Page 58 of Save Me
I’m fast falling into complete panic mode as I think of what he might be doing to Beth right now. The guy has already struck her, violated her, and will no doubt be getting off on the fact that she must be feeling absolutely terrified.
“Ok…ok, the police are no good, you say?” she asks, trying to keep her breath even and steady.
“Not from what I’ve heard,” I reply, thinking back to the intel I got on Lawrence, “most of those at the top are in this little fucked up club too. This Oliver is top dick as far they’re concerned.”
“Ok, Xander, give me five minutes and I’ll call you back. I need to think, I need to…just give me five minutes.”
The line goes dead before I can say anything else. I almost feel sorry for her old man because one thing’s for sure, she’s going to be losing her shit with him for at least four and half minutes of the five she’s just given herself.
Beth
It’s early evening, the day after Oliver had manhandled me from school to come and play Stepford wife in his pretentious manor. I don’t think I’ve slept properly since I arrived, seeing as my door has no lock on it and he’s made it abundantly clear that I belong to him and his ‘needs’. It was almost heart-breaking when the only female to grace this place left for her own home at about eight o’clock last night. My eyes had practically begged her to take me with her, to be nestled into the safety of a family unit, even if it wasn’t mine. Fortunately, Oliver remained inside of his own room until about eight o’clock this morning, when he burst in and instructed me to be up, dressed, and downstairs for breakfast in no less than twenty minutes. I gave him the finger as soon as he left, making me feel marginally better for about two minutes, only to come to the sad realization that even my sleeping habits will be governed by him.
I’m now sat beside him in this bone-chilling living room, sitting prim, proper, and wearing a formal dress and heels. You could almost mistake me for going to work in a high-rise place of business if it wasn’t for the fact that I have a man’s hand rigidly attached to my thigh. I feel like a child who’s been placed in time out for acting up.
It’s uncomfortably silent, bar the rustle of paper as he reads the business section of his evening newspaper. All we need now is for Mary Poppins to saunter by with two perfect, Edwardian children as they come to kiss us goodnight. In the end, I’m so fed up, I instinctively begin to tap my fingers on my knee in a hap-hazard fashion, which is bound to annoy my domineering fiancé, but at this point, I’ll consider his wrath over the already two hours of sitting motionless like a China doll. I guess this is going to be everyday life for me - sex slave by night, delicate ornament by day.
“Stop fidgeting, Beth!” he orders without even taking his eyes away from the page which he is studying.
The need to insult his reading speed is on the tip of my tongue, but my head makes me think better of it. Instead, I cease my tapping and look to the ceiling where I find myself thinking about my family. Do they know what’s happened? I hope Xander managed to get hold of my mum because this is beginning to send me delirious. The thought of spending much more time in this state of insanity might well be enough to have me digging my own grave in the desert.
Slipping Xander the note was the only thing I could think of at the time but after I saw him go down, my heart stopped, noticing not only the blood dripping from his face, but also the slip of paper falling from his hand as he hit the ground. I hope to God he is ok, and that Oliver and his goons leave him well alone.
“My Beth is bored,” Oliver finally mutters as he carefully folds the paper and chucks it onto the small table in front of us. “If we were married, I could think of a few things we could be doing right now,” he says with a devilish grin, causing me to whither under his lustful gaze. “What would my Beth like to do?”
“Go home,” I bluntly reply before I can even think about it.
He simply laughs before fixing me with a smug grin again, all the while brushing the backs of his fingers over my cheeks.
“Sweetheart, this is your home now, so get used to it!” It’s an order of sorts and the need to cry hits me so quickly I pinch the inside of my wrist to try and snap myself out of it.
“Come!” he says as he gets to his feet and holds his hand out for mine. I eye it suspiciously, wanting nothing more than to spit in it. However, in the end, I take hold and follow him to the door while he snakes his arm around my waist, squeezing tightly and emitting a soft groan.
“Where are we going?” I ask, no longer able to hide the panic in my voice.
“I thought we’d head upstairs,” he whispers as he turns to face me and begins stroking my cheeks with his fingers again. He feels me up like I’m an expensive evening gown hanging up for him to sample. “There are other things we can do with one another.”
His words have me standing rigid, apart from my head, which is now shaking from side to side at a rapid pace.
“Please…I don’t want to.” I hear the begging in my voice and hate myself for sounding so weak before him.
He stands back for a moment, surveying me like something unnatural because I’ve dared to refuse his advances, right before I feel the hot sting of a slap across my cheek. His eyes are dark and heavy, with his mouth snarling at his bride-to-be. As the sting of tears builds on my lower lashes, I wipe away at a drop of blood now dripping from my nose. A whimper falls from between my lips and that’s when he pushes me back against the wall, gripping me painfully as he pinches my chin between his fingers.
“But you did with him!” he says bitterly. “You’ll soon learn not to answer me back, Beth. What I say goes, do you understand?”
I don’t reply. Instead, I let the tears fall over my cheeks as I begin sobbing inside of his painful grip. He smiles darkly and begins to pull the hem of my dress up my legs before reaching my knickers, greedily palming me with his hot, sweaty hand. All I can do is close my eyes and hold my breath as he slips his fingers between me.
“What’s this?” he whispers, “Not a drop of moisture, Beth? We’ll have to do something about that, won’t we?” He begins to move his fingers between my sex but it’s not at all pleasurable. All I feel is fear and nausea.
The sudden ring of the doorbell freezes him, and I silently thank God for rescuing me, even if it is only a short-lived reprieve.
“Stay here!” he orders. My body automatically slumps a few inches, just as he goes to see who is at the door.
My backside hits the floor before I even have time to register it, and I slowly begin to fall apart. I clutch hold of my bent knees and try to make myself as small as possible, wanting to be swallowed up by the wall before he gets back. I wipe my nose when sniffs reignite the painful sensation left behind from his earlier slap. A bloody smear runs across the back of my hand, causing me to shiver over the crimson streak. It only causes fresh drops to patter over my naked arm in a haphazard pattern.
I’m screwed! Destined to be stuck inside of an abusive relationship that holds no hope of any kind of escape.
The muffled sounds of male voices behind the closed doors have me forcing myself to get back up onto my shaky feet. When I recognize one of them as being the familiar sound of Bodhi’s casual way of talking, I begin to feel hopeful again. I manage to silence my sobs, only so I can hear what is being said between them.