Page 21 of Creed

It’s officially my eighteenth birthday and I don’t know what I want to do more; run away and never look back… or curl up into a ball and wither away. The last fourteen days of my life have been nothing shy of my worst nightmare.

My foster mom never came back so I think it’s safe to assume she actually got away and is living a life free from under the thumb of Guy. He’s been mostly absent, but when he’s home, he goes on these drunken rampages and either grabs me, squeezes me, or shoves me so hard I fall or knock into something hard enough to cause long-term bruising.

The memory of waking up a few nights ago to my hands being tied so tight above my head that my fingers were already numb, my mouth taped shut, and some kind of spreader bar strapped to my ankles, keeping my legs from closing had me panicking and fear had threatened to suffocate me to death. I would’ve preferred it that way versus the things he did to me that night.

I swipe my hands furiously at the sudden tears now running down my cheeks. The light of my soul is quickly dying and I feel the fight seeping from my body with every moment that passes. I’ve had all I can take, so I rush back into the house and dash into my closet where I’d hidden the suitcase I purchased with the cash I earned from working at the bar. I had already packed it with the exception of my polaroid and stationery since I still used them frequently, though I haven’t written any letters since my one and only plea for help went unanswered.

I throw my hair up into a messy bun as I rush around my room, checking to make sure I’ve left no part of myself behind and pull my plane ticket from under my mattress. I had called for a cab earlier so it should be here any minute. I had sent instructions to park down the street so I could slip out without tipping off Guy on the chance he’d be home.

I see the headlights flash through my window so I take a deep breath and rush back out of the house. I slam the front door in my haste to leave and I come to a screeching halt when I realize it’s not the cab.

Guy is leaning against the passenger side of his car, his dark eyes glassy in the moonlight as they take me in. They rove from me to my suitcase and back to my face again. Guy is the definition of a wolf in sheep’s clothing. On the outside, he’s always well-dressed, clean shaven, and actually has a handsome face and a fit body that could land him any woman he wanted if he wasn’t such a sack of shit. He’s a practiced professional at hiding the monster that lurks just beneath the surface. The beast within him that craves other people’s pain. The way he’s hurt me? It gets him hard and it makes me want to vomit. His pleasure comes from the pain he inflicts, and the satisfaction of knowing that his strong hands can manipulate and destroy with ease.

Fear works its way through my body and drains the blood from my face as he pushes off the vehicle and stalks toward me. I can’t even back up because there’s nowhere I could go. He’s still several feet away from me, so I take a chance and hoist my suitcase and dash down the steps and across the yard in an attempt to get away from him.

“The fuck you think you’re going, little girl?” He swipes his arm at me but narrowly misses, his short nails scraping my bicep.

This pisses him off so he swings with his other arm with more body weight thrown into it and grips my free wrist so hard I swear I can hear the bones groaning like they’re going to snap at any moment. With me finally in his grip, he yanks me closer, nearly pulling my shoulder out of socket, and uses his free hand to grip my cheeks so hard I know they’re going to bruise.

I was so close…

“Guy, please,” I plead through my roughly pursed lips, hating how weak I sound. “Just let me go. Please.”

His eyes are void of any emotion, just as they usually are and I know my words are falling on deaf ears. He yanks me again so hard I stumble over my own feet and my body crashes into his until we’re nose to nose. “You think just because you’re eighteen that I can’t find other ways to keep you?” he growls in my face.

My stomach roils at his insinuation. “Wh-what?” I ask. Hoping to God he just doesn’t answer me. But then again, when have my wishes ever been granted?

“Tell me, little girl, have you ever been touched by a real man? Hm?” I can feel his arousal pressing against me through his perfectly pressed Tom Ford pants and nausea immediately rises in my throat. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, refusing to answer him. He doesn’t stop his onslaught as his punishing grip tightens on my wrist and he jerks me a third time, my entire body jostling against his. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be fucking begging?—”

“Is there a problem here?” I hear a deep voice call out from down the street.

Guy’s head snaps around and I manage to look over his shoulder to see a large, husky man waiting just outside of a taxi cab, the driver’s door ajar and his arms resting on the frame. He’s an absolute bear of a man. His features are stark, even in the dark of night. He’s got thick dark hair, cropped close to the sides of his head, with hints of silver throughout, and bright blue eyes. He’s covered from his neck to his hands in dark tattoos and for a second, I think I’m looking at some beefed up version of Creed. I shove the thought away as I try to shake myself away from Guy, but he tightens his grip on my hair, making me whimper.

Despite my foster father’s grip on me, I’m flooded with immediate relief that I’m no longer alone out here. That maybe this man will help me and not drive away. The fact that he’s questioning Guy, tells me that maybe he’s not one of the many that gets paid under the table for his silence at my foster father’s extracurricular activities.

Guy tries to backpedal though. “We’re all good, sir. I’m just having a talk with my girl here. Don’t worry,” he chuckles, “she likes it a little rough.” Even with his shitty words, he sounds so prim and proper and not at all like the demon that lurks beneath the surface.

And he called me his girl? Fucking gross.

“That so?” The driver questions, his tone oozing disbelief. He pushes off the car and strides over toward where we’re standing. He’s even bigger up close. He tips his head toward me, his brow raising in question under the streetlight. “Ma’am?”

All I can manage is a small shake of my head and inaudible “no”, but that’s all it takes for the man to reach out and grip Guy’s wrist, squeezing and forcing his grip to loosen on my body before he lets me go. His scent is so familiar, and it sends warring emotions like relief and sadness throughout my body as he pushes me behind him. A shiver crawls up my spine when he speaks, his voice lethal and commanding, “The lady said no. So I suggest back the fuck up before I give you the same treatment you gave to her.”

I don’t take my eyes off of him as I back up past the driver who is staring down my foster father with an expression that promises pain, possibly even death. I’m sure I should feel terrified about getting into a taxi with this man, but I don’t. Something about him feels like home, which is fucking crazy, but it’s been a wild night from hell, so we’ll blame it on that. I toss my suitcase across the seat and slide in after it. Only after I shut the door does the driver turn back and slide into the driver’s seat. Just before the driver shuts the door, I hear Guy yell, “This is far from over, Collins!”

The driver is quiet for a moment as he pulls away and I don’t dare look back as we drive further and further away from my own personal hell. Only once I realize we’re on the freeway do I take my first full breath in eight years. I don’t realize I’m crying until I feel a tear fall down my cheek.

After several quiet minutes, the driver speaks up. “You alright, ma’am?”

I clear my throat, swiping at the tears. “Um, yeah. I am now.” I sniff. “Thank you, by the way. You have no idea how you saved me.”

I catch his eyes for the briefest moment and they’re the brightest blue color. An all-too-familiar ache hits my chest as they remind me of Creed. He simply offers me a firm nod before he asks, “You know where you’re goin’, Miss…?”

“Collins,” I supply. Something flashes in his bright blue eyes in the rearview mirror, but it disappears in the next moment. “Um, the airport, please. Terminal four.”

He nods in understanding. “I’m Garrick.” He answers, but continues, “I won’t ask questions because your business is your business, but you mind if I say somethin’?” I sigh, but nod at him. “All I’ll tell you is don’t you dare look back if runnin’ is what you’re doin’. Don’t ever turn back. You keep your head up and your face to the sun and I promise it’ll shine on you again.”

Jesus.

---