I hear movement and then he shoves her into the light, up close. There is a wild look in her eyes and I don’t get it. There’s still life in her eyes, unlike now – they’re vacant.
“There’s nothing left of her, Tom. You should have given us the money when we asked.”
He shoves her hard to the floor and seconds later the recording stops.
It’s finished?
I check through the other memory cards and I count only three. I press rewind until I have a clear shot of her face, then I pause.
I lean closer and stare long and hard at those eyes. “What happened, Cara?” I whisper. “What broke you?”
I keep staring at her green eyes, sparkling with tears – but mostly, they are alive.
I think back to when I found her. She was filthy as shit … and she reeked of vomit and piss. Not once did she puke on any of the memory cards I’ve watched, not even with the last one when the fucker raped her. Sure, she could have puked afterwards, off camera.
But something worse must’ve happened to kill the life in her eyes. What the fuck could be worse than what I already saw and heard?
I get up and leave the office. I lock the door behind me and then walk to her room. I knock softly but there’s no answer. I nudge the door open wider until I can see the bed. I’m surprised to see it’s empty, she’s always in it. I open the door all the way and then see her standing by the window.
I flip on the light and she swings around, a clear look of terror on her face.
“Fuck, sorry,” I say quickly, walking in so she can see me clearly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t.” The words rush from her and I just nod. She has so much pride. It’s the one thing they couldn’t take from her. I can see clear as day that she’s scared shitless of me, but she’ll never admit it.
I walk over to her and stare down at her. Her eyes do a dance around the room before she finally looks up at me. Dull, green eyes. Sometimes I see a spark of anger, but that’s rare.
I want to tell her I’m sorry for not getting her out sooner. I haven’t felt this emotion in a long time … failure. I’ve failed Cara the same way I failed Leah. It doesn’t matter that Cara’s breathing, because she might as well be dead … just like Leah.
Cara~
“Go make yourself pretty, we’re going out.” He drops the bomb on me a week later.
“Huh.” I glance over my shoulder to where he’s leaning against the counter. My hands still in the warm water as I wait for him to explain.
“Don’t grunt at me. You heard me. Now go,” he growls, but there’s no bite to his growl. There hasn’t been any bite to his voice since he hugged me in that motel room.
I don’t know what changed between us but I’m wary of it.
I finish washing the fork and let the dirty water drain out. As I dry my hands I can still feel his eyes on me so I hang the cloth quickly and rush out of the kitchen.
I don’t want to go out. I don’t want to see people. I want to stay here where it’s only us, where I’m safe. The last time we left the house it turned out quite disastrous in my books.
Thirty minutes later he knocks on my door. I stare at him, actually I gawk at him. He’s all dressed up. I mean he really looks good. Black jeans, charcoal button up shirt that accentuates the gray of his eyes and I think he knows that. That’s why he wears that color all the time.
He steps closer and I catch a faint scent in the air. Shit! He’s even smelling different, a good kind of different. The spicy scent quickly fills the room and it makes my mouth water.
He frowns when he sees that I haven’t changed yet.
“People, Damian!” It’s all I can say to try to make him understand.
“You’re not gonna lock yourself up in this house. I gave you weeks. It takes two weeks to break a habit and to build one up. You’ve had more than two. You’re making it a habit to stay in this room if you’re not cleaning or cooking. You don’t even go outside. You’re not a damn slave,” he snaps.
Well, at least the bite is back.
“I enjoy doing those things.” I defend myself lamely.
His face darkens and he stalks over to my cupboard. I never get in Damian’s way, just because I know I won’t win once he has that look in his eyes. He moves one hanger after another and then he throws a pair of slacks and an old shirt on the bed. I almost roll my eyes at him. I mean, really.
“Get dressed or I’m dressing you,” he snaps before he stalks out.
I stare at the plain outfit and then walk over to the cupboard. I say a silent prayer of thanks for the new outfits I got a week ago. He must’ve chosen the oldest stuff out of the cupboard.
Willfulness sets in and I search through the cupboard for something else to wear.
“I’ll show you,” I hiss, before I grab an outfit I never would’ve worn unless I was pissed off.
I get dressed fast and pull a brush through my hair. Make-up would’ve been real welcome right about now, but I’ve done the best I can with what I have.