Always Summer (40 page)

I watched
every possible turn pass us by for the next several minutes.

I watched
him drive his SUV... no hurry... no turning around... just – onward.

“Jordan... whose home?”
I squeaked.

He
sighed... “Summer... I love you! I’m not going to hurt you... so, just relax!”

I
whimpered.

He turned
on his music... and ‘
Rise Against
’
started pumping out their brand of punk over the speakers.
 
I liked this band... I wondered if this
moment would change that.

Blake.

I was
pacing... where the fuck was she?
 

The police
were there... Debbie’s car was found at the grocery store.
 
Front tire slashed... Summer’s phone was left
on the dashboard.

CCTV showed
Summer
in the store... she’d not been there long.
 
Nobody had approached her in the store.
 
Nothing had looked suspicious.

The
camera’s that were facing out to the car parking areas couldn’t show anything
really, beyond a grainy image of a man approaching the car, the boot going
up... presumably to pull out the spare, and then nothing... rain so heavy that
nothing could be seen.

“Where the
fuck is my wife?” I yelled.
 
Someone needed
to give me answers... I was going to tear this town apart any minute now.

I’d already
lost it earlier...

The panic
had gotten me to Northport in record time... without rising to anger... but the
moment I got there... I lapsed into a rage.

I’d kicked a
dent in my car door, punched another dent into the MacFarlane’s fridge and
threw a kitchen stool through their back door, lucky for them it was open...
and in addition to this; I had sworn, cursed and hollered till everyone around
me knew not to approach without some serious battle ready armor on.

I wasn’t
just seeing red... I wanted blood!

My face
must’ve been frightening.
 
Even the
police didn’t come near me.

My
breathing was accelerated... I felt like angry fire ants had nested in my
veins... I felt so tightly coiled at that moment that I was going to hurt
everyone in the immediate radius.

I’d already
mortally wounded Debbie... accusing her of stupid recklessness, and blaming her
for
Summer’s
disappearance.

I’d offered
to remove Max’s face if he tried to even stand up for his wife again.

I had
pushed my Dad so hard he made an impression on the MacFarlane’s wall in their
entranceway... and I’d made my Mom cry by telling her to shut the fuck up and
stop telling me to calm down.

I’d stalked
outside... I needed to punch something.

There
wasn’t anything satisfactory to punch... so in complete exasperation... I’d
collapsed on the grass and started to scream... and then I cried like a baby.

Summer.

It was
dark... I’d been crying so much that I couldn’t tell what was around me.
 
It was a street, cars were parked there, but
the houses were crowded in, not spaced out. I couldn’t make out distinct
colors... they blurred through the tears.

Stupid...
bloody... hormones!

If I
could’ve been more together, I could’ve known where I was and read street
signs... I hadn’t noticed which turns Jordan had made in his SUV.
 
Instead, I’d cried and lamented till I was
hoarse.
 
In addition to this, I’d been
stupid by wasting my energy thrashing about and punching the dash board and Jordan,
almost to the point that he nearly lost control of the vehicle and told me to
stop or he’d be forced to tie me up.
 
I’d
stopped hitting him, but continued to stomp my feet and pound on the dash.

I was
wasted.

I had no
doubt I was bulky and a little heavy.
 
But Jordan lifted me... cradled in his arms... and carried me up three
flights of narrow stairs... unlocked and opened a door, and then carried me
awkwardly up another very narrow flight of stairs.
 
At the top was another door... it wasn’t
locked... it was propped open with something I couldn’t see.

He put me
down on my feet... turned around and closed the door at the top of the narrow
stairs.

“Come on
Summer
... let’s get you in the shower.” He said softly.

I
baulked... the little bit of strength that had returned since I’d stopped
thrashing about, allowed me to slap him hard across the face and shove him away
from me.

The dim
light and my waterlogged eyes stopped me from being able to see his face
clearly... but I could certainly hear his growl.

“You’ll
need to use the toilet... and you’ll need to have a shower!” he growled.
 
“Don’t make this difficult!” Jordan stated.

I couldn’t
speak... I was devastated.
 
He grabbed me
by the wrist and dragged me somewhere down a dark hallway to a bathroom.

I was like
a puppet on strings, waiting for the master to move me.
 
He turned the light on in his bathroom, and
then proceeded to remove my panties from under my dress... I fought him then...
slapping him away... yet still; he swiftly removed them and forced me to sit on
the toilet.
 
Then he walked out of the
room... leaving the door open.

The effect
of my boys pressing down on my bladder did the work of relieving me...
otherwise I would’ve held on to spite Jordan.
 
I wiped myself through rote... but I remained seated... numb!

He came
back in... He grabbed my hands and pulled me up, despite my attempts to reef
them out of his grasp.
 
He dragged me
over to the shower... my feet were uncooperative; he was practically lifting me
off the floor.

“Now, it’s
been a shitty day... you need to take a shower before bed.” He started, lifting
the hem of my dress.

I’m not
sure where the strength came from that time, but I used the last of it
defending my honor in that moment.

I kicked,
screamed, scratched, punched and struggled for all I was worth.
 
I ended up lowered to the floor... Jordan
hovering over me, trying to protect
himself
... and for
whatever fucked up reason... me.

“
Summer
!” he screamed.
 
“I won’t hurt you!”

I cried.

He ended up
running a bath and placing me in it fully clothed... except for my panties of
course.

I sat
there, the suds to my armpits... my face down.
 
Defeated...

“Lift your
arms.” He said.

I wouldn’t.

Sighing...
he reached forward and forcefully pulled up my dress.
 
It was a really pretty dress... cotton...
blue and white with little butterflies and large flowers patterned across the
hem... and little bees with their little buzzing lines across it, making them
look as though they’d been bumbling above the flowers and butterflies, dancing
across the fabric.
 
It was a gift from
Julie.

Next my
bra... again I fought... he got wet... I became braless.

He handed
me a washcloth.
 
I sat dumbfounded.

“Either you
can wash yourself... or I can wash you!” he announced... sitting on the lid of
the toilet... watching me.

“Fuck you!”
I managed to rasp out.

He smiled.

“You’re
still beautiful... even with his bastard inside you!” Jordan chuckled.

I cried...
but when I started washing myself, he stepped out of the room... my dripping
clothes went with him.

He returned
a very short time later.

“Take your
time!” he said... your clothes are in the wash... I’ll dry them too, but you’ll
be without clothes for about an hour and a half.” He said.

I stayed...
I cleaned myself... I didn’t want him looking at me if I could help it.

*

An hour and
a half is a long time to sit in a bath with someone intermittently coming in to
stare at you.
 
Especially if you don’t
want them to stare at you... or to be near you... or to be in the same state,
country or world as you.

I wouldn’t
get out of the bath... so he pulled the plug out.

I still
wouldn’t get out of the bath; I just pathetically sat there with my hands over
my boobs, my belly covering up my nether regions in my seated position.

So he came
at me with a towel in his hands.

I winced...
but I got the hint... I grabbed the towel and put it over myself.
 
I tried to get up myself, to avoid his
contact... he still steadied me as I got out of the tub.

My vision
had cleared now... I was able to see him.
 
He looked completely calm and unaffected.

The
bathroom was clean and tidy.
 
It
consisted of a toilet, vanity, shower and bath.
 
There was a high window over the bath, which I couldn’t see out of.

“Come on
Summer
... I’ll put you to bed.” He said, attempting to steer
me out of the bathroom by my elbow.

“Clothes,”
I began frantically, my voice remained all raspy. “You said I could have my
clothes back!” I pleaded.

“Your
clothes are in the bedroom.” He said, nodding a direction to me and placing
more pressure on my elbow.

We walked
through the only other door in the hallway, and a large room with sloping
ceilings came into view.
 
He lived in an
attic.
 
It was a nice attic... for a
prison.

A
queen-sized bed was positioned under a window on the far side of the room.
 
The door entered in the middle of the room
between two built-in robes.

On the
right side of the bed was a small pile of folded clothes.
 
I went over to them.
 
My panties, bra and what looked like a
t-shirt.

I looked up
at him.

“You’ll
need your dress for tomorrow... you can wear one of my shirts tonight.” He
said.

I just
nodded.

*

He settled
me into the bed, and then he sat down beside me.
 
I wasn’t sure what I was expecting... but he
leant toward the window, put his hand around the headboard of the bed, and
pulled something rattling from behind it... My confusion made me stupid... I
was so bewildered that he managed to clasp the first cuff on my right wrist
without me struggling, and then I was bucking and kicking under the covers as
he successfully cuffed my left wrist.

“I can’t
have you attempting to get out while I shower.” He reasoned, as though nothing
was astray.
 
I looked at the chain,
attached to the bed somehow out of eyesight, and attached to a set of metal
cuffs that now contained my wrists.
 
The
chain gave me approximately three feet of movement.

He
retreated out of the door before I could resume kicking and thrashing.

By the time
he’d returned... the bed was a mess... and I was sitting on the floor.

He sighed
and proceeded to clean up the bed.

Blake.

It’s been a
week!
 
Where is she? I’m no longer
angry... I’m struggling with fears that completely surpass my childhood trauma.

I’m at my
parents... in my room... I’m not eating... Julie sleeps on the floor next to my
bed, on a mattress she dragged in here.

My face has
a beard forming... my hair is turning into dreads... I don’t brush it... ever!

The police
can’t tell me anything... they’re hoping she’ll go into labor and turn up at a
hospital.

That would
mean that she has either run away, or is with someone who’ll treat her
respectfully... and if that was the case... why haven’t we been contacted?

I hold onto
hope... but the rope attached to it is burning my fingers as it tries to pull
away.

Summer.

Jordan
keeps my wrists handcuffed at all times that he isn’t able to monitor me
closely.

When he
goes out...

When he
uses the toilet...

When he
showers...

When we
sleep... together...

I have
bruises around my wrists, but the cuts have healed... since he started wrapping
my wrists like a boxer.

He snuggles
up to me at night like he used to when we were a couple.
 
I cringe, but I still sleep... I’m too tired
now.