Page 52 of Shame

I know she can. I know I can trust her.

Late that night, so late it’s early, when everything has gone silent, I leave my room for the last time, sneak through the house with my heart in my throat, through the basement, and climb out through one of the windows in the dungeon. The room reeks of sex. We clean it in the daytime. I don’t dare to use the front door in case anyone would happen upon me.

The hinges squeak when I push the window open, and I hold my breath for a moment, listening to the night. Everything is as quiet as a grave, though, and I push it open the rest of the way, throw out my bag and climb through. Closing the window, I straighten and try to get my breathing back under control while I look around me. It’s pitch-black here at the back of the house, no street-lamps, but the stars shine bright on the velvety canopy over my head, guiding me. I see it as a sign.

It’s a long walk. I hope I can catch a cab somewhere, but the first hour is gonna be just me and the road. The house lies on the outskirts of town with lots of greenery, and not a lot of civilization.

I jump at every shadow, and dive into the bushes every time I hear a car. My feet pound the gravel by the side of the road, and with every step images, rather than words, flit through my mind. There are no words that can describe the mess I’m in, so all my brain is capable of are the images. Lucas’ tormented face, the despair in his eyes. Salvatore’s emotionless gaze, the abuse, the humiliation. His baby in me. In my mind it has horns, a tail, and pitch-black, hateful eyes. My stomach churns and I have to stop. I dry retch in the bushes, wipe off the saliva with my sleeve and trudge on.

It’s not comforting to reach more populated areas without seeing any cabs. I have no protection against the predators in the night, and I begin to wonder if I should risk waiting for the day to break anyway. In daylight, I risk being seen by the wrong people. Weighing my options, none of them good, I opt to take a break in a dark alley anyway. Sitting on the filthy ground, I rest my back against the rough brick wall. I have on the most sensible shoes I own, flat sandals, but my feet hurt anyway, and I peel them off. There are blisters, big fluid-filled blisters and some that have broken. My fingers come back wet, but at least not bloody.

I only have water. I didn’t dare to make sandwiches and maybe raise suspicions, and I’m so hungry I could eat a horse. My stomach growls and I lay a hand over it, painfully aware of what grows in there. I don’t know what to do. I don’t dare to see a doctor. I don’t want to keep it, raise it. Give it away for adoption is my only choice, but I can’t do it legally, and no matter whose child it is, I don’t wish for bad things to happen to it. I need to find a good home, a family who are willing to take on a child without the proper papers. That doesn’t go together, does it? Good people willing to do an illegal adoption. Well, I’ll sort it. I have a few months.

My mind spins as I pull a few sheets of old newspapers over me, hiding me from plain sight, hoping to doze off a little. I can’t keep walking. I may be a lady of the night, but it won’t help me here. Daylight is only a few hours away. It’s Monday morning, people will be on their way to work and I’ll be safe. Hopefully it will be too soon for the house to have discovered that I’m missing. Probably. They’re generally not early birds, my colleagues of the trade.

I fall asleep, my heart heavy, seeing Lucas before me, my one sliver of happiness that I’m now leaving behind.

When I wake, I’ll make my way back to my old apartment, to my old roommates. No one knows that place except Gabriela.

Lucas

As soon as I possibly can, without raising suspicions, I flee the mansion. I’m drunk as a bat as I drive home, and a danger to myself and everyone around me. I stop at an abandoned parking lot on the outskirts of town, stumble out of the car and puke my guts out.

All I keep seeing, on repeat in my mind, is how he drags her away, her big dark frightened eyes. All I feel is desperately impotent. All my training, all the speed and strength I’ve built the last few years - for nothing. I couldn’t have saved her. Maybe if it had been him and me, but in a room full of his men, no. I’d be dead and of no use to her anyway. I keep seeing how he defiled her, how his filthy hand pushed in and out of her pussy, for everyone to see. Her contorted features, frightened, embarrassed.

He stared me down, the fucker, challenged me to act. His cruel face filled with anticipation. I hope I disappointed him good. Nurturing red-hot thoughts of revenge, I climb to the back of the limo and fall into a restless sleep. Two in the morning on Sunday. Still dark. In a run-down part of town. Alone.

Carmen follows me in my dreams. I miss her curvy little body in my arms, so warm, so soft. I want to hold her and tell her everything’s gonna be all right. Even if I’m gonna have to knock her unconscious and tie her up, I’m taking her with me. We’re leaving this shit hole.

I wake from voices and the sound of feet outside the car. It’s still dark, but more of a gray darkness now, holding the promise of a new day dawning. I grab the gun from under the seat and listen. Some punks. They’re taking the car. I scoff as a spike of adrenaline shoots through me. The hell they are. I slam open the door and aim the gun at the largest guy.

“Dude!” The big one, a bald black guy, half his face covered in tattoos, holds out his hands. No gun.

“Get lost!” I growl.

There’re four. Two of the guys, one black guy with way too many pounds and a need to pull up his pants, and one twitchy, tall, blond and skinny pull out guns, it happens in a fraction of a second. I don’t hesitate. No talking, no warning. I shoot the twitchy one first, then the big guy before Skinny has even hit the ground. The other two yell out whatever shock and surprise they’re feeling before I plant two rounds in their chests too. I regard the first two. They’re dead, but I fire off a bullet in each of their heads to be sure. They don’t move.

As blood pools on the asphalt, I glance around me, satisfied to see we’re still alone. I kick the twitchy one, then I hop in the car and speed off. It shouldn’t feel good killing someone, but fuck me, the rush of adrenaline, taking out my fucking agony on some at least semi-deserving punks felt awesome.

I’m in a better mood when I get home. My mind swirls with constructive thoughts of our escape out of this hellhole. We’ll make our way to the East Coast, I haven’t figured out where yet. I have every initial step still planned from before. Phones. Money. Switching cars. I gotta get something to tie Carmen up with, something that won’t harm her. Not that I want to tie her up, but she’ll definitely try to get away, the little hellion. Maybe I can just cuff her to something in the car? I’ll look into that.

Jerking off in a hot shower, shamefully aroused by the visions from tonight, something I’ll never admit to Carmen, I then fall into bed. I’m drained. Gotta get some energy up for what I’m about to do. Gotta have a clear mind.

Early afternoon, I pack. I already have what I bought her the last time, still in the bag, never used. I got my gun, new phones, everything I can think of.

I sleep much better Sunday night. Tomorrow we’re starting a new life.

Monday morning, my heart pounds out of control when I lock up my place for the last time. I won’t miss it. I won’t miss any of this. All I see before me is my girl.

When I get there, the house is a mess. Fingers of ice clutch my heart. Something is wrong. She’s dead! The fucker killed her!

I run through the common room and grab the first girl I can get my hands on. She gasps and pulls her arm out of my grip with a string of protests against the treatment.

“Where’s Carmen?”

Her eyes dart to something behind me and then she spins on her heels and disappears deeper into the house. I look over my shoulder and find the matron standing there, her arms crossed over her chest, as if she’s comforting herself, rather than challenging me.

“Is it Carmen? Please tell—”

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