Bella's Choice (15 page)

Mrs. Clark complimented her on her win, and they chatted about that for a while. She offered them water from her bar fridge, which they gladly accepted. Anabella h
ad always loved this couple; both were coaches, with all three of their children showing promise as swimmers. They loved the sport and its participants equally. Something that set them apart from many she knew.

Mr. Clark was strict―as any good coach should be―but he showed a good deal more care for them. He was interested in all aspects of their lives, and his door was always open for a chat. Their conduct resembled the Richter couple, whom she respected just as much.

“I noticed you were tense this afternoon, Anabella. Is there a problem you’d like to talk about?” Mr. Clark asked, his tone relaxed, although she detected a hint of urgency.

How much can I tell them?
She didn’t want to get the two men into trouble, which would inevitably cause problems in their sporting career. As they were extremely good swimmers, their country supported them and expected them to deliver Olympic gold in two years time.

With her decision made, she told them about the sleepless nights, but didn’t elaborate, or give them too much information.

They listened and nodded in understanding.

“I am receiving counseling,” she assured him, “for the nightmares. I think it’s perhaps the intensity of constant competition that’s making me tense, but I can assure you, Mr. Clark, that it will not influence my abilities in the water.” This was delivered with confidence, her gaze unwavering under his strict stare.

“You do know that if there is anything else, anything at all, bothering you, you can speak to me, or Doreen?”

“Yes, sir, I do. Thank you.”

“Are you ready for tomorrow?”

“I most certainly am, sir.”

“Okay then, we shall leave you in peace. Goodnight, Anabella.”

“Goodnight, Mr. and Mrs. Clark.”

They walked out, pondering over Anabella’s words.

Charles and Thomas passed them, each sporting a smirk, and greeted her coach. Shocked, she closed the door and locked it. She rushed over to the window, making sure it was locked, preventing them from entering via that route. With her cell phone in hand, she was back in bed in a flash, her heart racing a mile a minute.

Suddenly, her cell rang. It showed an unknown number, but she was certain of who the caller was. Answering, against her better judgment, and before she could say anything, she heard, “I hope you didn’t rat us out, little girl, because if you did…” The warning hung in the air.

“No, I didn’t,” she said, concentrating on her voice to keep it under control. Under no circumstance would he ever know how much he affected her. Fear wouldn’t rule her; exactly what Mrs. Smit had said in her last email to Anabella. She would remember that. She wouldn’t be a slave to fear. She would overcome this, not only for herself, but also for her future with Aldrich. He was definitely her future, that much she knew, and she would protect it at all costs.

“You’d better hope so. Sleep tight, sugar.”

The connection went silent, and with a sense of foreboding, she shivered.

She lay back in bed and whispered, “Lord, tonight you protected me from harm, and I thank you for that. Despite the fact that I don’t know you that well, You were a shield around me.”

She fell into a dreamless sleep, awakening the next morning refreshed.

The month of December passed quickly for Anabella without any problems from either Charles, or Thomas, although their constant stares all but informed her that they were not done with her. She kept her distance, and accepted no invitation from the group in general.

The constant snickering when she entered a room couldn’t be avoided. The glances from fellow
swimmers―which showed disgust or simply curiosity―were ones she didn’t return. The way the men looked at her, though, was something else entirely. Some went as far as to ask her out; she didn’t respond.

Through all of this, she made one friend. Marjorie S
imms was an excellent swimmer for the English team. Her raven hair, huge, green eyes and beautiful body caused stirs wherever she went. Her pale, freckled complexion reminded Anabella of marble, and she spoke with a heavy Yorkshire accent. At first, she couldn’t understand a thing Marjorie said, but as time progressed, Marjorie spoke slower and they eventually formed a friendship.

The competition was stiff and the practices grueling, but the results were seen in the number of medals they all received.

Two days before Christmas, they were invited to a party at the home of Mr. Townsend, Charles’ father. Anabella―for obvious reasons―was reluctant to go, but her friend assured her that she would stay close, and that Charles wouldn’t dare try anything at his father’s house.

As they were staying for the whole weekend, Anabella and Marjorie shared a bedroom suite, which had been assigned to them by the butler. Anabella spent her time laughing at Marjorie’s antics as she mimicked the ramrod butler with his English twang. She relished the house’s luxury, if you could call it one. It was a three-story, brick home with a large wraparound porch in a southern style, so Anabella was informed. The blue shutters against the white-washed walls glimmered impressively against the late afternoon sun.

Their room was called the Pink Lady because of the huge portrait of a woman that hung against one wall. Her white dress was trimmed in pink lace, which showed off her slender body, and the parasol she delicately held in her left hand was all white lace. Her expression was serene as she stared into space, with only a glimmer of a smile on her face. The room resembled the same tones of pinks and whites as the frame; everything looked exquisite, and expensive.

The house reeked of history in every corner, nook and room, and they were told that the house had been in the family for five generations.

That night, as they finished dressing, Marjorie suddenly left without a word. Anabella couldn’t understand her friend’s flustered behavior. She had acted tense all day, but Anabella brushed it off as tiredness. The previous day’s championship had taken a lot out of them, with Marjorie needing extensive physiotherapy for a stiff muscle.

Anabella didn’t give it further thought and disappeared into the bathroom to add her finishing touches. With a last glance in the full length mirror, she smiled at herself. She looked good in the black number she had bought. The dress fit her like a glove, but covered enough not to reveal too much skin. The spaghetti straps highlighted her toned shoulders, and she wore no jewelry, as always. The black pumps showed off her tanned legs and she lifted one in pure enjoyment. It had been a while since Anabella had gone out, and this was a good opportunity to get to know all the other swimmers.

Muffled music flowed through the walls and she sung to the familiar tune while swaying her hips. Fifteen minutes later, she entered her room.

Charles and Thomas were waiting for her.

She gasped at the unexpected visitors. Both wore a devilish grin on their handsome faces. She paled and felt her blood oozing through her veins with rapid velocity.

Charles stood lazily at the door studying her from underneath his thick lashes, his shirt unbuttoned, showing glimpses of his chest and hard abdominal muscles.

Thomas was on the bed, his shirt on the floor, his tanned body shimmering under the soft light.

“Well, well,” Charles finally said, arrogant and self-assured as always. “Sugar has made an entrance.” His snarling tone sent shivers down her spine.

Thomas chuckled, sat straight up on the bed, and watched her with brooding eyes.

“She sure has taken her time, but look at her.”

They spoke to each other as if she wasn’t in the room. At first, it angered her, but as awareness crept in, she realized she was in trouble.

“It was worth the wait.” Thomas’ brooding eyes skimmed over her in lust.

She tried to conceal herself with her arms as best she could, but knew it was fruitless.

“Yes, it was,” Charles remarked, having moved closer, and now stood towering over her.

“What do you want?” she finally asked, when she got her voice back. She tried to stay calm, but her body trembled in fear, although she tried to hide it by taking on a no-nonsense stance. Finding a way to get away from them was imperative. Her eyes darted around the room, looking for an escape route, but she was trapped.

“Oh, sugar, we’ll finally get what we’ve always wanted,” Charles quipped. “You.” He wrapped his arms around her.

Anabella struggled with all her might, but he held her securely. “Please… don’t,” she pleaded as she kept her head away from him, but all he did was chuckle.

“Yes, sugar, we will.”

With one hand, he gripped her face and slanted his mouth over hers with force, his thumb working her mouth open for him. Its force hurt her and she struggled, trying to push him away, but nothing worked. He was more determined than ever. In the process of struggling, he’d turned her around where Thomas now boxed her in from the front. She shouted in his face, pushed her butt out to push Charles away, but he just laughed in her ear.

“Feisty little thing, aren’t you?”

It was a rhetorical question. Their grip intensified on her body.

“Don’t worry, sugar, you will have me soon,” Thomas whispered.

She struggled some more, but the only result she got was feeling her dress being lifted, exposing her thighs. She kicked out, but again it was fruitless and had absolutely no effect on either of them. They all but continued to smother her between them.

Everything within her fought. Anabella knew she had to get out and quickly, her nails scraping a cheek, which was followed by a growl.

The sting of a slap against her cheek caused her to stop. Determined eyes bored into hers. Charles smirked, satisfied with the fear he saw in her green depths.

He hissed softly, “This time, there is no one to save you, sugar. The sooner you comply, the sooner we can leave.”

“Never,” she hissed, and spat in his face.

He continued to smirk. At that point, her head was jerked back as Thomas slammed it against his shoulder, his tongue leaving a trail of wet kisses behind her ear.

Charles wiped away her spit, before his mouth found her chest. He bunched her dress up further in a fist, ready to rip it.

Her heart pounded in her ears and she knew she had to move quickly, sacrificing the dress in the process, but rather the dress than her. She pushed back with all her strength.

Meanwhile, back in South Africa, Aldrich woke from a bad dream. Startled, he rubbed his eyes, the feeling of unease not willing to leave him. He glanced at the clock; it showed 2:24am. He lay back and closed his eyes, but sleep evaded him. He tried to remember what had woken him, going over the dream. He’d dreamed of Anabella running free in a field, her dark-brown hair waving behind her, all sunshine and radiant. Then, she’d stopped as stormy clouds covered the sky. She looked behind her, her face contorted as she screamed. He remembered the feeling of helplessness which seemed to swallow her.

What does it mean, and why was Anabella screaming?
It didn’t make any sense to him. That’s when Aldrich remembered the few moments he’d seen her reaction when the young man had stood close by. She had tensed up. Aldrich frowned. He’d never had warnings like these, but the uneasiness continued to plague him. He sat up straight and his eyes fell on the Bible’s cover next to the clock, the fluorescent green light highlighting the gold lettering on the black leather.