7

7

STACEY

The glass door slides open, and I push myself into the building of the town’s police station, somehow managing to move my feet. My entire body is shaking uncontrollably, exactly how my heart is beating in my chest. The adrenaline is the only thing keeping me going. I feel so close to passing out, I might fall to the ground at any moment.

The reception is empty.

I lean over the desk to see the computer on and clipboards scattered around. There’s a mobile, a packet of cigarettes and a magazine opened on a celeb gossip page.

I nervously tap the counter and wait, my hands jittering. I look down at my palms – at the blood dried on them.

“Can I help you?”

I spin around to see a young officer. “Oh… I… I need to re-report a crime. I was attacked.”

Are my words slurring? I have no idea. I tried to make myself sick on the way here, but I nearly crashed in the process.

The place is so bright, I need to screw my eyes a little to see.

I’m covered in blood, and my hair is a mess, my face swollen. He doesn’t flinch at my appearance. I’m certain my lip is split open, but it’s too numb to know.

He glances down at the paperwork he’s holding, scans the words then looks up at me again as if he’s inspecting a crazy person.

Maybe he is. Did all that just actually happen?

The guy nods and gestures to a door. “Follow me.”

I hover there for a second, swaying, looking around to see if anyone else is here before I follow. We walk down a corridor, my fingers sliding on the wall as we turn left and enter an office. He tosses down his papers and sits behind his desk.

“Okay,” he starts, nodding towards the chair opposite him. I drop into it, gripping the armrests. “Are you feeling well?”

I stare at him – I think I nod.

“You want to report a crime. Tell me what happened.”

I gulp, sitting on my hands. The last person I told about Chris was Tobias, and he’s been MIA. My dad is dead. And no one else but his deluded friends know how Chris treats me. I glance at his badge – Officer Bennett – then let out a breath.

“My stepbrother attacked me, then… then he killed someone.” Even I know my words are erratically spoken.

He’s unfazed as he writes the details on a notepad, nodding. “Okay. Tell me from the start. Do you know your attacker?”

I frown – I just told him he was my stepbrother. Or did I not say that?

Regardless of his terrible attention to detail, I let the words fall from my lips, unable to stop the tears or the spittle dripping from my mouth. I tell him everything, like I’ve found some new courage to speak about it – from when Chris started abusing me at aged fourteen to tonight. I show him my hands, my busted knuckles from punching Chris, gesturing to my face when I tell him about him beating me, then, somehow, I manage another breath.

“Where is the body?” is all he asks. Maybe I imagined telling him everything else.

“The farm road, near Inverkip. You turn left at the park and it’s about twenty minutes north.” The words sound forced, as if I have to physically push each one out.

“And you’re positive he’s deceased?”

I nod once. “His entire head was bashed in, and there was brain matter on the ground.” Was there? Yes, because I didn’t kiss my brother back. “I should have kissed him.”

“Excuse me?”

For some reason, I don’t remember if I reply. I look at him, and he chews on his lip.

He grimaces as he reads back through his notes then makes some more. “I’ll send over someone to have a look.”

The officer vanishes from the room to make some calls, and I close my eyes and drop my head to the table. I feel fuzzy, and I come to the horrible realisation that the drugs Chris forced into me are fully in effect, the adrenaline no longer holding them at bay. I’m floating – or rolling down a hill. I’m not sure.

When he returns, I lift my head lazily, wincing from the bright lights again.

“Well, from the location you gave, there’s nothing. I had a patrol check everywhere nearby, and nothing.”

Did I fall asleep? How did they do that so fast?

“He m-must’ve moved… moved the b-b-body. Do you h-h-have a nurse or first aider on siiiiite?” I ask, a little perplexed he hasn’t offered me any medical help. My face is swollen, and I’m covered in blood. I could use a painkiller at least. My head aches, and my lids are droopy as hell. I think my voice is cracking too.

He narrows his eyes at me. “Miss Rhodes, have you taken any drugs tonight?”

I stare at him, shaking my head. Or I think I do. I can barely feel anything other than the swelling on my face and how hard my heart is beating.

“I’ll have a nurse come over to confirm – you look out of it.” He radios to someone, and I can’t quite catch what’s being said. Something about false reporting and drugs and to contact someone.

My eyes close again, my head drops on the table and I fall into a deep, peaceful sleep.

“I’m sorry about all of this,” a voice says. “My sister hasn’t been in a good place mentally for a while. She’s been off the rails ever since her father died. We’re really worried about her.”

“That’s understandable. Do you know where she got the drugs?”

“I’ll find whoever the bastard was. I’ll be sure to let you know.”

“Thanks, Chris,” Officer Bennett says. “I won’t book her, since you’re my sister’s ex and all, but you need to get her help. Maybe a therapist and some rehab. I shouldn’t be releasing her in the state she’s in.”

“Thanks, man. I’ll make sure the right professional sees her,” Chris says, his voice clearer now. “The bathroom is covered in glass and fake blood. I think she punched the wall until her knuckles bled. My mother’s cleaning up the mess now, so we’ll get her home and into bed. She’ll need the sleep.”

“Of course. I’ll check in with you in a week or so to see how she’s doing. Give Nora my best.”

A door closes, and I slowly open my eyes just as Chris leans over and clips my seat belt in, his overwhelming aftershave filling my nostrils. “N-N-No.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he whisper-hisses, stepping back and slamming the door.

He’s still talking with the officer – my body too weak to unclip my belt and run, to slam my palm against the window and scream for help.

My heart sinks when he gives Officer Bennett a sort of bro hug, slaps his back and winks at him, before walking around the front of the car and getting in.

The body was gone. There was no blood. The SUV wasn’t there.

Did it really happen?

“W-What did you… you do?”

Chris reverses out the space and out of the station’s car park, pulling onto the road. “Officer Miles Bennett is Ashleigh’s brother.” Ashleigh – his ex. “As soon as you gave him my name, he knew it was all nonsense. He knows how innocent and safe I am, so he contacted me. You’re mentally deranged and in need of psychiatric help, by the way. He’s put forward a recommendation that I keep you close and ensure you don’t get yourself into any trouble, especially falsely reporting crimes.”

“But you k-killed him.”

“Killed who?” he asks. The smirk he pulls confirms it was real – he did kill that man. “No body, no crime. And another thing…” he trails off, chuckling, before erupting into a belly laugh.

I watch him as he tries to stop laughing. He’s a lunatic.

“Another thing?”

“I’ll give you a second chance. I won’t harm that fucking ex of yours – but you need to adhere to my rules. Got it?”

“W-Why?”

“You pissed me off. You already know what happens when you piss me off.” He grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him while he takes his eyes off the road to scowl at me. “You’ll kiss me when I demand you kiss me. And eventually, I’m going to fuck you, and you’ll enjoy it. I won’t wear protection. I’ll stuff you with every drop of my cum until you’re carrying my child. Then you’ll be mine forever – shackled to my fucking side.”

He releases my chin, and I stare forward, tears tracking my cheeks.

He drives us home. Parks in the garage and turns off the engine. We sit in a silence that slowly kills me inside – it’s deafening.

“What do I need to do?” he asks finally.

I stare at him, giving him a look of groggy confusion.

Sighing, he wipes a hand down his face. “I’ve tried everything possible to make you feel the same way I feel about you. Nothing, not even forcing you to care about me, works. What do I need to do?”

All I can do is shake my head. He doesn’t care about me – he wants to own me. He basically already does. The fear he triggers in me when he’s around, the way I flinch when he lifts his hand, or how my body tenses at the feel of his touch on my skin are examples of his sickening ownership over me.

He’s already won. He’s taken everything I ever had and crushed it. What more does he want?

“If I kill him, would that make you hate me more?”

I nod – the image of the guard with his face bashed in is replaced by Kade lying lifeless. Bile rises in my throat.

Chris blows out a breath. “Then if I let him live, if I leave him be and treat you right, will you hate me less?”

If I say no, then I don’t know how far Chris will take this. He might lose his shit and hunt down Kade.

Instead of giving him a reply, I drop my gaze to my lap and dig my nails into my palms, trying to take the attention away from how useless and powerless I feel.

“So you’re aware…” I take a deep breath, forcing my words out even though I’d rather go to sleep and never wake up. “So you’re aware you don’t t-treat me right?”

“I know I can be a bit hard on you.”

A bit? A bit?

“You’ll learn to love me back, Stacey,” Chris says, almost sounding sad. “Mum and our dear older brother will understand.”

I try to shake my head, still drowsy from him drugging me. “I’ll n-never love you.”

Chris grits his teeth and snatches my hand painfully. “Unbuckle my belt,” he orders.

I try to pull my hand away, but he’s too strong. I shouldn’t have said that. Now he’s mad.

“Do it – or else.”

Closing my eyes, I turn my head away from him as he takes his own belt off then unzips his jeans. My chest tightens with disgust as something warm and hard hits my hand, and he manipulates my fingers around it with his own.

“Imagine I’m him,” he breathes. “If you need to, pretend I’m him.”

He’s moving his own hand on himself but with my fingers trapped beneath, and I feel bile rising in my throat as he starts to let out soft whimpers, telling me sickeningly how he’s imagined me doing this since I was fourteen.

Sick, perverted asshole.

Every time I try to pull away, it makes him swear under his breath and tighten his hold on my fingers while he thrusts upwards. I flinch as he grips my thigh with his free hand, digging his blunt nails into my leg as he finds his horrible release, messing his steering wheel.

He keeps my hand there, and I try to ignore the warm liquid dripping onto my skin.

“This is only the start, Stacey,” he tells me, letting go of his cock to grab my chin with his cum-covered fingers. “Open your mouth.”

I refuse, but he forces his fingers past my lips anyway, sending a shock of pain through my system as he rips my burst lip further, filling my mouth with his horrid taste.

He pulls away just before I vomit all over his car.