Page 74 of Give Me Perfect Love

Shit.

That was him.

The day I got Claire and me an ice cream cone when she was looking for a job at the shop.

“Cain,” Claire says as casually as one can during a time like this. This dude is crazy, and she’s got the restraining order to prove it. “We were actually just leaving.” She looks at me, pupils wide and a fear I’ve never witnessed from my best friend before.

Eyes are words from the soul, and if you pay attention, you can read almost anyone just from looking at them. “I’ve already called our ride.” It happens so quickly, I don’t even have time to blink. Cain grabs her by the throat and shoves her so far back she slides across the floor, hitting the wall.

“You’re not going anywhere, bitch.”

I run and jump on his back, but this guy is bigger than I remember. My nails dig, breaking skin. He hisses, quickly moving his feet, slamming my back into the wall.

My lungs seize and my neck snaps backward as I collide with sheetrock and a picture frame that I hear shatter as blackness moves in the corners of my eyes and everything horrific goes away.

Rain falls heavy outside of my window; I watch it move and shift with the wind. The big tree in the yard stands tall, refusing to give into the summer storm. Thunder rumbles and lightning flashes across the silver sky.

“Where are you, you little bitch?”

I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing this was just a dream. A horrible, horrible dream. But when my door is kicked open and the smell of whiskey and smoke hits my senses, I know it’s not.

“You waiting for her still?” He laughs coldly, sending my stomach into a whirlwind.

“She’s never coming back for you. You aren’t worth the effort. This house is a fucking mess. Get up and clean it!” he yells.

I don’t move, my body wound too tightly.

“Didn’t you hear me?” He throws the liquor bottle toward me. I tell myself to move out of the way, but I’m a second too late and it connects with my temple before bouncing on the floor. I don’t even have time to soothe the pain before I’m being pulled by my hair into the living room.

“Grab the fucking vacuum and clean.” He pushes me forward, causing me to stumble into the older than me vacuum cleaner. Two strangers are slouched on the couch, one with drool hanging from his lips.

“That’s our house rent. Don’t make them feel uncomfortable.” He laughs again and I hate my life. I hate it so much I wonder what it would be like to set myself free of this prison cell. How long will I have to endure this?

Faded voices move in and out of my hearing. Rough and chilling, soft and scared. My mind goes in and out of focus, fighting for clarity. I feel the strain in my neck, the heaviness of my head, and the throb of a headache starting.

My lungs fill with needed air and I wiggle my fingers, feeling a pull in my shoulders and down my arms. I move my wrists. Hard plastic rubs against my skin and I open my eyes. Darkness makes it hard to see and I question if my eyes are even open.

I blink a few times and realize I’m hanging my head. I shift, feeling the pop in my bones and ache in my back. My arms are behind me, my wrists bound.

“Ah. You’re awake?” I hear. My head turns in the direction of the voice. How long have I been out?

“I didn’t want to do this. I had no intention of bringing you into this. But you’re always around, ain’t ’cha? You’re always near Claire, never leaving her alone.”

“Cain. Please let her go. Leave her out of this.”

Claire. My head whips to the side.

“Claire,” I choke out.

Oh God. Her dress is pulled up to her waist and her hands are bonded like mine. I focus in on her and my surroundings. Her hair is covering one side of her face, but the one side I can see, the one not covered is already swelling and her lip is bleeding.

I turn back to Cain. “You sick motherfucker.” I kick my feet, moving the chair I’m in. “Let us go!” I scream and almost black out again when his hand connects with my head. I open my jaw, trying to relieve the pain that shoots down the side of my face.

“You ain’t going anywhere, you stupid bitch.” He grips onto my thighs, digging his fingers into my jeans, bruising me. “You get that through your thick skull. You ain’t leaving here alive.”

What? I squeeze my eyes, trying to stop the throb in my head and focus. My pulse hammers against the skin on my wrist and sweat trickles down my spine. The smell of cleaning supplies drifts in the air. The stainless-steel kitchen appliances gleam in gray darkness.

Something clicks open and I look down, seeing a silver blade. He pushes it into my stomach, just enough to cut through the fabric of my shirt and prick the skin but not invade.

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