Page 3 of Love Me in the Dark
I’ve gone through three of the four water bottles left for me, as much as I don’t love the idea of peeing in a bucket in the corner. The air is so warm and dry in here I couldn’t help but drink.
Not to mention the way I cried a river once I was alone. I needed the hydration.
How much longer is this going to go on? Knowing Rebecca, as long as she feels like it. I’m supposed to be learning a lesson here.
She’s probably spent the entire day coming up with ways to punish me. Right away, I want to turn my thoughts away from the ugly possibilities, but I can’t afford to do that. I need to face reality, so I’m ready for it when it comes.
There’s no getting ready for the sound of the lock clicking. My heart takes off like a triphammer, and I can’t keep from shivering even if it’s warm in here. I sit up, knees against my chest, like that will do anything to protect me.
Especially once I get a look at Rebecca’s face. Of course, she would want to be here. Whatever she’s planned, she’ll want to see it put into action.
Behind her are two men I recognize from around the compound. Men and women aren’t allowed to spend time together except during church service and mealtimes—even then, we sit on opposite sides of the room. And we aren’t allowed to speak to each other.
So these men aren’t strangers, even if I have seen them around. Henry and Elijah, father and son. They’re both tall, broad-shouldered, and lean but muscled. They share the same dark eyes and hair, though the older of the two has a little gray at his temples.
He’s not the one who holds my attention, anyway. It’s the younger one, the son, who I’ve noticed more than once from across the dining hall or when we’re supposed to be praying. Once, he caught me looking, and I forgot to breathe.
There isn’t exactly any time to think about that right now since they’re not here as friends. Henry sneers like he’s happy to see me here. I’ve never even spoken to him. Why would he be happy about this?
Rebecca folds her hands in front of her, standing with the men to her left and right. Elijah, unlike his dad, is unreadable. He could be angry, or he could be bored. There’s no reading him.
And no time to try before Rebecca clears her throat. “Leona, I’ve wrestled with the pain and disappointment you’ve caused me all day. I can’t begin to tell you how disappointed I am with your behavior. After everything we’ve done for you here, this is how you choose to behave?”
I know she’s not actually asking a question she expects an answer to, so I don’t bother saying a word. All I can do is try to look sorry while doing my best to ignore Henry’s angry glare burning holes into my skull. What is this man’s problem?
It doesn’t take long for me to figure it out, at least partly. “Henry and Elijah have generously consented to watch over you in their home until the next delivery.”
Delivery? I wait for her to continue, but she doesn’t offer anything else. I doubt I would get an answer if I asked.
“Consider this an act of true mercy,” she murmurs as Elijah approaches, hands outstretched. Reaching for me, ready to grab me. “As I said, I have wrestled with this. And there was a point, I’m sorry to say, when the notion of leaving you here until the delivery seemed the best reaction considering the severity of your transgression.”
I can barely keep track of the nonsense she’s spewing. I’m too busy getting manhandled by Elijah, who doesn’t say a wordor even look at me while pulling me from the would-be bed. He might as well be a robot, following orders without thinking about it. How can anybody be this cruel? It’s like I’m not even a person.
“You’re hurting me,” I finally have to whimper when his fingers bite into my arm as he leads me out of the cell and into the fresh air. “Don’t squeeze so hard!”
It’s not the pain that makes me feel frantic, panicky, like there’s something ready to explode out of my chest. It’s that cold, uncaring attitude. I need him to react somehow instead of just staring straight ahead, hardly blinking.
My body acts before I can think, and the next thing I know, I’m kicking him in the shin.
He still doesn’t say a word. All he does is growl and bare his teeth like an animal before bending and throwing me over his shoulder.
“Are you serious?” Evidently, yes, since he marches with Henry following behind us, snorting like this is all a big joke.
Instead of taking me back to the bunkhouse, we end up in a small brick cottage not far from Rebecca’s house. I’ve heard people talk about these smaller, individual houses. The homes the elders and their families live in. They’re given more liberties and luxuries than the average group members.
I wish I could look around and see if there’s any way to escape, but Elijah wastes no time marching me up the stairs and into a room at the end of the hall.
“Tie her to the bed,” Henry orders once we’re in there, making my heart lurch. This is getting worse by the second, and by the time Elijah drops me on a twin bed, I’m fighting breathless sobs.
“Don’t do this,” I whisper while Elijah uses rope to tie my wrists to the metal bed frame. I try like hell to look him in the eye, to reach whatever humanity is in him. But no matter how I crane my neck or twist my head around, he won’t look at me.He’s too busy tying tight knots. At least he’s not nasty or vicious about it, but he doesn’t leave any room for me to slide my hands out of the ropes, either.
I hear his father laughing softly as Elijah leaves the room and closes the door without either of them giving me a clue about what happens next. How long am I going to be here? And oh, my god, what are they going to do to me? How did Rebecca describe it? They’ll be taking care of me. There was something sinister in her voice when she said that.
They wouldn’t… no, they couldn’t. Rebecca would never let them rape me. But then again, how would she know? And would she care?
The knots are tight, but the rope is long enough that I’m able to move around a little. I push myself up into a sitting position and brush stray bits of hair away from my eyes and face. The room has obviously not been used in a long time—there’s not even a sheet on the bed, just a bare mattress and a pillow without a case. The curtains at the window are faded and thin, like they’ve been hanging there for a long time, but the window is closed. With all the mustiness, I could use a little fresh air in here, but I doubt they would trust me to leave a window open. I’m sure by now everybody knows what happened.
I wonder if they’re using me as a way to keep anybody else from trying an escape. Once again, I’m an example, only this time, it’s of what not to do.
