Lost & Bound (10 page)

Leila

6 days

11 hours

14 minutes

That’s how long I’ve known Callum, and
already, I trust him with my life. I was so sure I would never crave another
man, but he challenges everything I thought I knew—everything I felt.

He says that he’ll save me. I believe him.

He calls me
“Leila.”
It sounds right. It sounds like a name that belongs to
me and it
reminds me of a past I was starting to forget.

He tells me this is it. This time it will
happen, this time I will be free. I don’t dare get ahead of myself, but I’m
excited for a future that I thought I would never have. Freedom is so close I
can taste it.

The escape is planned and my fate is in his
hands, but if this doesn’t work, what will become of me?

Callum

I down the rest of my beer and slam the
empty glass on the bar. With a click of my fingers, I signal the bartender to
pour me another.

“What’s wrong with you, dude?” Eric nudges
my shoulder. “Amy is clearly into you. She’s basically mind-fucking you as we
speak.”

I throw a glance over my shoulder and meet
Amy’s eyes. She narrows her gaze and offers me a flirtatious wave while pulling
up the hem of her dress to reveal more leg. I offer her an indifferent nod
before returning my attention back to the bartender.

“I have no interest in fucking her.”

When Eric suggested we travel to Lynchburg
and hit up some bars, I was keen. I couldn’t wait to get out of his shoebox
apartment, but now that we’re out, all I want is to be left alone.

Eric made a habit of talking to any chick
that looked in his direction. That’s how he picked up Bianca and her friend
Amy. They haven’t left us alone for the past hour.

“She’s totally your type,” Eric tells me.
“She’s tall, blonde, ready to go.”

That isn’t my type.

“Uh huh,” I respond mindlessly.

“What’s wrong?” He leans in close as he
tends to do when he’s had one too many. “You’re not thinking about that chick
again?”

That chick
.
He’s referring to Leila. She is constantly on my mind, invading my thoughts,
but I’m not about to admit that to Eric.

“What chick?” I feign ignorance.

“You know, Leila.”

When he says her name I feel my face warm,
like he’s reminded me that she’s real and not just a figment of my imagination.

I dismissively shake my head as I try not
to give anything away.

I wonder what Leila is doing right now. Is
she alone or is
he
with her, doing
things to her that I can’t even imagine, and perhaps don’t want to. I imagine
her huddled on her bed, tears filling her intense chocolate brown eyes as she
waits for him to rip the clothes from her body before invading her as if she’s
his. Fuck, I can’t shake the thought from my mind. The image of her deep brown
eyes piercing my brain as Eric continues babbling.

“Maybe Amy can take your mind off her?”

Part of me thinks I should take Amy home.
Maybe I can have one night of mind-numbing sex and shake Leila from my thoughts
once and for all. But no matter how hard I try I can’t pretend to be interested
in Amy. The way she’s throwing herself at me does little to turn me on and
despite what Eric thinks, she’s not my type.

“I think I’ll just head home, man.”

Eric doesn’t hide his disappointment. He
shakes his head while he flicks the bartender a twenty for the next round of
drinks.

“One more drink and we’ll head home. Come
back to the booth and be sociable.”

I reluctantly pick up my beer and follow
him back to the booth where Bianca and Amy are sitting. Amy offers me a toothy
smile and I hesitantly take my seat next to her.

She snatches my beer before I get a chance
to set it down and she takes a long swig, keeping her eyes fixed on me the
entire time.

“I think Eric bought you a drink.” I point
to the three beers that Eric put on the table.

“Yours tastes better,” she says with a
wink.

I don’t bother telling her it’s the same
beer. I don’t want to insult her poor attempt at flirtation.

“So, Callum, what do you do with yourself?”
Bianca asks me. Eric has his arm draped over her shoulder casually. He raises
his eyebrows and gives me a knowing smirk. He put her up to this.

“I’m out of work at the moment,” I say
unapologetically.

If I come across as a twenty-eight-year-old
low life with no prospects to speak of maybe Amy will give up the charade and
move her attention elsewhere. Plus it’s the truth. I have no writing jobs lined
up. Since I’ve been back in the States I’d met with one newspaper, but the
arrangement wouldn’t work. They wanted me in the office. I was used to working
freelance, having my own schedule, working my own hours. I like freedom and I'm
not desperate enough to settle.

Bianca forces a smile. “But what do you do when
you are working?”

“He’s a journalist,” Eric says before I
have a chance to answer.

Amy doesn’t hold back her excitement. “You
must have a way with words then?” she runs her hand over my leg and I pull away
to the edge of the booth.

“Kind of.” I shrug.

Eric glares daggers into my forehead.

Amy doesn’t take the hint. Her hand makes
its way to my inner thigh. She strokes my leg through my jeans, getting
dangerously close to my cock.

“Okay, that’s it.” I stand from my seat and
hold my hands in the air in surrender. “I’m going home.”

Amy’s mouth forms a giant O as her eyes go
wide and her cheeks turn red. Eric pushes Bianca from the booth and rushes to
my side.

“Are you serious? You’re the worst wingman
ever,” he seethes into my ear.

I shrug my shoulders and offer him a smirk.
“Do what you want, but the blonde isn’t coming home with me.”

Eric throws his hands in the air
dramatically as he watches me walk out of the bar. I know I’m being a shitty
friend, but going out and picking up chicks seems like the wrong thing to be
doing now.

The taxi stand is full of extremely loud
and drunken partygoers. I debate whether to join the line or take my chances
and try to hail a cab from the road.

“Wait up, man,” I hear the call from behind
me.

Eric walks toward me, the girls from the
bar in tow. Amy’s arms are crossed over her chest and the pout on her lips
tells me she’s received the message—I’m not interested.

“We’ll get a cab together,” Eric says, his
hand now latched onto Bianca’s. I take it their night isn’t over yet. He lowers
his voice. “We’ll put Amy in a taxi first.”

For the first time all evening we’re on the
same page and after an awkward few moments a taxi arrives and we bid Amy
farewell.

When the next cab pulls up Eric and Bianca
pile in the back, while I take the front seat. After a whole two seconds of
foreplay, Bianca is practically dry humping Eric in the backseat.

“Settle down back there,” the driver lets
out in a huff.

They calm down for a few moments, before I
hear the sucking of each other’s faces continue. The driver shakes his head,
but doesn’t say anything else. I guess he’s used to it.

When we pull up at the
apartment Eric and Bianca head straight upstairs leaving me to settle the bill.

He assesses my tip and nods his head
graciously. “Have a good night.”

“I doubt that,” I mutter sarcastically. He
grunts knowing exactly what I’m referring to before driving off into the night.

I climb the flimsy staircase and find the
apartment door wide open. The lights are off, but I can hear Bianca giggling
from the bedroom.

I let out a low groan. Settling on the
sofa, I cover my ear with my pillow trying to block out the sounds coming from
the room next to me. I squeeze my eyes closed and think of Leila. Serenity
overtakes my body and soon enough I’m asleep.

That night I dream of cool blue waters,
soft white sand, and for just one night, I feel as though I’m in paradise.

Leila

It’s dark in here. The darkness surrounds me—overwhelms
me. I feel as though it may swallow me up.

And then someone flicks a switch.

Light.

A light so bright that it takes me a moment
to adjust. The beaming glow almost blinds me. I blink several times and then
take the opportunity to assess my body.

I look down at my arms, they are blurred in
my dizzy haze, but I see track marks lining the insides of my arms. They’ve
drugged me. Someone has drugged me.

I feel the unrelenting need to vomit
surface within. My legs are shaking, making it impossible to stand upright. I
take hold of the silver pole that sits center stage and try to steady myself.

I close my eyes and I can breathe. Finally,
I can breathe.

The stage keeps spinning, around and
around, causing the nausea to resurface. I clasp my hand to my mouth and breathe
through my nose.

“Just breathe,” I tell myself.

One
breath
…two…three.

Another light turns on, it glares into my
eyes and once again, it blinds me.

I hold my arm over my eyes, trying to
shield my face. “Get that light out of my eyes,” I shout in Portuguese, not
English.

“Leila,” I hear someone say.

“Vai embora,” I tell them.
Go away.

“Leila,” the voice sounds again, this time
louder and much clearer. I look up and this time I see a face.

I can’t make out exactly
who
it is.

The room turns dark again. Pitch black, and
it’s eerily silent. And then he clears his throat. He reaches forward and grabs
my arm, his fingers digging into my skin like a vice.

I cry out, but no one hears my pleas, no
one comes to save me.

I let out a tormented scream, but all there
is is darkness.

I startle awake and sit upright in bed. I
feel the rapid beat of my heart threatening to jump out of my chest.

I had that dream again, the same memories,
yet a different sequence of events. I don’t know what it means. I don’t know
why he chose me.

Lying back down, I pull the covers to my
chin and hope for sleep to take me in, but this time, I don’t want to dream.

Leila

I don’t know what I expected the last time
to be like. The last time he pulled the clothes from my body and touched my
skin causing goose bumps to rise on the surface. That one final time he uttered
the name he gave me and told me was my own. What it would feel like when he
kissed my lips once his invasion of my body was over. I had no idea how I would
feel when he raped me that one last time.

As he descends the stairs, I sit upright on
my bed, tucking my knees against my chest while my gaze holds his. For once I
can actually look him in the eye.

“Emmy,” he draws out.

He makes his way to the foot of the bed and
taps the comforter with the palm of his hand. “Come here,” he says as if I’m a
fervent feline. “Come close to me.”

I slowly make my way to the edge of the bed
on my hands and knees. The sight causes him to suck in a deep breath and his
lip turns into a wicked smirk. When the stench of whiskey reaches my nose I
know I am close enough.

“Good girl.” His hand cups the side of my
face. It’s a gentle gesture, but I don’t lean into his touch. I don’t trust it,
and I definitely don’t welcome it.

“Let me look at you.” His hand trails down
my neck and to my bust, fingertips
meet
skin, causing my heart to
thump
deep inside my chest
. His fingers tangle with the tie of my robe. Within
seconds the knot is loose and the robe is falling from my body.

His sharp intake of breath tells me that
he’s happy with my outfit.

“I love you in red,” he says.

I’ve heard
this countless
times
over the years. He requested I wear the red negligee tonight, even
though it isn’t my usual Tuesday outfit. I want to tell him that it’s the last
time he’ll ever see me in red, but I bite my tongue and wait for his
exploration of my body to be over.

“Tonight I need you,” he starts. “I need you
to create memories for me. Vivid memories.
Memories that will
last me a few days while I am away.
Can you do that for me, Emmy?” he
asks softly. “Can you create beautiful memories for me?”

My eyebrows reach up my forehead questioning
exactly what he wants from me.

He takes a step back, unbuttoning his slacks
and letting them fall to the floor. My eyes go wide. I understand. I know what
he wants from me and I suppress the urge to cry.

He’s already hard. He takes his cock in the
palm of his hand and pumps it a few times. He takes a step forward, his crotch
now in my face, his hands moving to the back of my head forcefully.

“Suck me,” he demands.

I grind my teeth together. No matter how
hard I try I can’t pry my jaws apart. He tugs on my hair at the base of my
skull. “Open,” he says the word with such
severity
that I know I need to comply.

I open my
mouth
and take the length of him against my tongue. “Yes, Emmy,”
he breathes quietly.

His hands guide me, controlling the pace of
the blowjob, slowing down when I take him deep. The only thing that stops me
from biting down on his cock
is knowing
that this is
the last time. The one final time I will ever have to take this man’s dick in
my mouth.

His fingers twist through my hair as he leans
back and closes his eyes. I watch his face distort as his cock pulsates against
my tongue telling me he’s close.

He quickens the pace, thrusting deep into my
mouth causing me to gag. He hears the sound of me fighting back the urge to
vomit, but it only spurs him on more. His breathing intensifies and a deep
groan escapes from the back of his throat.

“Fuck,” he shouts.

When he’s about to come he grabs a fist full
of my hair and yanks hard, pulling my mouth away from his cock. I cry out in
pain, causing him to smirk.

“You’re such a good little slut,” he says as
he reaches for my feet.

He pulls my leg to the side of the bed and
fastens a rope around my ankle. Walking to the opposite side of the bed he does
the same to my other foot. The ropes force my legs open, wider than I deem
comfortable, leaving my crotch fully exposed.

“I like it when you can’t move,” he tells
me. “When you’re tied up and look so…helpless.”

And that’s how I feel in that moment,
helpless
.

But this isn’t new to me. I have suffered
some serious cases of rope burn during my time here and it seems tonight will
be no exception.

He runs a hand along the inside of my thigh,
pausing when he reaches my sex, his eyes lingering on my pink lips.

He groans to himself before hovering over my
body and then pivoting his hips to meet mine.

He pushes inside forcefully. I flinch from
the pain of him stretching me, but try not to show any signs of discomfort on
my face. Instead I clench my fists, my fingernails digging into the palms of my
hands. The nails feel like tiny needles pricking at my skin, the pain releases
the tension from my body, giving me something else to concentrate on.

He
thrusts
in again, his fingers digging into my hips as he does so.

“Fuck!” he lets out as he
drives
in deep. “Fuck, Emmy.” He
breathes against the exposed skin of my neck.

I feel my pulse throbbing as my fingernails
dig deeper, releasing the tension that I can’t get rid of any other way.

He bucks his hips as he thrusts into me one
final time. I feel him release inside of me, his juice filling me as he emits a
moan that lets me know it’s over. The sound I’ve heard so many times and never
want to hear again.

“Good job, Emmy.” His whiskey breath hits
the side of my face before he finally rolls off of me.

He stands from the bed and loosens the rope
from my ankles.

I rush to sit up, rubbing the flesh where
the rope has burned into my skin.

“That will heal soon enough,” he tells me
unapologetically while he pulls up his pants.

He walks back toward the bed, my body
instantly tensing as he approaches. He leans forward and places a kiss on my
cheek.

“See you on the weekend, honey.”

No you won’t.

I watch him leave the room, praying it’s the
last time I’ll ever set eyes on him.

I didn’t know how I would feel when he raped
me for the last time. The relief I hoped for evaded me. I unclenched my fists
and assessed my wounds. Deep gouges marred each palm where my fingernails had
pierced the skin. Fresh blood escaped the cuts and dripped onto the linen, but
I didn’t care.

I looked up to the basement door. It was
closed and he was gone, but I didn’t feel safe. I didn’t feel free.

Tears began to trickle down my cheeks as I
sobbed into the night. It was the last time he would ever touch me, and it
became clear to me, I needed that to be true.