Page 155 of Creep

“Nine,” he said, reaching over and shutting the water off. He had the glass door open to the shower, ushering us out before I could say anything else.

I let him wrap the big white fluffy towel around me, let him dry me, and let him take care of me. He carefully wrung out most of the water from my hair, then wrapped it with a towel.

Mael lifted me up in his arms and carried me back to the bedroom.

He pulled the towel away from my body and let it drop to the floor before pushing me to lie down on the bed while he stood in front of me with only a towel wrapped around his hips.

He brought his thumb up to his mouth as he took me in.

Then he walked over to the nightstand and grabbed the lotion bottle. The bottle was here when I first arrived at the apartment just the day before. It was the exact same brand of lotion that I used. The exact same scent.

Mael squirted some on his hand and rubbed them together before he massaged it into my body, starting with my arms first, my torso… I gasped when he pinched my nipples playfully before moving further south. His eyes glinted with amusement at my reaction. He rubbed some over my mound, driving me crazy, then my legs, my feet. He straightened once he was done, his eyes light, seemingly satisfied over the act of taking care of me like this.

He walked to the closet. I stayed where I was, listening to him put something on before he came back out with one of his shirts. He was wearing black boxer briefs and nothing else. He pulled me up to a sitting position, helping me put the shirt on.

I grabbed his hand when it looked like he was about to walk away from me.

“Won’t you lie with me?” I asked.

He didn’t say anything for a beat, and then he was moving back onto the bed with me. I pushed back on the mattress, and Mael followed me. He laid us down until my head rested on his chest, and his arms were wrapped around me. He didn’t seem to mind that my hair was still damp from the shower. If anything, he pulled me in closer to him.

I ran my hand up and down his side, stopping when I got to the tattoo. He tensed slightly in my arms, the only indication that he didn’t like where I was obviously going with this.

“You got this when you were nine when your dad found you in foster care?” I said, remembering back to the words he’d told me as my stalker. That night, that conversation felt like a long time ago, even as I knew it hadn’t been that long.

He let out a small sigh. “Yeah. He tattooed it on me. Me and Theo.”

I didn’t say anything for a moment, trying to brace myself for the ugly truth I knew was coming.

“Why?” I asked.

“He needed a way to keep track of his merchandise.”

I sucked in a sharp breath and closed my eyes. “What were…”

I couldn’t bring myself to ask. I didn’t know the right words to use in this situation or how to ask him. He took mercy on me when I felt him tighten his arms around me a fraction before he said, “We were trafficked. We were kept in the factory, given enough food and water to survive but not enough to run away. Some were there to be sold off to the highest bidder. Theo and I were kept to entertain some of the sick fucks who liked to visit and would pay good money for our time.”

Tears blurred my vision before falling and hitting his chest. I knew he could feel it.

“Hush now. There’s no reason to cry for me. It was a long time ago.”

The fact that he truly sounded like he believed that, that it was a long time ago, so the shit he endured shouldn’t matter anymore, just about broke my heart into a million pieces.

More tears fell.

“How did… How did you escape?” I asked when it didn’t feel like I was going to choke on my words.

“Sheer determination. Rage. And the guilt of a guard there.”

“He helped you?”

“Yeah. He gave me the keys to escape in the night. I took Theo with me. We ran and hid in the woods for about a week, trying to decide what to do. Things were bad for a while. The world isn’t kind, but especially to two boys it had already written off. But I managed.”

“How old were you when you escaped?”

“Thirteen. Good thing, too. I was getting too old for those fuckers. It was only a matter of time before he killed me.”

He meant his father. I tried not to show how taken aback I was over the casual way he said everything. It was as if he was just reciting the events of a baseball game. Unemotional. As if he didn’t care. And how convincing he sounded. I almost believed he didn’t care, but he had to care, didn’t he? This had to have left its marks on him.

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