Page 10 of Bared Betrayal
“I guess there’s no use in saying I want a simple dress. Flowers in my hair instead of a veil.”
“Simple?” she sputters. “You’re marrying my grandson, a famous actor. Nothing about your wedding or your lives together will ever be simple.”
That’s the truth bomb I’ve been trying my best to avoid. Elenor might be dictatorial, but she’s right about one thing. Our lives won’t ever be simple. Not like it was.
“Grandma,” Sebastian starts, clearing his throat, “at least let Kallie pick her own dress.”
“Of course, she can pick her own dress, honey.” She shoots me a pointed stare. “As long as it’s an alabaster ballgown with a cathedral-length train. Now,” she steps away from Sebastian, clasping her hands together, “if you’ll excuse me, Jillian and I have to decide on the flowers.”
“Unbelievable,” I whisper as Elenor walks back into the house.
“Hey,” Sebastian steps closer, brushing his hands over my shoulders, “if it’s any consolation, I think you’ll look amazing in an alabaster ballgown.”
“Trying to take control of my own wedding feels like an uphill battle against your grandmother’s iron will.”
He snickers, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “If anyone can do it, you can.”
“I don’t know about that.”
An old, familiar feeling starts to creep up in my bones, clawing through me. I have to clench my fingers into my palm so tight I can feel the nails pressing sharply into my skin. Immediately, I feel more at ease as the little bites of pain in my palms soothe my anxiety. It’s always this way. The pain helps me to center myself.
“I, um…”
Sebastian’s phone rings, and it’s like he instantly slips away from me, his focus no longer on us. Our wedding.
“Stone,” he says into the phone. “Yeah. Just hold on a sec.” He places his hand over the receiver. “I have to take this. Just go in there and try to compromise with my grandmother. My mother never got married, so this is her making up for that.” He gives me a chaste kiss on the cheek and stomps off in the other direction.
This is not what I want. This isn’t me. But I no longer know who the real me is. Maybe that means I don’t really know what I want, either. Perhaps I should just let Elenor plan this entire wedding how she wants to. All I’ll need to do is show up.
It takes me another ten minutes of fresh air before I gather the nerve to enter the lion’s den. I’m three feet from the dining room when I hear Elenor and Jillian’s asinine babbling about flowers and dresses. I clench my fists tighter, my nails digging deeper into my palms. I can’t do this. Not today. I have to get out of here, and I am suddenly grateful for Dr. Trudeaux and her insisting I continue to see her even though it’s been years.
I contemplate whether I should excuse myself from this soul-sucking wedding planning, but instead, I turn on my heel and rush out of the house. It’s something I’ve become really good at over the years…running from my problems.
Four
KALLIE
I can hear her screams.The sound of his malicious laughter as she begs him for mercy—something I know he won’t give. There’s no telling how long it’s been since we woke up in this place, but I know kindness won’t be something we’ll get from him.
The wall is cold and wet behind my naked back. I have no idea where the water comes from. But judging by the vile stench, it’s sewage. The stink of urine and feces had me gagging and vomiting for days when all this started. Now I hardly smell it anymore.
I suck in a labored breath when her screams reach their highest pitch. My imagination runs wild with nightmarish images and horrific possibilities that have now become our reality. I know he’s hurting her. That’s what he does. Hurt us.
I want to call out to her, break through these steel bars keeping us apart, and save her. Comfort her. Whisper that everything is going to be okay. That I’ll keep her safe. That we’ll both make it through this.
I want to tell her lies.
But instead, I’m trapped here, forced to listen to her pain. All I can do is keep my head down, and my knees squeezed against my chest, drown in the guilt of not being able to protect her from him, and pray she survives this night…only for him to come again tomorrow.
He always comes back to torment us like a nightmare from which there is no waking. Hopefully, tomorrow he’ll take me instead.
The floor is cold beneath my palm, the wood rough and unrelenting as my nails claw at the planks in a desperate attempt to distract myself. My pain used to drown out the sound of her, but it no longer does. It’s as if my body has become immune to agony, yet my soul weakens against the screams of her torment. The grooves are stained with my blood, and I don’t feel the splinters underneath my fingernails. I’m frozen in time, chained and gagged, stuck in this hell where the devil uses her cries to torture me.
I have to do more. I have to try harder. Make him look past her and see me. Hurt me so I can protect her.
A violent thud echoes off the walls, and her cries stop, followed by a sickening silence.
“No,” I whisper. “God, no. Please.” I’m on my knees, crawling toward the steel bars, my bloodied fingers wrapping around them. The lump in my throat stops the dank air from reaching my lungs, my tears running like acid down my cheeks, eating away at my flesh. I don’t feel the bruises, the wounds, the deep throbbing ache between my legs. But I feel the teardrops. It’s a kind of agony I can’t describe.
