Page 18 of Still Beating

And so, so cold.

Dean looks ashen and equally rundown, but he’s spent the entire day talking to me, telling me stories, and trying to lift my spirits. I find that my stone walls are crumbling in the presence of his alter-ego.

He casts his sympathetic eyes on me, trailing them along my naked legs. The muscles in his jaw tick. “I meant what I said,” he says to me, his tone low and hardened. “I’m getting us out of this. And I’m going to kill him for hurting you.”

I’m unsure of what to say to such a bold promise, so I force a tight smile that has no intention of reaching my eyes. “You really think we’re getting out of here?” I ask timidly.

“I know we are.”

I realize Dean has no way of knowing this and he’s only saying it to give me hope, but I let the words soak into all of my susceptible cracks and crevasses. I cling to them with everything I have left.

Before I can reply, I watch as Dean begins to kick off his shoes. One by one, he uses the toe of his left foot to shimmy out of the heel of his right. Then vice versa. When his sneakers are removed, he slides them over to me with his sock-covered feet. “They probably smell like a gym locker, but they’re warm. It should help a little.”

Our eyes catch and hold, a foreign tenderness traveling between us. I press my lips together, my gaze flickering between the shoes and Dean’s vulnerable expression.

He throws me a smile, just as tender, and I wonder how hard it was for him to produce such a thing at a time like this. “I’d give you my socks if I thought you had a way of putting them on.”

Maybe this is what my sister has always seen in Dean.

“He’s not that bad, Cora. Just give him a chance. He’s a decent guy.”

I used to laugh in Mandy’s face because Dean never showed me his “decent” side. I never understood why.

“Because it’s fun.”

“It’s harmless, and it’s us.”

“You give it right back to me, Corabelle.”

“Thank you,” I say as the day turns to dusk and the sunlight abandons us.

I fall asleep that evening, rattled and bewildered, beaten down and used. But a tiny pocket of hope lingers inside me, buried deep, trying so hard to claw its way to the surface.

And, above all, I am warm.

Chapter Five

The days go by slowand torturous, but they go by.

We are still alive. I’m holding on to that.

Dean and I play ‘Twenty Questions’ to pass the time. He is winning by two games, which grates me. I’m a teacher, and I’m competitive… especially with Dean. I blame it on the lack of nutrition and traumatic circumstances.

I am raped daily.

I expect it now, so the raw, blinding terror of it has subdued as much as it possibly can. I’m getting better and better at zoning out and turning it off. It’s almost like an out-of-body experience. Dean talks me through it every time, and his voice is a solace in the back of my mind as I slip away.

We get our bathroom breaks around five P.M. each day after Earl gets home from work. We are allowed to brush our teeth, then we have turkey sandwiches with Miracle Whip on white bread and one full glass of water. And then we are sent back down to our prison, shackled to our respective posts, and forced to survive another night in the dark.

Dean sings me to sleep every night, and it’s the only thing I look forward to.

Take a sad song and make it better.

Chapter Six

As the sun riseson the seventh day and a full week has passed us by, we are no closer to freedom. We are no closer to finding a way out of this barbarous basement and going home.

Home.

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