10. 1994

BUNNY

Night after night, for ten days, men slip in and out of my room. It started with one, then on day three, it became two, then four, then seven. Yesterday, I took twelve. It began when the sun rose and ended with the sun as well. He's still here, in fact, his bare ass exposed to the air while the sheet is wrapped around his head.

I consider smothering him for a second, but I saw how aggressive he could be last night.

"Take it, you little slut!" My nails bleed from trying to pry him off. It's no use. He's too big—too strong. He's already knocked a hole into the wall from throwing my body against it.

More glass litters the floor. I'm surprised that the woman keeps coming back to replace what's been broken. It's pointless, not when these men keep doing it.

"Fucking take it!" I cry with each thrust, my body begging not to take another inch. Every muscle—every cell—screams for the night to end. Through each guttural moan, I plead for him to stop, knowing I'm seconds from passing out for a third time. He told me after the first it wasn't his problem. Though he enjoys making it mine by tightening his grip on my throat.

I can still feel his fingers now as I rub the tender skin of my neck. I don't need to see it to know it's swollen to horrifying proportions. It's probably red, blue, and purple, too—a pretty, ugly, and brutal gift from my newest visitor.

As if he can sense the anger bubbling inside me, he begins to stir. Flipping onto his back with a slimy, satisfied grin, he reaches toward me, lightly chucking me on the chin. "You did good, baby. Let's do it again sometime."

I hold my fists back and keep the vile curses on my tongue while he redresses into his fitted suit. He was a newly married man, he cheered jovially in my ear sometime in the night, explaining that he had finally tied down the woman of his dreams.

I remember asking where his new bride thought he was. Does she know her husband is a raping, pedophilic sack of shit? He rammed his fist into my gut for that. It stole the air from my lungs quicker than any punch I've had before. I stayed hunched over, arms wrapped around myself for as long as possible, but then his fingers dug into my scalp to yank me up. The backhand to my cheek flung me to the bed, in the same position I'm in now.

"See you soon, baby. Maybe you'll be a good girl next time."

He's a sick fucking bastard, but at least he's stupid.

Unlike the men before him, he doesn't check to make sure the door locks. This fucker doesn't even wait to make sure it's closed all the way. No, he's too cocky. Mr. Married Dipshit whistles his merry way out of my room, all the way until the elevator doors ding open and close.

No fucking way.

I rush from the bed, pushing past the pain radiating throughout my body. I make sure to grab a single shirt off the ground, uncaring if it barely makes it past my ass.

Right before I reach the door, I take in a painful breath, ready for disappointment but thrilled when I'm not. Quivers make their way through my body as I take my first step out the door. I hate the fear that snakes its way around my chest. It's something they did to me. I was never scared before, and now…

The halls are quiet, almost as if I'm alone. Though, I know that can't be true because that woman and those two men are here somewhere. They always come after the men leave, wanting to ensure I'm alive and take note of what needs to be replaced or fixed. That doesn't give me a lot of time to get the fuck out of here.

I don't risk taking the elevator. No fucking way I'm getting stuck because someone decides to cut the power. Instead, I dart toward the nearest emergency exit, racing down the stairs in the pitch blackness. The fear of being caught keeps me moving. It's somewhat of a blessing. Now, I can't focus on the fact that I can't see two steps in front of me or that the halls, despite being new, still somehow smell of mildew and mold. Thank God for the railing. Without it, I'd surely fall to my face, possibly breaking a couple of bones in the process.

Any minute now, I expect sirens to go off, for blaring horns and blazing red lights to flash inside the stairwell, and agents in black to swarm me from every angle, just like in the movies. It doesn't happen, at least not by the time I reach the final door and push through the bright daylight.

I didn't grab shoes or socks, so when the flat of my soles touch the stony pavement, I feel the burn and pinpricks up to my eyeballs. It doesn't stop me, nothing does. I run until the construction sites resemble cities again—until the emptiness fills with buildings and people who shout profanities and flip me the bird for pushing them out of the way. I run until my breathing turns into ragged sobs, hard enough to split my chest into pieces.

I don't know how I found it. I don't even know where I am, but this police station is the same as any.

All eyes fall on me as I crash through the door, alarm ringing over the bustling noise when my chest hits the counter.

"M-my name is B-Bernice Walters. I have—I have been held prisoner in this apartment building for days. They ra-raped me. Men, different m?—"

"I'm going to need you to slow down, Miss. You're hard to understand. What did you say your name was?" I glare at the tight-lipped officer with tears in my eyes, my exhales coming out in hiccupping bursts. What does she mean I'm hard to understand? I couldn't have been clearer. "I was raped."

"By who?"

"Um, I don't—I don't know them…"

I can see my beaten, disheveled appearance through the plexiglass. It melds into the skepticism forming in her gaze. No words are needed. I know she doesn't believe me.

"Wait right here, Miss. Let me go get someone who can better assist you." She leaves me standing across the desk, defeat beginning to inflate my chest while my ass hangs out for the other complainants in the room.

Minutes go by, and I'm about ready to leave, when the door to the side swings open. The woman I was speaking to doesn't return. Instead, a man takes her place, one who barely looks old enough to be wearing that uniform.

"Hello, my name is Officer Hughs. If you would follow me, I'd be glad to help." Hughs holds the door open, gesturing for me to enter. It's overwhelming once I do, yelling, screaming, phones ringing, and bars slamming. For some reason, I didn't think cages were inside the station. I thought they locked prisoners away somewhere in the back, but Hughs leads me directly across from them, shielding me from their derogatory words with his slim frame.

Eyes from other officers follow me into a room. "I'll be right back." I'm thankful when he closes the door, shutting me inside so I can have some room for myself. It's comforting for a moment, and then I look around, staring at the blank walls and the indents made in them. Terrible things happen in rooms like this. I suddenly know that, and it's only confirmed when he walks in.

"No."

"You're not supposed to be here, baby," the man from this morning beams. J. Lakens, that's his name. Fucking PoliceOfficer J. Lakens. Fear wraps around my throat as I fall out of my seat, but it's difficult to register the pain as he takes a large step toward me.

"I knew I'd see you soon, but I didn't think it'd be here. I thought I told you to be good?"

"How are you here? You-you just left! You-you-you?—"

"You-you-you," he mocks, laughing before slapping me across the cheek. "It's called a car. I jerked it in the parking lot just now, your filthy scent still on me."

Fighting the bile burning its way up my throat, I palm my throbbing cheek. "Where is Officer Hughs?"

Smiling, he sits on the edge of the table, stroking the light brown stubble that scraped the inside of my thighs raw. "I told him I'd handle you. That boy hates to miss his lunch. He was happy to hand you over."

With shaking knees, I stand. "Please let me go. I promise I won't say anything to anyone. I'll?—"

"Isn't that why you're here, though? To tell on me, baby, with those big, pretty tears of yours. You know that's why I took this job? I love to see the pretty little girls cry."

"You're fucking sick. You know that?" Jumping from the corner, he starts toward me again.

"Help! Help!" His laughter is all I get in response. No one rushes through the door. No one comes to my rescue. "They can't hear you, baby, but please keep trying. Maybe you'll lose your voice, and I won't have to hear it next time I fuck you."

The thought stops me.

"Maybe you are smart," he chuckles. "Now, come on. Your ride is here." He hauls me up with a bruising grip around my bicep. I look around once we leave the room, hoping—praying—someone will notice and save me.

"Make a move or any sound, and I will blow your brains out on this carpet."

No one does.

"You'd never get out of here alive."

"Me? Oh, baby. No one will do anything to me. I have more protection than you could even imagine." It actually doesn't surprise me, especially when I notice how every head turns away as we walk past.

It never amazed me how blind people could be. I've seen it happen since I was a child, and it shouldn't surprise me that the men and women who swore to protect me are the most eager to look away. But I guess if you don't see the desperation in my eyes, it's easier to sleep at night.

"Where are you taking me?" I ask, tugging slightly to test his strength. My reward is a tightened grip, one that elicits a sharp hiss. It bounces off the walls of the hollow hallway, silenced only when his laugh takes over.

"Well, baby, isn't it obvious? I'm returning you." Sunlight greets us as we emerge from an isolated backdoor. Waiting for us is a single black car, sleek in design, terrifying because I don't know what sits inside.

Arm in hand, Lakens drags me to the car, throwing me forward when a suited man steps from the front. I recognize him as the driver who took me to the apartment building. Finally, it all clicks, and the knot that rests in the pit of my stomach falls to my feet.

"Hello, dear," Marone says, as Peter opens the door. He tosses me in gently, but there's an aggression behind it that can't be denied. Locking me inside, I press my hands against the window, knocking on the glass repeatedly before trying the handle. Lakens laughs at my attempt, as does Marone beside me.

I watch the officer walk away, and Peter slips into the front without a word. The air becomes heavy as we wait. Car unmoving, me unbreathing, I listen to the light tapping of Marone's fingernails against the leather on the door.

Turning slowly, I confront my fears and face him. My bravery results in a sudden strike to the eye, hard enough to send me flying back into the window. As the side of my face collides with the glass, he releases a sigh. I feel the disappointment radiating from my goddamn socket.

"Ah, Bunny. My little Bunny. What you tried to do was very stupid. I thought you were smarter than this," he scolds me while taking hold of my bare ankle. His grip on me is unrelenting, numbing, while my face throbs furiously. I can't see. I can't even open my eyes when something pierces my skin. The searing pain of it breaks through the insensibility, but he only releases me when it"s dead again.

Breaking the pressure I put on my eye, I swivel in my seat and tuck my knee to my chest, ready for his fist to fly out again as I caress the new wound. Thankfully, he doesn't lash out. I'm just met with a silent and deadly glare.

"What was that?" I ask, gently touching the tiny hole above my bone.

Slapping my hand away from the lesion, he states plainly, "A piece of your punishment."

My punishment?!"You had me raped."

"No," he denies, taking a drink from the glass in the cupholder. "I put you to work. Just as you asked."

"I wanted to model… I—Those photos…"

"Yes. Those photos made my clients very happy. As you can see, they couldn't wait to get their hands on you."

"Clients?" I exhale, a gasp of shock and awe with just a touch of empty laughter. "Those men, they… You fucking sold me, you sick fucking—" This time, it isn't his fist, but a swift backhand. I think he meant to aim for my cheek, but the width of his hand covered the entire left side of my face.

More tears spring to my eyes, and this time, he doesn't hold back the rage in his voice.

"You listen to me, you ungrateful little shit. I took you out of the garbage you came from. I saved you from working in the shitty little café my scout found you in and being homeless. I put a golden roof over your head and provided more for you than most people would see in a lifetime, and this is how you repay me? This is how you show appreciation for the opportunities I've given you?"

"Opportunities?! You fucking sold me!"

"And you should have been fucking thankful that's all I did. But now, sweetheart? Now, I'll give you something you'll really be sorry for."

With the violence in his words, I didn't even notice Peter exiting the car, but now my door swings open, and a hood is thrown over my head. I feel Peter's fingers securing it around my throat. When I fight to pry it off, he fastens it with a lock.

Blind and trembling, I'm flung to the ground and told to sit on my hands and knees like a fucking dog while the car takes off.

"Where are we going?" I ask, my words muffled.

"Hell."