Appetite for Innocence: A Dark Psychological Thriller Page 11

  I was devastated when he picked her over me. I didn’t understand how he could have said all those nice things to me and then just throw me away like I meant nothing to him. I’ll never forget the night I became a different person.

  It’d been three months since Tiffany arrived and one week since he’d called me upstairs. I hadn’t eaten in three days. Back then, he didn’t let us keep any food downstairs. I’d been relying on the scraps he allowed Tiffany to bring down with her each night after he was finished with her. I stunk. I hadn’t bathed in just as long.

  I knew my end was near when he called me upstairs instead of Tiffany and didn’t give me a bath. He always bathed me before touching me. Instead, we stood in the hallway outside the basement door and he handed me a water bottle.

  “Drink this,” he said.

  I took the bottle. The seal had already been opened.

  “C’mon, Petra. Drink,” he said.

  I shook my head. I was trembling.

  He sneered, “Don’t make this any more difficult than it needs to be.”

  I wasn’t going to make it that easy to get rid of me. Not after everything we’d been through and the things he’d promised.

  “No.” I’d never defied him. Not once. I’d done everything he’d ever asked, complied with every request.

  He couldn’t hide his shock or disdain. He twisted my arm. I cried out in pain. “Do it.” He raised his fist at my face.

  “I don’t want to leave!” I blurted out.

  He froze. He brought his arm down in defeat. “What are you talking about?”

  I spit the words out as fast as I could. “I don’t want to go. I want to stay here. I know you’re trying to get rid of me. I know there’s probably something in this water and if I drink it, I’ll fall asleep and wake up somewhere else. I don’t want to go back home. Please don’t make me. I want to stay here with you. I’ll do anything. Anything.” I stress the word anything and then unleashed the plan I’d been thinking about all week while I lay in the dark basement alone. “You need someone to help you. I–”

  He interrupted me. “I don’t need anyone to help me. You just need–”

  This time I cut him off. I only had a small window of opportunity. I wasn’t losing it. I kept going, talking just as fast. “I could make your life so much easier. Easier on you and the girls. I can get them ready. Prepare them for you. I can make it so you can have them sooner. You won’t have to wait as long. And I can cook and clean. Not just in the basement but up here. I’ll learn how to cook. I can be like your personal assistant. Think about it. How much easier would your life be if you didn’t have to work out so many of the details? You never have to hide anything from me because I already know what you do. I just want to help you do it better.”

  The fight left his body. He stared at me for a long time. “I’ll think about it.” He motioned to the bathroom door. “Go take a shower. You stink.”

  I had been so elated to stay and he started calling me up to speak with him, but not at night. The evenings were reserved for Tiffany but he called me up during the day. I never even knew he was around during the day. I’d always assumed he was off working whatever important job he had. I felt special because I got his daytime hours.

  We started talking about our arrangement and what it would entail. He agreed to a trial run. He said if it didn’t work out he was going to have to let me go, but he’d give me a chance. It was all I wanted. Just a chance. He only had one condition.

  “You have to prove I can trust you completely,” he said.

  “Of course,” I said. I didn’t even have to think about it. “What do I have to do?”

  “You’ll see,” he said. “I’ll be watching everything you do. Everything. I’m going to get cameras set up in every room upstairs. If there’s anything even hinting at betrayal, you’re gone. You understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you. Really, I don’t.” He pointed to the gun on the table next to him. “I don’t want to use this, but I will if I have to. Are we clear?”

  I nodded.

  “Speak up. I can’t hear you.”

  “I understand.” My voice cracked.

  “Good.” He poured himself another glass of wine.

  I thought about those first conversations as I shifted through the piles of photographs on my lap. There are so many different smiling faces. Most of them look like school pictures. I recognize a few of the girls—Tiffany, Erin, and Michelle. I hand the pile back to Blake once I finished.

  “Sorry,” I say. “I wish I could help you but I don’t recognize any of the girls in these pictures. I’ve never seen them.”

  ELLA

  (THEN)

  I’m in so much pain it hurts to open my eyes. I’m disappointed I didn’t die in my sleep. I thought he’d give me a break and let my body rest since I was in so much pain, but he didn’t. Instead, he started called me up during the day and at night. He rapes me multiple times every day as if I’m a new drug he can’t get enough of.

  “It won’t always be like this,” Paige says. “He slows down after a while.”

  She tries to get me to roll over to face her, but I scoot further away on my bed. I don’t want her to touch me. Her incessant chattering, usually a good distraction that helps me not feel alone, grates on me. All I want is for her to be quiet and leave me alone. I want to sleep away my days. His depravity has seeped into my insides and moves through my veins. I want to crawl out of my skin.

  I’ve stopped dreaming when I’m asleep. It’s started to feel like the outside world doesn’t exist. The moments when I’m awake are filled with fantasies about killing him or myself. I envision grabbing one of the long knifes from the wooden chopping blocks in the kitchen and slicing him open, then ripping his heart out and smashing it onto the perfectly white, clean floors and stomping on it until it’s pulverized. When I think about killing myself, I imagine plunging the knife into my gut and the sweet release it would give me as it bled out the evil he’s put in me. I play the scenarios over and over again.

  The only thing I look forward to is the wine he fills my glass with every night. He doesn’t care how much I drink and I’ve learned how to handle my liquor quite well. I don’t throw up anymore.

  I cry all the time, even in my sleep. My pillow stays damp from my tears. Paige tries to comfort me but I refuse to be comforted. There’s nothing she can say to make this better.

  Last night he dressed me up like a Catholic school girl and put my hair in pigtails. He wasn’t satisfied until he could get the part perfectly straight and both sides even.

  “You look beautiful,” he said when he finished.

  He held up a mirror so I could admire his handiwork. I didn’t recognize my face even though I look the same. Nothing has changed, but I’m not her anymore. I’m not the girl who stared back at me. I don’t know who I am.

  He got out an old-fashioned camera and took pictures. He made me pose for him for hours while he snapped away. I moved like a robot. Turning this way and that. Bending over. Opening my legs so he could peek up my skirt. When it was finally over, and he’d taken me again, he pulled me next to him.

  “You’re so special,” he said as he stroked my hair. “It was nice to see you enjoying yourself tonight.”

  I didn’t speak. Having to lay next to him while he cuddles me and speaks to me lovingly are harder than the moments when he’s violating me.

  I made the wrong choice. I should’ve let him kill me.

  SARAH

  (THEN)

  I’m so excited I don’t know what to do with myself. I didn’t think the day would ever come. Yesterday morning when he called me upstairs to talk to him while he was getting ready for work, he told me he’d changed his mind and I could move upstairs. I can’t believe he changed his mind. He rarely ever does.

  I’m going to be free of the basement for good and we’re finally going to be a real family. He’s even going to teach me how to use the intercom so
I can summon the girls myself. Tonight when I go to sleep, I get to sleep in my princess bed, that’s what I’ve always called it, and it’s going to be mine. All mine. A room with four walls and a door. He says I can lock it at night if I want to, he even prefers that I do.

  I start going through my things in the basement. I’m not taking much of it with me. I don’t want anything that will remind me of the darkness down here. Only the things I hold dear. The food and the kitchen things will stay because the girls will need those. They’ll have to figure out how to ration things themselves because it’s not my problem anymore. They’ll learn soon enough what happens if they eat all their food in one day and it doesn’t take long to figure out the water situation—you drink too much of your water and you run out of water for the toilet. Paige will know that one, though. She’s smart.

  I carry out a box filled with coloring books and crayons. Paige is reading and Ella is curled up in her bed. She’s been that way for weeks. She’s nearly catatonic. I’ve seen it happen sometimes. By now, I feel like I’ve seen everything happen at least once.

  “Hey,” I say. “Do either of you want this stuff?”

  Paige looks up, instantly suspicious. Ella doesn’t move.

  “What is it?” she asks.

  I set it on her bed and pull off the lid, thumbing through the things quickly. “It’s all my coloring stuff.”

  She stares at me in disbelief. She knows I never share.

  “Why?” she asks.

  “I don’t need them anymore,” I say. A smile stretches across my face.

  “Why don’t you need them?”

  “I’m moving upstairs,” I say. I don’t even try to hide my excitement.

  “Are you serious?” she asks. “Ella, did you hear that? Sarah’s moving upstairs.”

  No response. The girl might as well be dead, but she’s not. When John calls her tonight, she’ll rise from the dead and go to meet him.

  “Do you want them or not?”

  “Sure.” Paige takes them from me hesitantly like she’s waiting for me to snatch them back.

  I skip back behind my sheet and spend the rest of the afternoon sorting things. At some point, Paige asks if she can come in my room. Normally, I’d say no, but today I’m too happy to care. Besides, this room is no longer my sacred space.

  “What’s up?” I ask.

  “After you go upstairs, do you think I could have your room?”

  ELLA

  (NOW)

  I should be happy that I finally get to leave the hospital but there’s no joy in going home because Sarah’s coming with us. I’m so mad at Mom I can’t even look at her. She’s convinced I’ll get used to it and that it will be good for me, but there’s nothing good about bringing the nightmare home. I’ve done everything I can think of to prevent it. I’ve begged, cried, kicked, and screamed. I even thought about threatening to kill myself, but I couldn’t do that to Mom no matter how mad I am at her.

  For once, I’m on Randy’s side. She’s tried to talk her out of it too, but Mom won’t change her mind.

  “I couldn’t live with myself knowing I had the power to keep that girl out of the system and give her a loving home, but I chose not to,” she said, her jaw set with determination.

  That shut Randy down. How could she argue with logic like that? She’s coming to talk to me about it again today right after she finishes her session with Sarah.

  At least I get to take a shower today—a real shower. They’ve been giving me sponge baths because of all my stitches, but today, the doctor said I can take a shower. I hobble my way into the bathroom on the crutches they finally brought me yesterday. I’m still figuring out how to use them without rubbing my armpits raw.

  “I’m right here if you need me,” Mom calls out as I shut the door behind me.

  So far, I haven’t looked at myself in the mirror when I’ve used the bathroom, but today, I look. My face is grotesque and I barely recognize myself. I trace the bruises along my left side, remembering how hard I hit the concrete—the loud smack it made. I didn’t even have time to think about how much pain my face was in, though, because within seconds, one of the dogs sunk his teeth into my leg. I shudder at the memories and shove them down.

  I brush my teeth and my hair falls forward as I spit. I pull it up into a messy bun on top of my head to keep it out of the way. I catch my reflection again in the mirror and the images tumble through my brain intrusively. John pulling my bun out and combing through it with his fingers to splay it out on the pillow. I don’t want to see. Don’t want to remember, but the pictures won’t stop. Me sitting on the toilet while he brushed it. The way he twirled it in bed after he raped me. I hate my hair. Every inch of it.

  “Mom?” I call out.

  “Yes?” She’s at the door immediately. She treats me like I’m a fragile infant. She didn’t even want me to take a shower by myself.

  “Can I have a scissors?”

  There’s a long drawn out silence while she thinks about it.

  “Why do you want a scissors?”

  “I’m going to cut my hair.”

  She flings open the door. “Ella, you can’t cut your hair. You love your hair. You’ve always loved your hair.”

  “I told you to stay out of here. I want to do this alone and I want a scissors.” I cross my arms on my chest.

  Randy is behind her now.

  “Are you feeling like hurting yourself?” she asks.

  “No! I’m feeling like cutting my hair, dammit!”

  Mom looks like I slapped her. She’s never heard me swear. It’s not something I used to do, but there’s a lot of things I do now that I never did before.

  Randy places her hand on Mom’s arm. “I think if she wants to cut her hair, perhaps we should let her.”

  “I’m not giving her a scissors,” Mom says. “No way. She’s too fragile.”

  “Fragile? You think I’m too fragile?” I laugh bitterly. “If I was going to kill myself, I would’ve done that a long time ago.”

  Mom glares at Randy. She can’t get angry at me so she directs her anger at her instead. Randy wins the battle with her eyes. Mom leaves the room and returns with a scissors. She hands them to me.

  “We’re going to stand here and watch you with these. Just in case. It will make your mom feel better,” Randy says.

  “Fine,” I huff, taking them from her.

  I grab a chunk of my hair and cut. It falls on the linoleum floor. I snip another and another. It feels wonderful. I can’t stop. Before I know it, I’m grabbing chunks and hacking frantically. Piles line the floor.

  “Ella, that’s good. Maybe you want to stop,” Mom warns.

  I ignore her. I can’t get it off my head fast enough. I cut until it’s as close to my head as I can get and I can’t cut anymore. I look in the mirror. There’s still hair on my head.

  “I want a razor,” I announce.

  Mom sucks in her breath. “Ella, no.” She looks behind her at Randy. “Randy, tell her no. She can’t shave her head.”

  Randy shrugs. “Why not?”

  Mom looks at her like she’s agreed to me selling crack. “Why not? Because only cancer patients and crazy people shave their heads.”

  “Or maybe she just wants to get rid of her hair,” Randy says, refusing to get riled like she always does.

  I turn to look at her. She gets it. This time, she gets it. Relief washes over me.

  “I can’t watch this. I can’t,” Mom says.

  I start to laugh. I laugh so hard it brings tears to my eyes, and then suddenly, I’m crying.

  “Please, just get me a razor.” I sob uncontrollably.

  Mom doesn’t know what to do. She’s looking at me like she’s never seen me before. “Okay, honey, okay. I’ll get you a razor.” Her voice quivers, full of uncertainty.

  “Stop calling me honey!” I scream so loudly I’m sure Sarah hears me down the hall.

  She’s crying now too and scurries away. Randy just stands there, motionles
s while great heaving sobs shake my body. She grabs one of the chairs from my room and brings it into the bathroom. She slides it behind me.

  “If you feel like you’re going to fall, just sit on this,” she instructs without touching me.

  I collapse into it. I want to curl up into a ball, but the bandages on my leg get in the way.

  “He loved my hair,” I say through my sobs, not sure she can even understand me through my tears. “He loved it. I have to get rid of it.”

  She nods. This time she doesn’t say she understands. She just stands behind me while I cry until Mom comes back with an electric razor. I snatch it from her hand. I plug it in and exhale as the final pieces of my hair fall away.

  SARAH

  (NOW)

  I’m going home with Ella and Jocelyn. It feels so weird. When Jocelyn first posed the idea to me, I rejected it immediately. I have no interest in living with Ella and I’m sure she feels the same way about me. But after she left, I thought more about it. Where would I go when I leave if I don’t live with them? Randy talked to me about foster homes or group homes for teenagers and they sounded horrible. I can’t imagine anything worse than living with a bunch of teenagers who’ve spent half of their lives in and out of juvenile detention centers.

  And really, it will be so much easier for John to find me if we’re together. I know he’s looking for me as hard as they’re looking for him. Sometimes I feel him watching me. Sure that some night I’ll turn around and he’ll be slinking into my room or one of these times, there’ll be a knock at my door and he’ll stick his head through with his finger up to his lips reminding me to keep quiet as we tiptoe out the door. But he’s not going to try anything when all these cops are surrounding me. He’ll bide his time until they’ve loosened their grip and then he’ll get me. He has to. He promised.

  ELLA

  (THEN)

  Sarah’s gone. She’s moved upstairs with him. Paige is elated because she’s moved over to her bed. She ripped the sheet down so there’s no separation between us. She was afraid I’d be mad she took her spot and promised she wasn’t going to turn into Sarah. All she wanted was to sleep in a real bed. I don’t blame her. She offered to take turns sleeping in it, but I don’t care.