word reply is said with conviction, being simple and to the point, and with no room for doubt. My heart instantly sinks to the floor in what feels like a congealed mess.

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