Selling Satisfaction (9 page)

Mr. Belvidere's mouth comes to my ear. "You're about to be punished." It isn't seductive, but it's certainly a promise. I close my eyes tightly, wishing that I never took this job after all. Maybe the money isn't worth it. Not if he is going to be cruel. I think in my head that this had to have been at least a half hour already, so I'm half way to walking back out this door with several months’ worth of spending money, and I'll never have to return.

Deep breath through my nose, a slow one out. I can do this, I tell myself.

It doesn't take long that he is behind me, kneeling at my rear end. He plays with me a little bit, and it takes everything in me not to squirm at his touch. Then he pushes something in me- something that is certainly not him. And he is rough... too rough.

It hurts.

I grit my teeth, shutting my eyes even tighter, and I do my best to focus on
anything
other than what is happening to me, except... I can't. I can't focus on one single thing other than how much it pains me.

After a few moments I feel something drip down my leg, and I'm almost certain I'm bleeding. He hasn't slowed down, he hasn't eased up, and I'm terrified that if I try to do
anything
about it, then I'll regret it. For that reason alone, I stay still.

He gets up, and walks away. I take this opportunity to take several deep breathes through my nose, but it is getting harder and harder to breath. I hadn't realized until now that I had a few tears falling from my eyes, but it's making my nose run too, and all in all, I think I may pass out soon.

When he's behind me again, I feel a strike against my bare skin. Not my butt either, but more on my hip. It stings worse than anything I've ever felt. A second later comes another whip against my skin. I can't keep silenced. An reverberation of a scream comes from my mouth, being blanketed by the tape. "Oh, you like that?" he asks. The fact he thinks I'm
enjoying
this proves him to be entirely moronic.

Actually, he’s straight to the definition of a sociopath.

Another strike comes down, this time in the same place as the last, and it burns rather than stings. I throw my body over to its side, curling myself up the best I can, not wanting to get hit again. I start shaking my head, hoping he can see I won't put up with this. I can't. It's against our policy, it was said he were to stop if I asked- yet the way he looks over at me, I would assume he could care less.

I can't describe the look on his face, something between completely pissed off and entirely too aroused. He steps forward, towering over me. I haven't felt this lost and confused since the day I found my parents lying dead in their bedroom all those years ago. The little girl inside of me claws its way out, whimpering and pleading for this to end. He doesn't see it, or he simply doesn't care.

What happens next is more painfully horrifying then anything I could care to admit. All I know is I'm walking out of this hotel with bruises and cuts, head to toe. Over an hour longer than I should be here, too. The money- it's not worth it. In fact, I'd pay that kind of money for it to never happen again, not to me or any other person in existence.

When he gives me permission to leave- it's with a warning that if I dare tell on him, this will happen again... repetitively.

Sneaking out the janitorial office doors, I head to the car, my face bowed down, trying my best not to limp. I can feel him watching me. He is waiting for me to screw up before I'm even off his property. I won't give him that satisfaction though.

Heavy tears flow from my
eyes the entire ride home. I drive faster than I should, but have to pull over several times because my eyes are too blurred to see the road in front of me. At one point I had a full on panic attack. When I pull into the condo complex of home, I see that Everett's truck is there. The last thing I need him to see is me looking like this.

Pulling down the visor, I look myself over. My eye is bruised pretty well, my lip a bit swollen but nothing some red lipstick can't hide. Green and yellow bruises accompany my neck- so I reach into my purse to pull out my concealer to cover it, then tie a silk scarf around myself. Sliding on some sunglasses, I feel a lot better about if I run into him. I pray a few times to myself that I don't see him though.

Once I'm in the elevator, I know I'm safe from running into Everett. I pull the glasses off and slide them into my purse. My phone is vibrating in my pocket, and Kandy's name flashes against the screen. Staring down at her name, I wonder what I should do about the situation. I know I
should
tell her, but the fear of what can- and probably will- happen to me if I snitch out Mr. Belvidere leaves me feeling paralyzed.

When the elevator dings, the doors slide open, I look up ready to step off and see the last thing- or shall I say, person- I expected to see.

Everett's smile immediately fades away, and the rage that courses through his body is evident. "What... the... fuck."

I believe he can only see my eye, maybe my lip. The bruising around my neck is covered, and he hasn't even looked down at my legs. I cleaned up the blood with a makeup remover wipe, and the cuts are mainly on my thigh area, masked by my dress for the most part.

I stare back, unsure of what to say or do. "Hey," I say, playing it off the best I can. With a pull of my lips, I give him a sad smirk. "I fell outside work today, took quite the digger into the gravel." Rolling my eyes, I point at my eye, knowing he sees the swelling and bruising. "Damn rock got me smack in the eye. I thought it was going to fall out, no joke, but I'm all good now. I feel a lot better. Nothing some Ibuprofen can't fix, nor the glass or two of wine I'm about to have."

Walking off the elevator, straight past Everett, I wait for him to say something in return but he doesn't. He does, however, follow me to my door. I close my eyes when I pull the keys from my purse, wishing he'd get the hint and leave. Turning to face him once more, I lift an eyebrow, questioning why he's still here. "Did you need something?"

"Who did this to you, Brenna?"

"No one. I told you, I fell."

"I'm asking you again, who did this to you?"

"No one." I quickly become defensive. Maybe even slightly pissed.

Not so much at Everett, but at the situation.

He releases a quick blow of air from his mouth while releasing the fists that were clenched tightly. I can tell he's trying to tame himself, which is why I can't tell him what happened or by whom. I can't even give in the slightest. I have to roll with the punches on this one, because if I tell him even the slightest bit of what happened, I'll have to tell him the rest- and I can't do that.

"Everett." I say his name with patience, hoping the kindness in my voice will cause him to believe me. "I fell. Honestly. I'm wearing almost five inch heels that I'm not used to, I was looking at my phone, not paying any attention. I slipped, trying my best to grab for the car next to mine so that I didn't face plant, but I did. It hurt a lot, I even cried a little, then my friend Giana picked me up, helped dust me off, we had a few laughs about it. Now I'm home, going to go soak in a bath with Epsom salt and relax. I'm fine, I promise." Each word is slow, sincere, and complete bullshit- but I think he believes me. Or at least, he's going to pretend to.

I watch as his teeth grind back and forth. He stares at me, taking in different parts of my face, slowly working his way down my body. His scrutiny makes me uncomfortable. Maybe he doesn't believe me after all. I don't know what more to say, or do for that matter, but under no circumstance can I tell him the truth.

He reaches for my cheek, cupping it in his hand. It's tender- a bit sweaty and extremely warm- but the thought of it is soothing. It's a gentle touch, the kind I don't receive often enough. "I don't know what to say." I can tell by his voice he doesn't believe me. I hold back my anxiousness, knowing I need to hold onto this story. "Brenna, you can be honest with me," he pleads. "I... I've dealt with a situation like this before. If you're being abused, or harmed by someone, in any way, please tell me. I'll get you the help you need. We can go down to the police station and-"

"Stop," I snap. "Stop right there. First off, thanks. I mean it, I appreciate your efforts." Even though I'm sure with my snappy attitude I don't sound thankful, but I am. "But no cop is going to
save me
. They don't care about helping people out, it's all a notion. They want recognition and a paycheck, and to be left the hell alone beyond that. Plus, if this
were
an abusive case, which it's
not
, what are they going to do? I can tell you... a bunch of bullshit. That's what! Either way, I'm fine, well I
was
fine, until you started in on me."

He shakes his head with despair. All it does is prove to me that he has no idea about the real world. "Are you kidding?" His voice rises back at me. "You don't think an officer of the law would help you if you were being abused?"

"Nope."

"How can you think that, Brenna?"

"Does it matter?"

"Actually, it does. I feel repugnant you would think such a thing. They are there to give protection."

I can't help my bitter snarl. "Um, no."

"Yes," he continues to argue.

"What are you... a cop?"

"No, I'm just saying..."

"That you have no idea," I add in. "I'm fine, I'm not saying it again."

"I'm only trying to help," he pleads.

Unfortunately, I've had enough of his
help
for now.

Putting the key into the door, I breathe a quick sigh, holding in everything I want to say. I know if I spew off all the thoughts I'm thinking I'll probably lose his friendship- and even though we haven't known each other for long, I don't want to lose that. "I'm fine, Everett. Thank you for thinking of me, but again, I fell and I'm fine."

Opening the door, I don't bother looking over at him as I walk into my place, but as I start to shut the door, he pushes on it. "What are you doing?" I hiss out.

He shuts the door behind him, watching me intently. His frigid, gray eyes stare at me with infuriation- he isn't letting up, and now I'm beyond being pissed. "I'm not letting this go. You're distant. You have these walls. You're cautious in everything you do, the things you say. You refuse to discuss your past, you have hardly any friends. You're hiding things. Which is fine, you're entitled to that, but when you show up at home with a black eye, a hefty scratch on your arm, blood on your hairline, and who knows what else you're hiding under your scarf or clothes, then you're not going to tell me you fucking fell!" His voice slowly rises with equal amounts of anger and vexation.

"Leave." I have no other words. He's left me completely perplexed. He has noticed too much in the way I am- and I'm angry with myself for that. Not to mention, I did a lot worse than I thought about covering up what the bastard did to me less than two hours ago.

When he doesn't go, my voice rises to a piercing volume. "You need to leave!"

Shaking his head back and forth, his positions his hands in front of his chest, palms facing me. He's showing he means no harm, I get it, but I'm not going to sit here and take it. He has no reason to dig through who I am and what has happened to me- not now nor in my past.

"Fine," he says after a second. "Fine, Brenna. I was trying to help, but..." He shakes his head more, reaching for the door. "You know what... You can push me away if you want to. You can get defensive and pissed off. Whatever you need to do. I'm fueled with anger myself, but... if you need help, protection, against whoever did this to you, you know where I live."

With that he shuts the door- more of a slam actually- and because his voice was spoken with such sincerity, it jumps me to hear the aggressive thud from the door latching.

I probably ruined any potential to a great friendship, but I also saved him from the torment of being my friend. He hasn't realized it yet, he may never realize it, but I did him a favor.

After several minutes of staring blankly at the door- with a piece of me begging for him to come back and hold me, so I feel safe for even a moment in time- I realize that I'm being pathetic. I don't need a guy to make me feel safe, not Everett, not anyone. What I do need, however, is a friend.

Walking into the kitchen, I strip entirely of my clothing, undergarments and all. They go straight into the trash. My heels are gorgeous, and I paid more money on these ones than any other pair I own, but I can never look at them again the same way, so they also go into the trash as well. I pull the bag out, tie it up and toss it at the door. Anger and aggression flood me. I can feel myself ready to lose control.

Reaching into the cupboard, I pull down a wine glass then walk over to the wine rack I have on my counter, reaching for my most expensive red wine. Before I grab it, I tell myself this isn't a time to sip on wine and relax, this is a time to get fucking shit faced drunk and forget who I am. Even if it's for a few hours.

Bending down, I pull out my unopened bottle of Grey Goose from the cupboard, then open it to take a straight shot. It feels unsettling, but that doesn't stop me from taking another few swigs.

Padding through the house to the bathroom, I start the shower and step into the cascading hot water, washing away the sins from today. There are too many parts on my body that ache and burn, and the water running down the drain has flashes of blood. I thought the steaming water would bring me some solace, even for a second, instead it only brings more remorse. My fist curls and I can't help the slam of my knuckles against the stone wall. They don't bleed, nor even crack, and somehow this angers me more, so I punch it again. Then a third time. My middle finger starts to swell.