Caged (8 page)

Tears flooded his face as he gripped my hand harder.

“It’s not enough. I feel like I’m dying. There’s so much numb in me, and I can’t feel my heart beat any longer. The scream that lived in my head is gone, and it’s so quiet. It’s so fucking quiet that all these other things start hurting.”

“Anderson…”

His head shook wildly. “No.” He leaned towards me, his face full of spite and rage. “Are you going to make me feel again? Are you going to hurt me enough to make my soul cry out in joy, to make my skin bleed with pleasure? Are you, Kloe? Are you going to fuck me so hard that I can’t bear to sit on the cold slabs any longer? Are you going to bend me over and make me bleed? Are you going to be the one to give me that again?”

I was mute, staring in shock and grief at this poor, broken man. A man who thought being raped meant he was needed, loved. Because that was exactly what he was saying.

“No, you’re not,” he whispered. “And that’s what you don’t understand. By taking away my pain, you’ve taken away the only thing I have in life.” His eyes bore into me as very slowly he reached to my face. His fingers curled around my chin and he tilted my head back, making me look at him. “But I think you already know that, don’t you, Kloe?”

Unable to hold back the tears, I wiped at them, hating that he witnessed them. Because I wasn’t crying for him. I was crying for myself. And Anderson knew that. He saw that through my eyes and into the depths of my soul. The same damaged and broken soul that haunted him every day.

However, I wouldn’t let him win. I couldn’t.

“You’re wrong,” I whispered, powerless to make my voice louder. “You’re so wrong.”

Kneeling up, I mirrored his action. Taking his chin in my fingers, the feel of his skin under my touch making my bones shiver, I guided his face back to the window. The clouds had broken and the sun’s rays were creeping along the grass, drying and warming everything it breathed over.

“There is always sun after the rain, light after the dark. The morning will always be accompanied by a bird’s happy song, the spring will always burst after the cold winter, and the night will always be caressed by the light of the moon. There’s always pleasure, Anderson, always that touch of better. You just have to look for it. And find it.”

His touch left my jaw and he closed his fingers over mine that were still resting against his short beard. My heartbeat stilled when he slid our fingers up to his lips. Placing a very soft kiss to my fingertips, he held me there, both with his hold and his gaze. “And did you find the light after the dark, Kloe? Or are you still looking?”

I couldn’t help but slide my finger across his soft lip, my touch barely there but generating a soft gasp from his mouth. “I’ll always look for it, Anderson. Until the moment I take my very last breath. Because I know it’s there, waiting for me. Even if it’s in the middle of a snowstorm, a star I have to wish upon, or in the centre of a damn rainstorm. I know it waits for me. And as long as it waits, then I’ll keep looking.”

He nodded, dropping his hold on me. Once again he turned to face the outside.

“They beat her to death.” His voice was quiet, and full of grief.

Shaking my head in confusion, I stared at him, unable to look away from the sorrow. “They beat who?”

“Tamsin. They beat her to death because she bit Hank after he whipped me so hard I couldn’t move for a week.”

Closing my eyes in despair, I blew out a breath.

“So, you see…” He chuckled bitterly. “Even if the rain moves aside for the sun, the storm always comes back. And then it drowns you.”

T
HE MUSIC PLAYED LOUDLY, THE
beat of the dance playlist Claire had chosen thumping wildly on both the floor and the walls. The alcohol and food were in full flow, drunken laughter and dancing making my new home buzz with people’s merriment. Every room was full of people, every inch of the garden lit with strings of lights, yet again courtesy of my best friend. Dave sat in a corner sulking as a pissed Frank told him about his wife’s new addiction to catalogue shopping.

And I was in the pantry. Panicking. And counting.

16 tins of beans.

23 tins of tomato soup.

14 packets of custard creams.

21 packets of bourbon creams.

8 multipack of crisps – variety.

6 boxes of cornflakes.

8 boxes of frosted wheat biscuits.

11 tins of ham.

5 tins of corned beef.

26 tins of macaroni cheese.

11 multipack of Mars.

16 multipack of Twix.

7 bags of sweet popcorn.

18 bags of salted popcorn.

45 sachets of hot chocolate.

….and on it went, my mind whirling as my breathing came in short, sharp pants.

18 large jars of strawberry jam.

4 jars of peanut butter – I hated peanut butter.

36 packets of part-baked bread.

9 bottles of orange squash.

28 cartons of apple juice.

19 cartons of orange juice.

16 cartons of long-life milk.

36 eggs.

I stuffed another digestive into my mouth, cramming it in beside the last one I hadn’t yet had chance to swallow.

8 15kg bags of dog meal.

19 packets of jelly.

8 cartons of custard.

19 apples.

23 bananas.

6 5kg bags of potatoes.

Another digestive. Alongside a mouthful of salted crisps.

The
nothing
had started to creep in that morning, tiny slivers of darkness seeping through my pores and under my skin until it had grown into the pit of despair I hadn’t seen coming.

That was the trouble with the
nothing
. It was invisible, void of substance and quality. You didn’t see it coming, and you were unaware of its hunger for you. Right until,
wham
, it had submerged itself into your lungs and tugged on every breath that you tried to pull in and blow out. It infused itself into your mind, dowsing every thought, every aspiration and every effort to keep breathing in a thick, sticky darkness that no amount of hope could scrape away.

It had been a while since my last episode. Sometimes life didn’t taunt me, and so long as my cupboard was full, I was okay. But stress brought panic, and panic brought vulnerability.

A bite of an apple and a handful of salted popcorn.

Panicking when four kernels of popcorn fell from my hand to the floor, I dipped down and scrambled under the shelf for them, only taking another breath when I felt them in my palm once again.

The four dirty popcorn and two digestives. Washed down with a pint carton of apple juice.

A Mars bar stuffed in whole until my cheeks bulged and my nostrils strived to feed my lungs.

A pint of long-life milk, my stomach gagging at the sour taste.

“There you are!”

I swung around, throwing everything in my hands into the corner of the floor. I tensed when I thought about the food that was now sitting, waiting for me to feed my belly.

James, my boss, was leaning on the open doorframe, the open door that I had specifically closed so I wouldn’t be disturbed. He was drunk - very drunk. His eyes were bloodshot as he tried to focus on me, his swaying body making it even more difficult for him. One hand held onto the jamb as the other held a bottle of whisky.

“I’ve been looking for you, Kloe.”

I nodded quickly, the feel of the Twix in my hand making me tremble. My mouth watered as my heart rate went into panic. Panic that James would take it from me. That he would slowly eat it in front of me. That his manic laughter would make the chocolate swirling around in his mouth spit in my direction. I knew I would collect his spit on my finger and shove it into my mouth, just for one tiny taste.

“I’ll be out in a minute, James.” My voice was shaky, nervous and high-pitched with anxiety.

He took a step inside the pantry, stumbling down the single step that brought him closer to my hoard. My head shook as my eyes bulged. He couldn’t touch it. I wouldn’t let him. A small growl reverberated around my chest and I dug my nails into the soft chocolate hidden in my hand.

I reared back when he pointed a waving finger towards me. “Don’t be so uptight, Kloe. I want to talk.”

He pulled the door closed behind him. My eyes shot to him then to the door handle he held shut.

“What’s the matter, James? I’m coming. Go find Claire. She’ll find you a refill.”

Shaking his head, he took another step. “I don’t want Claire. Or another drink.” He held up his bottle, showing me the dreg in the bottom. I want to talk to you.”

I could feel the chocolate melting in my hand, the toffee and biscuit melding together and squishing through my fingers.

I flinched when his hand reached for my face, my eyes squeezing shut instinctively. “Relax.” He laughed. “You have something on your face.” His dirty thumb wiped at some food covering my face. I wanted to slap his hand away, yet at the same time I wanted to take his thumb into my mouth and suck off the food he stole from me.

“You’ve always been the pretty one in the office, Kloe.”

I tensed, hoping to God he wasn’t going where I thought he was.

“Those little tight skirts you wear, the way your blouses strain against your large tits.”

“James…”

He took another step into me, forcing me back into the wall. My heart was going crazy, the spike in my adrenaline not coping well with the sugar riding my bloodstream.

“What are you doing?” My voice wasn’t strong, which I loathed. It was weak, as cowardly as I felt.

His large hand came up to my throat, his fingers curling around the circumference of my neck. It wasn’t tight but enough to tell me he was warning me.

“I told you to relax, Kloe. Although, the way you torment me, the way you look at me…”

“I don’t…
look at you
like anything, James.”

He nodded, tightening his grip very slightly. “Oh, but you do. I’ve seen it in your eyes.”

Shaking my head I stepped further back, trying to get away from him even though the cold brick wall pressed into my back and there was nowhere else to go.

“So many times I have pictured bending you over my desk…”

Beads of sweat were rolling down my brow, my mouth drying as the moisture in my body leaked out in panic through my pores, the perspiration coating my palms making the chocolate I was still holding squelch through my crushed fist.

“…Lifting that tight, tight skirt. Your perfect arse would be covered in black lace…”

Nausea curdled in my gut. His hand tightened further, his excitement pressing against my jugular and into my stomach in the form of his sickening erection.

“Please, James…”

“You’d beg me to slide down your knickers.”

‘Beg. Beg me, Kloe. Beg and I’ll let you have a bite…’

My head shook when memories assaulted my mind, tears heating my eyes as vomit rushed up my throat.

‘Beg for that one, little bite, Kloe.’

The memory was so real I could smell the delicious aroma of that small piece of fresh bread, the crust still steaming and making my tummy growl – no, making my tummy beg and plead, and weep and scream out.

I was so lost in the past, my mind only capable of concentrating on the recollection of his face, of his smell and on eyes like the devil that I couldn’t feel my breath and consciousness leaving me with his severe constraint on my throat. Or on James’ other hand sliding up my dress, the trace of his fingers crawling up to my hips and twisting around the edge of my knickers.

‘Beg, Kloe. BEG!’

“Please!” I cried out, my eyes only seeing Brian’s cruel sneer and the sound of his vicious snarl. “Please. I…”

Gasping when the weight from his body over me and the constriction on my throat suddenly disappeared, I watched in shock when Ben’s fist connected with James’ face. He went down straight away, his body hitting the pantry door and sending him flying on his back onto the kitchen door.

“Kloe?”

I was gasping for breath, attempting to fill my empty lungs too quickly. Ben scooped me up, climbing over James’ unconscious body, and lowered me into a kitchen chair. Kneeling before me, he gently lowered my head between my open knees. “Breathe, baby. Come on.”

I sucked at air like a fish out of water, my lungs whistling as if thanking me verbally for the sudden rush of oxygen. My chest rattled as each gulp burnt my bruised throat.

“That’s it. Shh,” Ben encouraged as his hand slid up and down my back slowly. “That’s it, good girl.”

The room spun when I lifted my head. Ben’s smile comforted me, his face making me feel safe, just as it always had.

“What are you doing here?”

He looked affronted for a moment, a tight wince catching his easy expression and hardening it. “I brought over the rest of your stuff. Figured you might need it.”

“Thanks.” I smiled, trying to give him an apology with my eyes. I knew I was being a bitch but every time I looked at him all I saw was him and Sarah fucking.