Page 143 of Depravity

It’s too bright. Everything is too bright.

And the noise, the sound. I want to block my ears. To shut the world out.

I’m covered in dirt, in blood, in my own shit too.

And I can’t stop shaking, I can’t stop trembling. Though I know that’s not from fear. I no longer feel fear, do I? My husband saw to that. He fixed me.

I’m so cold. I can’t feel my fingers.Have they gone too?

And I’m stark naked, sitting in the back of this car, waiting for Conrad to return.

As he clambers in beside me, he wraps a blanket over my shoulders and it’s the most incredible feeling. The blanket iswool but it’s not soft, it’s the kind you’d use for a picnic or a dog. And yet, right now it feels like the softest most incredible thing.

“I’ve got you.” Conrad says, pulling me in.

Someone gets in the driver’s seat. The engine starts, and I focus on the minute by minute of what is happening. On the sound of the engine purring as we drive off. On the sound of the gravel crunching under the tyres. On the wheels turning.

Going round. And round.

The moon is up. It’s bright. It’s a full sphere in the sky, and it feels almost prophetic to be rescued on a night as beautiful as this.

I stare at it, half in disbelief.

And then a voice questions in my head if I’m really being rescued right now, or simply being taken to a different form of hell.

My hands are still bound. Conrad might be saying all the right things, but then he was always good at that, wasn’t he? He always knew what to say, how to manipulate me, but actions speak louder than words.

He hasn’t set me free. Not truly.

I gulp, swallowing and that awful sharp wound in my mouth protests enough that my eyes water. I want to ask where they’re taking me. After all, my father burnt down his house.

Where the fuck am I going now?

I want to ask about them too, about Xavier, about my father. Has he found them? Has he got them locked up safe and secure? Or are they out there still? Are they going to come back and do this to me again? Hurt me more?

Hurt.

Hurt. Hurt. Hurt.

The radio crackles. A man’s voice comes over it, saying that my father is gone, that he’s not there.

I open my mouth to speak, to tell them that he left days ago, but the words don’t come out. Nothing comes out but an awful gurgle of noise and then the taste of blood that tells me I’ve popped the stitching again.

“It’s okay,” Conrad says. “We’ll get you fixed. I’ll sort everything.”

Fix me. Fix me.

But that’s not true, is it? You can’t regrow a tongue, you can’t fix what they did to me. I’ve been mutilated to the point of no return.

He cups my cheek, staring into my face with that same intensity he’s always had. Should I be grateful then that he still wants me? Should I feel happy that he doesn’t simply do me in now, and pretend this marriage never happened?

I’m not perfect anymore, I’m not his beautiful little doll to dress up. I’m ruined. My father ruined me, and Xavier butchered me.

Conrad can’t pretend that didn’t happen. He just has to look at my face, look at my body to see the damage.

I’ll never be perfect again.

And yet, he came back, he came for me.

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