“This is important. You speak to no one. You go with no one. Only phone the number that’s on it if anything goes wrong. Do you understand?” he asks.
I nod. He’s letting me go by myself? My eyes flit to the mall and I watch the people move in and out, just minding their own business.
I can do this. I have to do this. I have to do something on my own.
I glance back to Damian and his lips are set in a hard line. “I need to hear the word yes from you, Cara,” he says and his eyes darken to a deep charcoal.
He seems worried about me. The thought rushes through me, causing havoc and stirring up whirls of unsettling emotions inside of me. I’ve been alone for so long. I’ve forgotten what it feels like to have someone worry over me.
“Yes,” I blow the word out on a hard breath.
“Here’s money. Get decent clothes … stuff you like. I’ll be back in exactly sixty minutes.” His eyes hold mine. “One hour, Cara.”
“Yes,” I say to placate him and to talk some willpower into myself so that I can do this.
He reaches for me and his fingers slip over my collarbone. He squeezes and I realize that’s his version of a hug. I just don’t know why he felt the need to touch me, and I’m too scared to ask.
“Make eye contact with no one and keep your head down,” he says and the muscle starts to jump in his cheek. “Shit, I should’ve left you at home,” he blurts out.
And then it hits me. He’s the one that’s not ready to let me go into public by myself, never mind me not being ready. This is a huge step for the both of us.
Damian Weston knows fear, too. He’s scared he won’t be here to keep his promise to me. The thought makes me feel oddly relieved.
I smile for the first time and lean into him. I hesitate but then push through with the action. His beard is rough against my lips as I press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Go, Damian. I have your number. If something happens, I’ll go to the most public spot and phone you.” I quickly pull back and leave without a backward glance. I don’t know if he is half as shocked as I am feeling right now about what I just did.
As I walk slowly into the mall, my eyes dart to every person in my near vicinity, assessing whether they could be a possible threat to me.
My heart keeps pounding and everything around me seems overly bright and loud.
This is a huge mistake. Shit!
I should leave and phone Damian so he can come back.
“You can do this.” My voice is a desperate whisper.
An elderly woman shuffles by me, way too close for comfort. I flinch to the side and then scurry away from her.
Shit, I should run and hide. I should find a safe place until Damian comes for me. Panicked thoughts whizz through my mind, making me feel detached from everything around me.
“You can do this,” I let the words out on a harsh breath. Shit, so many people, so many sounds. I’m going to die of a panic attack.
I suck in a deep breath and whisper to myself, “I can do this.”
Only after ten minutes of aimlessly walking around, do I start to relax a little, enough to notice the different shops around me. I head into the first one and go for the first display of shirts I see.
They are more for summer but I take them anyway. I just want to get this whole shopping trip over with as quickly as possible.
I mix and match, trying to create some sort of style, seeing as all my stuff was left at the motel in Scappoose when I was taken. I make sure to get comfy underwear, too, and some toiletries.
I keep an eye on the cell, watching the time. And then I see a pretty skirt. I’ve never been one for dresses or skirts, it’s always been jeans. I wander over to the little black and gray number. On impulse I take it. I don’t think about it again. I get a pair of sneakers and boots. A girl has to have at least one pair of boots.
By the time I’m done and back outside, I have ten minutes to spare. There are no missed calls, no text messages.
Damian comes five minutes later. His face is tense and his worry-muscle is jumping overtime. He gets out and helps me place the bags in the trunk. He ushers me to the passenger side and almost shoves me in. I watch him rush around the front of the car and then he drives slowly away as if nothing is wrong. His fingers grip the steering wheel hard, until the tips go red.
“What-” And then I hear the moan – an agonizingly low moan. I turn slowly in my seat and slap both my hands over my mouth to keep from screaming.
We don’t go back home. Damian drives for hours and then he finally pulls over at a shady-looking motel. He doesn’t say anything and I keep quiet, not having the guts to talk first. As soon as we stop, I scramble out of the car and get out of the way.
“Stay with her,” he snaps at me. I watch as he goes to the reception area.