As her hands went to her
face she could feel the wetness of the tears that had fallen on her cheeks.
When had she started crying? She had no idea why she cried now, this wasn’t the
first time he would be disappointed in her behaviour and it wouldn’t be the
last no matter how much she wished things were different.
She hated him for the way he
would parade her around in front of others like she was a prize, the perfect
wife and host with her luscious red hair, big gray eyes and full lips but
behind the closed doors he was not
the same person he showed to the outside world around them. Once the doors were
locked and the shades were drawn in the old Victorian house the smile that
radiated from him in company, left his lips swiftly. If she was good she would
be allowed to retreat to her room, separate from his and across the long
hallway upstairs, behind a locked door. And it wasn’t locked from the inside.
If she was bad…she had two
options depending on what she had done and both options were bad. The rack or
the pit; she preferred the rack if only because it was in the attic and there
was a small window so that she could get some light. He was more hands on with
the rack though the alternative of her being in the pit was damp darkness that
was cold the sensory deprivation drove her mad. After the first few times she
would scream until her lungs hurt, if she kept going he would sedate her…with
his fists. He learned quickly that those sedations left bruises and he didn’t
want anyone to see those so instead he would turn the hose on her and fill up
the pit until she was straining on the tips of her toes to keep her head above
water.
So she played the game. Day in and day out it was always the same.
Leaving was not an option
unless it was in a body bag and until she could find a way for it to be him in
the bag she would be the good, loving wife. Talk softly and not ask questions
and please him no matter what he asked for.
She had forgotten she was on
the floor in the bathroom. How long had she been in here? Her realization had
kick started her senses bringing them back online. She couldn’t feel anything
in her feet, they were completely numb but her ankles were on fire because of
how she was sitting on the cold linoleum. Her legs tucked underneath her power
blue skirt. She tried to move quickly and that was a mistake as the pins and
needles rushed through, spread out like tiny little daggers across her skin and
protested the hell out of her using them so she stopped and took a deep breath.
She tried again this time
bracing herself on the vanity for support. Once she got to her feet she caught
sight of herself in the mirror and took note if her red puffy eyes and immediately
started to panic. Visine thought
quickly as she tore open the medicine cabinet and found what she needed. Just
as she picked up the bottle she heard a firm knock on the door and everything
froze. Her breathe her body…everything.
“Carol Anne?” he called. He
sounded alright but she could hear the small edge of tension in his voice that
he was trying very hard to hold back. Quickly she turned on the tap and dropped
2 drops of Visine in each eye. “I’ll be right out, just washing my hands!” she
tried to keep her voice level. He paused and it felt like her heart was going
to jackhammer out of her chest as the seconds of silence felt like hours.
“Our guests are waiting…sweetheart.”
He replied calmly only under his breath she heard him say fiercely. “Unacceptable.”
Carol Anne Moore knew at
that moment that the pit would be waiting for her tonight after their guests
left. Its cold stone and darkness will give her no comfort as she spends a
sleepless night trying to remember how she got here in the first place…and how
she was going to get out.
Smoothing her hair down with
her hand and straightening her skirt she pulled herself together and took one
last look at the gray eyes staring back at her. She took a deep breath and
steeled herself, stood up straight and opened the bathroom door.
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