Lost & Bound (4 page)

“Leave it to me, okay?”

I grasp her shoulders and look into her
eyes.

“I will help you, Leila.”

She nods her head to confirm that she
believes me.

When I make my way back upstairs my father
is still on the phone. I choose a meal from the selection in the fridge and put
it in the microwave to warm. I grab a beer from the fridge and uncap it before
taking a long swig.

After everything I’ve found out today it’ll
take more than a few beers to shake thoughts of my father and Leila from my
mind. I take another mouthful and mentally prepare myself for Friday.

Leila

The room is dark, apart from a spotlight
that is set on me. It glares into my eyes making it hard to open them. The
stage turns around slowly making the nausea rise to the surface again. I feel a
draft, causing my whole body to prickle with goose bumps. I look down and
notice I’m naked apart from a flimsy silver thong that barely covers my slit.

I cross my arms over my chest, trying to
hide my breasts from…
who
?
Are there people here?

I can’t see anyone. The black abyss before
me is empty as far as I can tell and yet I can feel their eyes on me.
Looking me up and down,
taking me in as
one
would a piece of art. It’s an unsettling feeling to know I’m not
alone.

I start to feel woozy, like I can no longer
stand upright. The damn stage keeps spinning.

Around and around and
around.

“Let me go!” I shout in English, not
Portuguese. “I want to get out of here,” I cry into the darkness.

Tears streak my face as the stage continues
to turn. No matter how loud I yell, how much I beg, the stage doesn’t stop
moving.

I hear footsteps. Someone is coming.

I’m not alone. Someone is coming to help
me, to save me.

“Help me, please,” I cry.

I hear the muttering of two people, maybe
three, and then a loud bellowing voice fills my ears.

The gruff voice shouts over the top of my
pleas.
“Sold.”

I hear the word but don’t immediately
understand its meaning. “Sold,” I repeat helplessly. “Sold?” I question once
more, but no one answers. No one hears me.

And then I wake up.

I had that dream again. I sit upright in bed
and wipe the back of my hand over my forehead. It’s slick with sweat.

“It’s just a dream,” I tell myself.

In truth, I never know if it’s a memory or
a dream. Maybe I’ll never know, but it feels so real. Something tells me
there’s more to it, but I can’t piece the information together. I can’t conjure
the memory when I’m awake and lucid.

I take the glass of water from my
nightstand and down its contents in one long gulp. The clock reads 2:00 a.m.
and even though I’m tired, sleep doesn’t take me in.

Ever since I arrived here my sleep has been
a cycle of broken, restless nights. I think back to the night when I first woke
up here, finding myself in a foreign bed in this cold basement. I was tucked
into bed so tight. Not until I tried to move did I realize my hands were bound
by rope. The rope dug into my skin so deep that the burn marks lasted for weeks
after.

I wasn’t sure what to think of him at
first. Whether to be
scared,
intimidated or disgusted.
He was kind when he spoke. His words always soft and comforting, but that was a
front. He didn’t rape me until my second week here. He gave me time to come
down from my high before he assaulted my body for the first time.

I will always remember that night. It was
raining. There are no windows in the basement, but I knew it was raining
because of the leak in the bathroom ceiling. I focused on that noise.

Rain drops hitting the cold, cement floor.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

He didn’t last long. It was probably less
than two minutes of him thrusting inside me. As much as I tried to block it
out, I always remember the smell. He smelled like the leather seat of an old
car and alcohol. Those smells I now associate with him.

“Emmy,” he whispered against my skin.

I shuddered.
That’s not my name.

“You will call me Osborne,” he said like
he’d just pulled the name out of thin air.

His breath hit my face as his eyes studied
me. A smirk on his lips that made me
want
to vomit.

“What’s my name?” he asked, his fingers
digging into my chin while forcing me to look at his face.

I didn’t answer straight away. Even though
my English was poor I understood what he wanted from me, but I couldn’t speak.

“Emmy, what’s my name?” This time his tone
was much more severe.

He wrapped his hand around my jaw, his
nails sinking further into my skin.

“Speak, damn you.”

“Osborne,” my voice wavered.

I hadn’t spoken in over a week. I didn’t
recognize the voice as my own at first. It was low and husky, and hurt as it
travelled off my tongue.

“Good girl.” He smiled, revealing his
perfect white teeth and more of his liquor soaked breath.

That was the first night he raped me. He
didn’t make me dress up in one of his ridiculous outfits. He didn’t tie me to
the bedposts and spank my ass until my skin was red and raw. He just fucked me
like I was his to fuck. The whole time I was as limp as a rag doll. I remember thinking
to myself that I would never get used to this man invading my body. And I never
have.

And that was how this nightmare started. It
didn’t hurt so much to think about now. Now I have hope. Hope that Callum will
set me free. And with that thought, I’m finally able to drift off into a deep,
peaceful sleep.

Callum

I hesitate before ringing the doorbell. I’ve
been internally debating whether this is a good idea or not. Rocking up to my
dad’s house unannounced could prove to be an amateur move, but I know I need to
attend this party to see things for myself.

There are at least ten cars in the
horseshoe driveway, about eight more than I expected.

Merling is a small town and I had no idea
how many sick, perverted men could be living within its boundaries.

A burly guy stands at the foot of the
stairway that leads up to the door. He doesn’t acknowledge me when I look him
up and down. Security guard, I assume. Perhaps the same one who caught Leila
the night she tried to escape.

I finally pluck up the courage to press the
doorbell. It surprises me when the door finally opens and the man staring back
at me is not my father. It’s a short man who I don’t recognize. He is dressed
in a penguin suit, complete with black bow tie and top hat. He looks ridiculous.

“Your name?” he asks.

I’m the guy that grew up in this house.

I offer him a sleazy smile, my best attempt
at fitting in with these creeps. “Callum Mathers,” I utter the words and watch
the realization cross penguin suits face.

“Oh, I’m sorry Mr. Mathers.” He clears his
throat. “Is your father expecting you?”

Are you kidding? This joke of a man is
seriously going to turn me away?

“No, but I’m sure he’d be more than okay
that I’m here.”

I give the joker a wink and he offers me a
tight smile.

“Right, ummm…please come inside, I will
bring your father through to see you.”

He gestures for me to wait in the sitting
room like I’m some guest. That’s not going to happen. I follow behind the
penguin, close enough to see my father’s face when he tells him of my
unexpected arrival. Dad’s face turns pale, his jaw stiffens and then his eyes
meet mine.

“Callum,” he announces tersely.

I look around the room. There are at least
fifteen people here, standing in what was once our family room. The guests are
all men and at first glance there is no sign of Leila. I don’t know whether I
should be worried or relieved.

“Dad, having a little party
are
we?” I say, my voice is pleasant, unsuspecting.

“Just a function, something for work.” He
straightens his jacket. He’s also dressed in a suit, similar to the penguin,
but without the stupid bow tie.

He excuses himself from the conversation
he’s having with two men who I don’t know. He leads me by my elbow away from
the prying eyes and ears of his party guests.

“This probably isn’t the best time for you
to be here, Cal.”

Subtle, real subtle.

“I can’t stick around, have a drink, and
mingle with some of our towns elite?” I question.

A look crosses his face, like he’s
internally debating how to let me down gently. He had the same face when he was
about to tell me that mom died.

“It’s not a normal party, son. It’s all
business. You’ll be bored.”

I gesture toward the men who are
spread
about the room, talking
robustly as they swill their thirty-year-old scotch.

“What’s going on, Dad?” I smile. “You sound
like you really don’t want me here.”

Just when I’m about to tell him all the
reasons he should let me stay, another man walks in. My father’s eyes go wide
and panic takes over his usually calm features. That’s when I notice the girl
following behind the new arrival.
 

At first I think it’s just a normal woman,
perhaps his younger girlfriend, and then I see what she’s wearing. I suppress
the urge to gasp. Her body is mostly exposed, apart from a tight leather
crotchless thong and a leather
halter top
that bares
both breasts. She can’t be much older than twenty. Her eyes are fixed on the
floor with her shoulders slumped forward as if she has no hope left.

I look back to my father whose face is now
red. He looks as though he’s about to have a heart attack and I wonder if that
would be such a bad thing.

“Ahhh, Cal.” He clears his throat.

I cross my arms over my chest. I have to
admit I’m looking forward to hearing his explanation for this. He’s practically
squirming before me.

I force myself to smile, gritting my teeth
as I do so.

“Dad, what is this…and who is she?”

I let my eyes trail to the girl. I openly
look her up and down as if she’s a complete turn on, but really I’m in shock.
It can’t be more than forty degrees out and this underweight girl must be
freezing.

“Who is she?" I question again.

“Cal, I don’t think…”

“Dad, whatever’s going on here, you’re not
getting rid of me now, not after seeing that piece of ass.”

I hate myself. I’m a horrible person.
I force my lips up into a smirk and watch my father’s face change
from horrified to somewhat pleased. It’s the happiest I’ve seen him since my
return to this
godforsaken
town.

“Well, I’ll get you a drink then.” He
wanders over to the bar in the corner of the room and I let out a sigh of relief
while
quashing
the need to vomit
back to where it came from.

Casually, I hang my hands out of my pockets
as I study the men around me. Most are in
their
fifties, grey hair, rounded guts, dressed in designer suits, wedding rings
prominent on their ring fingers. If I saw them outside of this room I would
think they’re just ordinary middle-aged men, but now I know better. I recognize
a handful of them while others I have never seen before and don’t care if I
ever see them again.

Dad walks back to my side, handing me a
glass of scotch. “Gerry brought his pussy tonight too.”

I take a swig and let the amber liquid
slide down my throat without wincing. I hate the stuff.

“His pussy?” I try not to show my distaste.

“That’s what he calls his girl, Pussy,” he
explains, his mouth turning into a crooked grin.

You make me sick,
I say with my eyes, but my mouth obeys me. “Cool,” I let out as
nonchalantly as possible.

“Well, look who it is,” my father roars
from my side. “Harry, how are you?”

Harry?
I
look at the man who I would never have recognized if I passed him in the
street.

My uncle. The
chief of Merling’s one and only police station and the reason I knew I couldn’t
trust the authorities in this town. The sick fuck is in on this too. It seems
all the men of Merling are tarred by the same perverted brush
.

Harry shakes
my father’s hand and then looks to me. His expression changes when he gets a
good look at my face. I sense something. Surprise? Shock? I can’t tell.

“Cal?” He
takes a step toward me, his hand perched in front of him. “Cal, is that really
you?”

I take his
hand and force a smile on my face when all I really want to do is punch him in
the guts.

“Hey, Uncle
Harry.” I do my best to sound genuine. “It’s been a long time.”

My father
claps Harry on the back. “Let me get you a drink, brother. Scotch, okay?” he
asks.

“I’d prefer a
bourbon,” Harry responds and my dad laughs.

“Always have
to be difficult don’t you?”

Dad walks
off, leaving the comment in his wake. Harry stands at my side and hangs his
hands out of his pockets. If I didn’t know better I’d say he’s nervous.

“So, when did
you get back?” he asks.

He wants a
reunion now does
he?
I don’t have the balls to tell
him this is hardly the place for a catch up.

“Earlier this
week.”

“So, Italy?”
he questions.

I don’t hold
back my sigh, hoping he senses that I don’t want to talk about it.

“I’m not
going back,” I say in a deadpan tone. “Sofia and I are over.”

His eyes go
wide and he seems genuinely upset by the news.

“I’m sorry to
hear that.”

I offer him a
sad smile and he pats me on the back, a comforting gesture. His response is
sincere, which surprises me.

When my
father comes back he hands Harry his drink and then excuses
himself
to greet more guests. I do a quick sweep of the room and that’s when I notice
her.

My eyes are
drawn to her with such a magnetic pull that I can’t look away, and that’s when
I notice, every other man is staring at her too.