“Good night, Calvin.”
I smiled and headed toward my bedroom. Right as I reached the long, dark hallway, I felt a hand on my shoulder. It whipped me around with so much force that I didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late. Calvin’s lips were on mine, and they were hungry, as if he hadn’t eaten enough at dinner. His hands ran up and down my back. His tongue pried open my mouth and forced its way in. His lips and tongue were wet and sloppy, not like I had experienced before.
I put my hands on his shoulders and shoved him. He stumbled backward, immediately lowering his head. I closed my eyes for a brief second and inhaled. The breath got caught in my lungs, and I held it there. Maybe it would never escape. Maybe that breath of air would always be there, like a pain just beneath my ribs that I couldn’t get rid of—one that would always remind me of this moment with Calvin.
“I’m sorry. I can’t,” I said.
He scratched at his forehead.
“I’m leaving tomorrow.”
Calvin took a deep breath that sounded more like a grunt.
“I know you think you are, Grace,” he said, narrowing his eyes.
I blinked a few times and stepped back. “What did you say?”
“I said I know you are, Grace.”
I took another step back. Is that what he said? I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t sure about anything anymore.
“I’m sorry. I just misread things.” He slapped the palm of his hand against his forehead. “Sleep well,” he said and then he slunk back toward the kitchen.
I retreated down the hallway, not turning around until I felt the door handle in my hand. I opened the door and closed it behind me. When I reached for the lock, I realized he hadn’t fixed it like he said he would. Before getting into bed, I leaned the desk chair against the door, securing the back underneath the handle. I hoped he’d leave it unlocked for me in the morning.
In the middle of the night, my eyes shot open. The room was pitch-black, silent. I wasn’t sure what it was that had roused me but something must have. My body was soaked with sweat. My heart raced, and my breathing was quick and uncontrolled like I had just run a marathon. I listened for any sound, any movement, but nothing. Perhaps it was nothing, a freak anomaly of the mind jarring me back to consciousness. But no—the brain doesn’t just do that, not for nothing. Then a hand, cupped to fit the curvature of my face, rested over my mouth, gently at first, but then the pressure began to force my head deeper into the pillow, sending pain up the sides of my jaw.
“Shhhhh, time to be quiet, Grace Evans.”
I still couldn’t see well enough to make everything out, but that was Calvin’s voice. I’d know it anywhere. I went to grab for his hand, but a tight burn dug into both of my wrists. I had been tied to the bed in my sleep, legs as well, a bound victim afloat on a padded mattress. I tried to scream but it was nothing more than a muffled wail through the hard-pressed skin and bones.
“Now, now, now, Grace. I said it was time to be quiet. Haven’t we caused enough trouble already?”
Just as quickly as it came, his hand lifted away—but then something rough and coarse was shoved deep into my mouth, almost gagging me. No sound could escape now. Tears rolled down my cheeks in fear of what would come.
“I’m sorry, Grace. Truly, I am. I can’t promise you will enjoy any of what is about to happen to you. In fact, I can promise quite the opposite. But just know that it wasn’t your fault. You merely, well . . . made it worse.”
Goose bumps covered my body as something cold and lifeless pressed into my center. And then a heat like I have never felt before, followed by immense wetness. It was as though I had pissed the bed. Then it came. The worst pain I had ever felt in my life. My muffled screams were drowned out by Calvin’s deep laughter. The steel moved up toward my navel, meeting resistance as it passed every sinew and fiber of muscle, bone, and tendon. I was being treated like a freshly caught fish, laid out on a newspaper.
“Remember what I said about fishing? The trick is to get the hook all the way through it from end to end, so it can’t get off. You’re the worm, Grace. You could have been the fish, but you wanted to get away from me so badly.” He laughed maniacally.
I felt the steel press farther inside of me, scraping and tearing my insides. A hand squeezed my throat, crushing it further like a vice grip. My last breath was mere moments away. My mind closed off as the steel and barb began to push up through my esophagus and then . . .
“uggghhh.” Panting breaths and cold sweat consumed me as I jarred awake, sitting up in the bed. I ran my hands all over my body, my throat, my wrists, my stomach—all unscathed. Oh my fucking God! What was that? I looked around the dark room. There was nothing—just blackness and silence. When I was convinced no one else was in the room, I laid back down and closed my eyes, repeating over and over to myself, “One more sleep.”
Day Ten
48.
Calvin
“Shit,” I muttered. The time on the clock read 9:07 a.m. I hadn’t slept in this late since I lived back in Colorado, when animals weren’t depending on me to be fed and watered. The evening before was all a blur. After Grace went to sleep, I went deep into a bottle of whiskey, trying to forget her as I knew she’d leave me in the morning. I realized it after she pushed me away and looked at me like I was someone to be avoided and feared. Running my hands over my face to wake myself up, I noticed how quiet the house was. My eyes went wide. Had Grace left? She couldn’t have. I hopped out of bed; my heels thudded as they hit the hardwood floor. Tossing on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, I came barreling out of my room. Grace’s bedroom door was open. I peeked my head in to find that all of her stuff was gone and the bed was made. It was like no one had ever stayed here.
“Shit,” I yelled.
Then I heard the trunk of a car close and all my worries melted away. Glancing outside the living room window, I watched Grace toss a bag in the back of her vehicle. She was ready to go. She looked back at the house and started walking toward it. I breathed a sigh of relief and ran to the kitchen.
I poured myself a cup of joe, waiting for her to come say her goodbyes. She’d clearly been up a while because the coffee was lukewarm. I guzzled the whole thing and refilled it again. The tepid acid coated the sides of my stomach as it made its way down, not much different than the whiskey that played the same role just several hours prior. The screen door creaked open and then closed, the wood slapping against the frame, a punctuation mark for the person entering the room. But unlike the free-swinging door, her footsteps were light and quiet, traveling through the living room as if she were gliding a few inches above the floor.
“Hey,” she said, standing at the opening of the kitchen, her arms crossed and guarded.