Chapter 7: Trapped.

“You were gonna stab me?” Brad croaked, smiling like a deranged beast.

He gave me no time to answer.

He hit me so hard the air left my lungs in a single violent burst; my vision spun into white light.

“You stupid, ungrateful bitch,” he barked, grabbing my neck in a choke-hold. “Do you know what I do to people who turn their weapon on me, and wind up too scared to use it?”

I never wanted to find out, but this was Brad. He didn't just talk.

He slammed me into the wall. “Uuuuh-” I choked, trying to wrestle his hand off my neck. Tears burned behind my eyes.

I was going to plead for my life, but my windpipe was being crushed.

He drew a sharp breath, released me and held a hand over his wound.

He huffed.

“You try to take me out? In my own damn house?”

I stumbled away, coughing and pointing. “You- you're bleeding again.”

“Oh, you care now?” He laughed dryly without looking at the wound.

“One minute you're stitching me up, the next you're holding a knife over my heart. You can't just be a lil’ good wife, huh?”

He kicked me once and winced in pain.

“Damn it!” he hissed.

Then he dragged me up the stairs, ignoring my pleas, and shoved me into the dark linen closet. The door slammed shut. The lock turned with a loud click.

I hit my palms repeatedly against the door. “Let me out!”

“You, lil’ wife will wish you had the guts to kill me,” he muttered.

The sound of his footsteps receding was followed by the slamming of the door.

I collapsed in the already tight space. “Stupid. Stupid. Stupid,” I sobbed softly, loathing myself for being so weak.

~~~~~

Four days of silence.

Four days of darkness.

Four bathroom breaks.

One piece of bread. One bottle of water.

Before long, I began questioning all I had left.

My anger.

My pride.

My worth.

Every night, his voice would fill the silence, taunting me.

“Are you ready to submit yet, sweetheart?”

“No one cares about you but me.”

“Daddy’s not coming to save you. He sold you, remember?”

Same words, over and over.

At first, I fought. I'd scream, telling myself I couldn't give him the satisfaction.

“Let me out, you psycho!”

“You can't keep me captive like this!”

“I should have killed you, you bastard!”

But the longer I stayed in there, the more the walls closed in. My limbs numbed. The air became heavier, my thoughts slower, and my strength faded.

I think my brain slowed, too.

Sometimes, I thought I heard his footsteps, and my heart would race with both dread and hope.

I'd talk to the dark. To myself. To my mom. Eventually, to nothing at all.

Finally, I started to think differently.

Maybe settling for my current reality wasn't so bad after all.

If I could just adapt.

The next time his voice came, I was too weak to make an audible sound.

“Say you'll behave, and this ends, Elena,” he patronized. “I'm ready whenever you are.”

I tapped the door once.

Then again.

The silence that followed stretched long and heavy.

Has he left me here again? I thought.

Then came the sound of the lock turning, and light spilled bright into the closet.

“Come on out,” he said.

I crawled out, squinting against the light. My limbs gave out, and he caught me before I hit the ground.

“See?” Brad murmured, cradling my head. “I can take care of you. You just have to stop fighting me. Do you think you can manage that?”

I nodded.

“That’s a good girl,”

He carried me into the bathroom and turned on the shower on full blast.

Cold water hit me like punishment.

I screamed, trying to move away from the shower, but he blocked my motion.

“Take off your clothes. I don't need to tell you that you stink.”

Trembling, I obeyed.

And he bathed me.

From my hair down to my feet, he washed me like a little girl would wash her doll.

Afterward, he laid me on the bed, his eyes lusting after my body like I was a plate of his favorite meal.

“Now lil’ wife, you can take care of me.”

As always,

And just like that, I stopped fighting, finally submitting to a life of misery.

~~~~~

After I recovered, Brad laid down the house rules.

First, he pulled out my phone from his pocket. “You won't be needing this for a while.”

Not that I cared.

Since I signed over my life at the City Hall and came into this house with digital eyes everywhere, I had done very little with my phone.

My father had sent just one text:

“I'm sorry, sweetheart.”

That was it.

His last words to me.

Brad continued.

“You'll be able to leave the house from now on,” he said evenly. “But don't try to run. You'd only piss me off. And won't get far. Half of Lawrence owes me favors.”

Somehow, I didn't doubt that.

He paused, watching for a reaction. I only nodded.

“Don't try to poison me either,” he went on, his voice as calm as glass. “If anything happens to me, your father will die a slow, agonizing death. And my friends will come for you.”

He cupped my chin with ironic gentleness.

“You do understand me, don't you?”

“Yes,” I murmured.

Finally, I had become the humble wife he wanted me to be.

~~~~~

I waited until I was sure Brad’s car had disappeared down the street one morning before pulling the small box from under the bathroom sink where I'd hidden it.

I had stopped by the pharmacy during the grocery run yesterday to get a test kit.

My hands shook as I opened it. The crinkle of the wrapper sounded too loud in the tiled silence.

I shut my eyes.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Then I peed on the stick.

Minutes passed. I couldn’t bring myself to look. The smell of bleach and soap filled the air as if the room was holding its breath with me.

When I finally dared to glance down, the world narrowed to

two pink lines.

My pulse spiked.

I stared until my vision blurred.

No.

Yes.

Oh God.

At first, tears burned behind my eyes. Then horror twisted inside me, but beneath it, something unexpected stirred.

Hope.