New Title 7 (19 page)

"Just—another minute."

"Hurry."

"I
said
it'd be another minute. Be patient."

By the time he came my stomach muscles were ripping or so it seemed. This shit was getting old, this BS with the Levine men using me as their punching bag and sex doll.

Perhaps a bit of karma would teach Tyler a lesson. Soon.

Without dressing, he collapsed on a chaise lounger at the far side of the bedroom. He reached for the dresser, snatched a beige Stetson hat and used it to cover his dick and balls.

"Why do you and Brandon like to tie up women to have sex?"

He groaned, stretched and the hat toppled off. He grabbed it, slapped it on his mid-section.

"How the fuck am I supposed to know?" He eased his fingers through his hair, fingering the golden strands.

"There's gotta be a reason."

"Because my dad used to watch porn in front of us. Shit, I don't know."

"What kind of porn was it?"

"Just—porn."

"What
kind
?"

He blew out a sigh. "For Christ's sake, are you
this
annoying with my brother?"

"No, but will you tell me? I won't shut up until you do."

"Dad got addicted to watching films showing girls getting attacked, spanked, raped and tied up. Brandon and I were little kids. Whenever Mom left for church, Dad brought out his secret stash of videos." He snickered. "If Mom showed up early, Dad went nuts trying to put away his stash before she discovered it."

"How old were you and Brandon?"

"I was maybe six, he would've been four."

"How long did your dad watch this stuff in front of you?"

"Years. Probably until I was thirteen. Then for some reason he stopped."

"And you liked what you saw in those movies?"

"Eventually. So I tried it in real life with one of my girlfriends. Turned out she liked it too."

"Why did Brandon start doing it?"

"I'm the one who introduced it to him. I told him how much fun it was doing it in real life. I told him that women love it. That was before we stopped getting along."

"Oh."

"Anything else you wish to know?" he sarcastically asked.

"How many girls have you tied up?"

"Seriously? Um, I guess somewhere around twenty. Thirty. Forty."

"How many girls—how many have you raped?"

"None."

Fucking liar.
"But you've been raping me, Tyler. So how many other girls have you done this to? I'm curious."

A peal of nervous laughter.

"Come on. How many?"

"I don't know, Mia. Stop asking stupid questions before I come over there and knock you the fuck out."

I quieted.
Now
he was acting like Brandon.

"I
will
say you remind me of my mother. That's probably what attracted Brandon to you, and probably why I'm drawn to you."

"You think I look like your mom?"

"A younger version of course. I'm sure that's part of the reason Mom likes you so well. She thinks of you as a daughter."

"So your mom never found your dad's secret stash?"

"Not as far as I know."

Silence.

"Can you leave? I want to sleep," I said.

He shuffled near the bed and got dressed.

"Sleep well, Mia." He planted a kiss on my forehead.

Noisy music cut off.

Yeah. I'll sleep well, you hot, gorgeous, beautiful disgusting freak of fucking nature.

A freak trained to be that way by his careless father. He created two monsters and unleashed them on an unsuspecting world.

To my detriment, I still loved one of those monsters.

T
oday Tyler would be heading home,
thank god.

I'd been drugged for three days. Every eight hours he came in to inject me. During those times he freed me to use the bathroom.

He hadn't fed me much. In three days I'd eaten apples, crackers, a candy bar and drank bottled water. Good thing the drugs dulled my appetite.

This morning I realized whose bedroom this was. It belonged to Brandon's parents and upon the vanity was a basket containing tools used for knitting, such as long needles and yarn bundles.

Countless family portraits hung on the walls and one was a large wedding photo of Robert and Doris.

A clock on the dresser read
6:30 a.m.
Outside two arched windows, dawn lightened the navy blue horizon.

Tyler was late giving me an injection. I suffered accordingly as my stomach burned with anxiety, limbs rigid. My muscles loosened, tensed, loosened, tensed. I was painfully aware of my circumstances and aware of the constricting belts which chafed my ankles and wrists.

Where the fuck is he? If he isn't going to inject me then he needs to let me go. Untie all this shit!

At 7:15 a.m. a door slammed downstairs and someone's feet thudded the steps.

Bedroom door flew open.

His lips twisted, eyes blazed as his face flamed red. His arms locked around Alicia.

Tyler shoved her and she sprawled face-down on the floor. She rolled, scrambled to escape but he hastily closed the distance between them.

He just stood there and watched her.

"I'm sorry, Tyler! I didn't want it to happen! Please don't do anything to me." Alicia wept.

What had she done?

"Goddammit," he growled. "You told me you were on birth control. You're going to pay the fucking price for lying."

"Wait!" She held up her hands, palms forward like ineffectual shields. "I forgot a few doses, I swear. I didn't do this on purpose.
Why don't you believe me
?"

"I don't give a fuck. The point is—you
let
yourself forget. You
let
this happen. For Christ's fucking sake! I told you the last time you got an abortion—never get knocked up again. Do you have any fucking idea what my family would do if they found out? Do you know I could be arrested? Do you know the baby you're carrying is living proof I had sex with a minor? I could lose my fucking law practice! I could lose everything! All because you—
forgot
."

He maniacally gestured as he bitched and Alicia crept backward.

"And why the fuck did you wait so long to tell me, god fucking dammit!"

"I—I don't know why. I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?" He clapped a palm to his forehead. "You're
sorry
? Fuck your sorries. Your pitiful little
sorries
won't cut it. I'll
make
you sorry. You're four goddamn months pregnant, almost too late for an abortion!"

"But it's not too late," she timidly said. "I'll get one. Please don't hurt me."

"It
is
too late." His shoulders drooped as though he were tired. "It's too late for me. You've already had
three
abortions in three years, so I'll take care of it... myself. Then maybe this time you'll learn."

"Wha—what?" She scooted back an additional foot.

"I think you know." He went to the dresser.

"No! No, Tyler. Please, no, no, no."

"Shut up, Alicia. Take your punishment and stop acting like a whiny little bitch." He fished a long, giant knitting needle from the craft basket.

"
Oh my god... no... no Tyler... please oh god no... don't
." Alicia jumped to her feet and ducked to evade him. He spread his arms to block her path and tackled her to the floor.

Her screams chilled the blood in my veins, disturbed me to the depths of my soul. I could do absolutely nothing to help.

Nothing
.

I couldn't watch anymore.

"Hold still, bitch," he said.

"I can't! It
hurts
!" She wailed.

"I said hold fucking still or I'm gonna stick this needle—"

"Stop oh god please stop. It—hurts—so—bad—Tyler. Please! Tyler Tyler Tyler. Please, Tyler, stop." She exhaled a rapid series of breaths.

"Fuck! Stop moving around, I'm almost fucking done. I'd already be done if you'd stop squirming, goddammit."

"It hurts—hurts—Tyler." Alicia's cries tapered to mewlings.

"I think I've got it," he muttered. "Yes that's it. Just another second."

"Hurts. Hurts.
Hurts
."

"You're finished. Get up and stop whining."

I turned to look.

Tyler wiped the needle with a paper towel. He replaced the needle inside the basket and tossed the towel on the dresser.

Alicia huddled against the wall, hugging herself. Dark red trailed down her inner thighs.

He grabbed the paper towel and threw it at Alicia. "Put that in your panties before you get blood all over the goddamn carpet."

She lowered her underwear and crammed the paper towel inside, then tugged her panties up.

"Get in the bathroom and put on a pussy pad." He pointed at the doorway. "And since you're pretty far along, you might wanna sit on the toilet for a while to pass that—
thing
—inside you. What's left of it."

She sidled around him as she headed out.

This didn't happen. None of it. It's all a bad dream. That's all. A bad dream.

Yes. A bad dream. Like the last six months have been... a bad dream.

Because people like this don't really exist. There are no Tylers in the world. There's no such thing as monsters. No such thing.

When Alicia returned, he held a mobile phone to his cheek.

"Before I call 911, I want you to promise me you won't tell anyone at the hospital what happened."

"I promise." Her head was low. She seemed broken, soulless, flat.

"If you don't keep your promise, you know what I'll do?"

"No."

"I'll come back for you and use an even bigger needle. I'll make sure you never get pregnant again. Alright?"

"Yes, Tyler."

"I'm glad we understand each other." He raised the phone to his ear. "I have an emergency situation. Uh, my cousin is bleeding profusely due to a miscarriage."

After that, he set the phone on the dresser. According to Tyler an ambulance would show in twenty minutes.

He placed two fingers beneath Alicia's chin, lifting her face so he could look in her eyes. "What are you going to tell the doctor in case he asks who fathered your baby?"

"I'll tell him it was a boy from school," she obediently said.

"Good, good." He leaned to give her a kiss on the lips. "Everything will be fine now."

He was like a parent, she his child and forced to obey his commands. A sick, dangerous relationship.

* * *

T
yler lugged in a container of bleach with a bucket and rags.

He got on his hands and knees, cursed as he scrubbed the carpet. He blamed everything on poor Alicia, though
he
was the one who jabbed a massive needle up her vagina.

God. I couldn't even imagine.

And an ambulance had taken her to the E.R. hours earlier.

Tyler had unfastened me from the bed. Four leather belts were scattered near my feet and pink welts lined my ankles and wrists.

He let me dress in a ratty T-shirt and shorts.

Because of the injections, my thighs were bruised and sore enough to make me limp.

I perched on the mattress while he tirelessly cleaned. When his work paid off, he pitched the mess of cleaning supplies in the bucket.

He informed me of his plan to stay an extra night. That way he could 'fully recuperate from this nightmarish day before having to face a bunch of whiny clients.' He also had to fetch Alicia from the hospital.

Fuck it. I didn't care. I gave up long ago. Let him spend a
whole month
.

The damage was done.

"Mia, we haven't yet talked about consequences if you decide to open your mouth about what's happened." He braced his hand to the threshold as he peered in.

"Consequences? So what would be the consequences? Do tell."

"I don't need your sarcasm. But as I was saying, you know what I did to Alicia, how I pierced her insides with the needle? If you tell anyone anything at all, I'll do exactly the same thing to you."

"I won't tell anyone. I get it."

He glared. "And if you keep up your shitty sarcastic attitude, I'll come over there and tie you back to the bed. Only this time I'll make the belts tight enough to cut off your blood supply."

"I'm sorry."

"Okay." He disappeared.

I shuddered at the sight of the knitting needle sticking from the basket.

When will this end?
Something told me it
would
end and the final countdown had just begun.

'Be not deceived. God is not mocked, for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.'

L
ike people always say: The day began just like any other. How could I have known the way it would turn out?

When I die, that statement should be engraved on my headstone. Actually I'm lucky I'm not already dead.

Last night Tyler picked up Alicia. She'd spent the night here and he was supposed to drive her home while heading to Texas City, even though it'd take longer to reach his destination.

I'd lain awake in bed for twenty hours, mind blank, void of anything and desolate as my heart.

For six months I'd trained myself to use certain techniques in order to survive. Brainwashed myself, if that were possible.

'How's that workin' for ya?'
I heard Dr. Phil say.

'Well, Dr. Phil, it must be working alright. Because I'm still alive,'
I replied.

'Yeah, but—how's that workin' for ya?'
he said and the audience roared with laughter.

I'm losing it. It's finally happened. I'm losing my fucking mind. So you're right, Dr. Phil, it's NOT working for me.

Not anymore. 

A gentle knock came at the door.

"Yeah?" I raised upright.

"Uh, it's me, Alicia. Can I come in?"

"Yeah."

With hesitance Alicia stepped inside. She appeared fresh and well-rested.

Somehow.

Her bright eyes met mine, face somber and serious. More serious than a teenager should look unless they'd endured a similar nightmare.