Page 8 of Out of the Darkness

A smile crept to her lips even as her brows furrowed. “Melanie?” she asked curiously, shaking her head. “What are you—what are you doing here?”

Melanie just held her gaze. “I decided that if you are not going to do anything about this freaking stalker, then I will.”

Eyes narrowing, Madelyn raised an eyebrow and folded her arms across her chest.

Melanie, however, ignored her. “Now, I may not be able to do it as a cop since you refuse to file an official report. But I can definitely do it as a friend, so that’s what I’m going to do. Any objections?”

“Do I even have a choice?” Madelyn retorted pointedly. Judging by the look on her friend's face, she did not.

Instead of responding, Melanie stepped around her and over the threshold, and Madelyn let her pass. Once she was inside, it was then that she realized that Melanie wasn’t alone. Three men flanked her, all of them wearing gray uniforms with their names stitched over the right breast pocket and the name of a security company across the back. They were all carrying toolboxes and packages, and they smiled at her as they passed. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why they were there.

Apparently, Melanie was having a security system put in. And an expensive one too, it seemed.

Deciding to leave the front door open so that the guys could go in and out as they needed to, Madelyn followed Melanie into the kitchen where she was helping herself to some of Madelyn’s coffee.

The kitchen wasn’t anything special, but it served its purpose. It had granite countertops and natural wood cabinets, which she felt made it feel more homey, and she recently replaced the fridge with a newer model. The coffee maker and toaster sat on the counter next to the fridge, and the stove sat directly across from the door with the microwave mounted above that.

The walls were a pale yellow, and the floor was white tile, giving the kitchen a bright and happy feel. It was something that she found to be annoying sometimes whenever she woke up cranky. Her favorite part had to be the small kitchen island, though, as one side of the island held the sink and the dishwasher while the other she had set up as a breakfast bar.

“I hope you aren’t expecting me to pay for all this,” she muttered as she grabbed her own mug out of the cabinet next to Melanie.

Melanie laughed and shook her head. “Oh, I know better than to expect that. Though, I’m surprised you aren’t fighting me on it more.”

Madelyn slid onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar, resting her elbows on the counter as she blew on the piping hot coffee. “Think of it as a compromise,” she replied. “Since I won’t file a police report.”

“Which still doesn’t make sense to me, by the way,” her friend grumbled, turning and leaning up against the counter across from her.

She could see the questions swirling in Melanie’s brown eyes, the desire for answers and reason. She could also see the determination, which, to her, meant that she wasn’t going to let this go as easily as Madelyn had hoped. Melanie didn’t like having questions without answers. She knew exactly where this conversation was heading, and she didn’t like it.

“Melanie—” she began with a sigh and a shake of her head.

“Come on, Madelyn. You have to give me something,” Melanie pleaded with her. “I don’t like there being secrets between us.”

“I’m not trying to keep secrets, Mel. It’s just… it’s not something I like to talk about.”

She had only recently started feeling somewhat normal and believed that she and Melanie were in a good place in their friendship. If she told her the truth about her childhood, there was a very real possibility that it would change the way Melanie saw her. She didn’t want that, but judging by the look in Melanie’s eyes, keeping this from her was only hurting her, and Madelyn didn’t want that either. She guessed there was really only one choice to make here.

With a reluctant sigh, Madelyn stared down into the depths of her coffee cup. “I told you my parents were drug addicts and that I didn’t have the best upbringing,” she began.

In front of her, Melanie stiffened but didn’t say anything, clearly not wanting to interrupt. Madelyn was grateful because talking about her past was hard enough.

“But that’s not the whole story,” she continued. “I was born several months premature and addicted to drugs, along with a whole host of problems because of it. I wasn’t supposed to make it, but somehow I did. My parents were both abusive and neglectful throughout my early years, and I had to learn to take care of myself at an early age. I was always hungry and always so lonely because my parents cared more about their drugs than spending time with me or putting food on the table. Then, when I was ten, they found themselves unable to pay for their habit anymore. So, they decided to sell the only thing they had worth anything.” She swallowed hard. “Me.”

“Oh, Madelyn,” Melanie gasped.

Madelyn shook her head, cutting her off. If she didn’t get this out now, she might never be able to. “It went on for years. Once they realized how much money they made from it, they brought home dozens of men every week. Sometimes multiple men a day. Some beat me, some raped me, some beat me while they raped me.”

As she spoke, she could feel herself wanting to recede and hide away. She felt the nightmares of her past creeping closer and closer to her once more, making her want to curl into a ball and cry. However, she fought those urges, that fear, so that she could continue to explain the horrors of her past. For Melanie, she would do this.

“I grew up living in fear of that bedroom door opening night after night, the constant pain. I learned very quickly that I had to lock away that fear and disassociate from everything that was going on because that was the only way I was going to survive.” Madelyn paused to take a sip of her coffee to wetten her now dry throat. “When I was twelve, I had finally gathered up enough courage to go to the police and tell them what was happening. To ask for help. But they, uh, they brushed me off. They didn’t believe me.”

“Are you kidding me?” Melanie exclaimed loudly, making Madelyn jump. However, her friend seemed oblivious to it. “They didn’t do anything?”

Madelyn shook her head. “Turns out the sheriff was one of my regulars, but I guess that’s living in a small town for you. And boy did he make me pay for trying to turn him in.”

“So, how did you get away then?” Melanie’s voice had become soft and full of pity, and Madelyn had to force herself not to cringe. She didn’t want or need Melanie’s pity. She was on the mend. Or, at least, she was trying to be.

“When I was fourteen, I was having some severe abdominal cramping and heavy bleeding,” she explained. “My parents tried to ignore it, saying I would get better in a couple of days. They said it was just a bad period. But when it didn’t ease up, my mom was forced to take me to a hospital a few towns over. When the doctor realized I was having a miscarriage at the age of fourteen, they immediately called the police. It didn’t take long after that for them to figure out what was going on, and I was put in foster care.”

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