Holy shit. It’s Chris!
I slump back on my ass, not caring that it’s getting saturated by bloody water droplets.
Brushing my thumb over her beautiful face, I gaze at the image, my insides crumbling as panic tries to take hold.
I don’t know the guy she’s with in this picture and I really don’t care.
All I know is that she’s my Chris and something bad has happened to her.
Shoving the photo into my pocket, I scramble off the wet floor and run for the window. I need to find her, and I can’t do it on my own.
#31:
Blood on the Tiles
Christiana
I wake with a start.
My head is killing me. Fuzz is coating the edges of my vision. It’s dark.
I close my eyes to ward off the pain that’s trying to slice my head open.
My face hurts.
The purr of an engine tells me I’m in a car.
Something’s cutting into the corners of my mouth. My lips hurt. I investigate with my tongue, working out the fabric gag.
My eyes fly open again and I fight the fuzz, looking for clues.
“Shhhh, it’s okay.”
A dark chill passes right through me as Ivan leans into view. He brushes his cold fingers over my forehead like he’s trying to soothe me. I fight against his touch, but my hands and feet are bound. I’m like a freaking fish trying to wriggle away from him.
He laughs and yanks my arm until my head’s resting back on his lap. “Stay still now. It won’t be long.”
What the hell is he talking about?
Tears fill my eyes, adding to the fuzz.
It’s impossible to see.
But I don’t need to. Memories catch up to me, bursting through my brain in an urgent rush of warning.
It’s risky to sneak to the showers when I’ve been moved to this new room, but I need to relax.
I take my time working my way to the hockey locker rooms. My flashlight is by my side, but I won’t use it unless I have to. Sticking to the shadows, I duck and weave, glancing over my shoulder every few minutes until I’m resting against the freezing outside wall.
I scramble through the window. My technique has improved over time and I can now make it through on my first attempt. I don’t land on my ass and am close to a smile as I pad towards the shower stall. I turn on the spray, reminding myself that everything is going to be okay. Ivan didn’t stop by for a midnight jerk-off. In fact, he didn’t even knock as he passed my doorway. I waited until one a.m., half expecting some kind of attack or annoyance, but nothing came. That’s when I knew it was safe to sneak out for a shower.
Sliding my sweater off, I’m about to hang it on the hook when a door creaks behind me. I spin with a gasp, dropping my sweater as fear turns my body to a useless, frozen lump.
Breaths hitch and stumble out of my mouth.
Ivan is walking towards me with slow, even steps. The sound of his shoes on the tiles is menacing.
I blink in an effort to snap out of it. Scrambling for my flashlight, I arm myself before he gets too close, but he lurches forward and yanks it out of my feeble grasp.
My nostrils flare and I make a fist, remembering my training. Powering through my body, I strike out with a punch. He blocks it and waves my hand away, following through with a backhand slap across the face.
The light he’s holding works like a club and I’m knocked off my feet and thrown into the spray.
Blood is pouring from my mouth. My jaw is killing me. I reach for my face, unable to hold back a soft whimper as I tenderly check out my wound. I must have bitten the inside of my cheek.
The shower shuts off with a clunk and Ivan grabs my shirt, hauling me up. Slamming my back against the wet tiles, he gets in my face and seethes. “I knew there was something different about you.”
I glare at him. Silence is my only defense right now. I’m not telling him a thing.
With an arrogant, hungry-eyed smirk, he shoves his hand between my legs.
I yelp and struggle against his unwelcome touch.
He laughs and presses his mouth against my ear. “You’re missing something.”
“Get your hands off me.” I grit out the words, clinging to the last shred of calm that’s left.
He doesn’t listen, groping a little harder. I’ve never been violated this way before. I’ll be washing myself for weeks to get his creepy touch off me. With an urgent scream, I lash out, stamping on his foot and head-butting him.
He reels back, grabbing his bleeding nose and swearing up a storm. Snatching the towel off the hook, he presses it to his nose and I make a run for it.
He trips me before I even get out of the stall. My elbow hits the tiles, sending rockets of pain screaming up my arm, followed by a numb kind of torture. I cradle my elbow against my stomach, ignoring the pain in my knee and struggling back to my feet.