Page 13 of Secrets Within Us

The rich shampoo from the shelf instantly filled the stone shower with Kip’s scent as I lathered it into my tangled hair. I leaned my head back, allowing the water to wash it from my scalp, and just breathed him in.

The entire time, memories of other scents wanted to bombard me.

Dirt.

Musty basements.

Leather.

But I sank into my head even deeper than those memories could go and allowed Kip’s woodsy scent to consume me. It was the same way his presence settled something inside of me, too. Somehow, that man had soothed my wounds instead of festering them. Which made little sense.

Yet there I was, standing naked and alone in his shower, the scent of his skin when he held me in his bed last night still lingering in my memory. If I tried hard enough, I could almost block out the way it felt when the monster had touched me instead.

But I couldn’t use Kip or the bizarre circumstance we’d found ourselves in to distract me from the truth. It would catch up with me someday, I just knew it. Because girls like me didn’t get second chances, we weren’t born with nine lives and endless opportunities. We were born with wit and an uncrushable will to survive, which got us out of more sticky situations than luck ever did. There were limits, though, and I wouldn’t get free unscathed.

I focused on the present as I cleaned myself, but as the washcloth rubbed over the scratches, cuts, and bruises covering my body, I remembered what form of torture he’d used to inflict each one.

Which leather belt he snapped.

Which wooden cane he swung.

Which whip he cracked.

Which blade he ran along my skin.

Which position he forced me into so he could force himself inside of me.

That wound, the one inside of me, ached the worst. I couldn’t reach the source of its pain deep inside my soul, and no matter how long I scrubbed, I still ached.

I don’t know how long I stood there scrubbing my body with soap, but I re-lathered multiple times. Before I knew it, my wounds were reopening and blood was flowing from my scrubbing.

I stood there silently, letting the water run down my body, watching it mix with the crimson ooze as it ran down into the drain.

No matter how many times I scrubbed, the dirt was still there. The emotional dirt. It would always taint my skin. The awful things he did to me would never leave me, even as I washed the blood and grime off.

My weak legs trembled, unable to support me any longer, and I reached out for the side of the stone shower as they gave way completely, causing me to collapse beneath the refreshing spray.

And that’s when the dam broke, and the tears fell. I cried forever. Nearly passing out multiple times from hyperventilating and exhaustion. I let it all out, trying to relieve some of the burden on my heart and mind. Using the solitude and the steam to loosen the binds that held it all in. But it wouldn’t make it better.

Nothing could make it better.

I had no choice but to move forward as if nothing had happened. I had to survive and crying on the shower floor wouldn’t help me at the moment. So I allowed myself one more minute of heartache and weakness. And then I got up.

I turned the cold water off and forced myself to move forward. One step at a time.

Drying off in a daze, taking out a pair of yoga pants, a sports bra, and a zip-up sweater to wear for the day. Until Kip could take me to town and I could finally leave the frozen wasteland, I had no choice but to make do with the few warm items I had packed.

I was supposed to be in Florida, not Utah.

I never should have been so stupid. So naïve.

I forced myself to get dressed in front of the mirror, taking a complete inventory of my injuries as mental payback for my stupidity.

A couple of my ribs were bruised. My hand felt better, so I was pretty sure nothing was broken in it, but the flesh was pretty mangled. The rest were just contusions, burns, and wounds that would heal with time; I hoped. They’d heal and leave a scar as a reminder of what I survived. That was the best-case scenario, at least.

With my hair tamed into a loose braid, I set out on a mission to find some warm socks to protect my feet throughout the day.

I leisurely made my way through Kip’s home without him hovering over me, taking in the whole feel of the place for the first time. I could tell that a woman had a hand in decorating the space, even though it was rustic and manly, there was still a decorator’s touch to it all.

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