-16 hours later-
Callie POV
The door slams shut, and I jump despite myself. I'm awake. Or at least, I'm aware. Kind of. I have been void of emotions, having been staring into the blackness of the blindfold for the past however many hours. But the sound of the door triggers adrenaline to course through my body, in fear of more men, more pain. I realize now the drug has worn off.
"Good news, didn't see a single damn pig out there!" Russell exclaims, throwing his stuff on the table. For a minute, I'm confused. What do pigs have to do with anything? After a second, it dawns on me that he means cops. Oh. My heart sinks. They're gone. I'm alone. "You want some bread?" Russell unties the blindfold, and I blink against the sudden light. I nod. "I bet you're hungry, you haven't eaten shit. Just dick." He laughs hard at his joke, and I feel shame fill my body.
He pulls a loaf of bread out of a bag, taking out a slice and feeding it to me. I try to ignore this pathetic position I'm in, being hand-fed by this prick. It hurts so bad to swallow, I can't even finish half the slice. My agony is worse than my hunger. Russell shrugs, heading back to the table where he moves something around for a few minutes, before snorting a line of coke. My heart thuds painfully against my chest, praying he doesn't share this with me again. I have a headache from hell, and feel as though I could throw up any minute.
To my relief, he seems to have forgotten I even exist. He pulls out his phone and entertains himself on it for at least an hour before he suddenly rises and leaves the motel room again. I'm a little confused at this, but try not to care or think. I'm surprised he has left without blindfolding me. I take the opportunity to glance around. It is so dark and dim in here, but it always feels so bright compared to the pitch black behind the blindfold. I try to pull my hands out of the cuffs, pulling as hard as I can stand before gasping in pain and stopping.
If I could just get out of these, I could escape. I try again for several minutes with no success. I think about how close I am to the door… how close I am to freedom, and yet, I can't make it. The handcuffs are too tight, and I can feel the massive amount of swelling that has developed, only serving to dig the metal deeper into my skin. Blood is trailing down my arm again from my efforts to slip through them. My wrists are throbbing with a sort of ache that makes me sick to my stomach. Some time passes before the door is opened again, and it is only Russell who walks through, smoking a cigarette. There is relief, immediately followed by fear as he gives me a big smile.
"I got somethin' for us, baby." He strolls toward me, pulling a small bottle out of a bag. I don't know what it is, but my stomach churns anyway. Please, no more. Please just leave me alone. "Please, no." I croak, my voice seeming to be getting worse each passing hour.
This irritates him, and he walks slowly up beside me, shaking his head. "How many times do I gotta tell you, you need to erase the word 'no' from your vocabulary? Huh?" He mutters, grasping my arm and putting his cigarette out on it. The scream I release is immediately quelled by his hand smothering me. "Shut the fuck up. You know better, you know better than to do any of that." He replaces my blindfold, and I hear him rummaging around at the table. He approaches me again, and takes hold of my arm, the sharp pinch following quickly after.
I hear his clothing shed onto the floor. I realize he gave me the other drug this time, not the cocaine. My limbs hang heavily, my breathing and heart rate slowing with a calmness that in my heart, I do not feel. I feel him climb onto the bed, and I try to pretend I don't exist. I'm not here. This is not me. This is someone else. He grabs me and flips me over, painfully twisting my arms again, and I gasp in pain. I hate this way. I am smothered against the bed. He yanks me down, and I feel another pop in my wrist as my scream is muffled into the bed. He positions himself at my entrance, laying his weight on me as he pushes into me. I distantly wonder if this will ever not hurt worse each time.
He's littering bite marks across my back again, and I find myself detaching further. I welcome the hollow feeling. He puts his hands in my hair and forces my head down against the bed. I find my brain wandering. I'm not here anymore. It's okay. Callie is dead. As his pace increases, I know what to expect, but can't bring myself to care. Suddenly, he pulls out of me and releases my head. I'm snapped back into the moment. This is different. Different is bad. What is happening. I lift my head pointlessly, unable to see anything regardless of where I look, but I can't stop the need to try to know what is happening. He is leaning back, that's all I know. He grabs my waist and tries to yank me down again, impossibly so. I groan loudly through the pain in my wrists, feeling as though I may pass out. "Sorry baby, I just gotta make sure you're good and held down for this one. It'll be okay."
He lays a hand down on my low back, pushing me against the bed, and I feel the panic slowly attempting to course through my veins, warring with the drug. I feel him position himself behind me in a different place, and my heart seizes in my chest. No, no, no, you can't do this. Don't do this, please don't do this. He starts trying to push into me, and the force he's using causes a horrible tearing sensation. "Please, stop. Please. Please." I'm begging, unable to care about the consequences. A sob catches in my throat. He eases back and for an instant, I think he's listening. Until he steps off the bed, and I hear his lighter flick as he lights a cigarette. God, no. No. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! Please!" I rush, panicked.
He chuckles, crawling back onto the bed, tossing the cigarette pack down beside me. I hear him inhale deep, and then feel the searing heat burning into my shoulder. Just when the pain begins to ebb, turning into a burning throb, I hear the lighter flick again. He puts this one out on my neck, and the pain is excruciating. My sight blurs, and I feel lightheaded. "One more time, babe, to catch up on all your bad decisions." He says, laughing, before lighting one more cigarette. This one he puts out right next to the previous one on my shoulder. I am openly weeping, now, not even trying to hold back my tears.
Finally, he stops. I hear the pop of something opening. "I got some lube for this to make it easier for you. I don't do this for everyone, so you should be grateful. He starts pressing into me again, and I have to bite the sheets on the bed to try to keep from screaming as he begins giving ruthless thrusts to force himself further in. Blood is streaming heavily down my arms, heavier than before, but I hardly notice. As he manages to bury himself inside, he immediately lays himself onto my body and remains still as I cry loudly, panting wildly for breath, in too much pain to care.
He lays gentle kisses on my cheek before brushing my hair to the side. My heart feels cold, but my body is on fire. "Shhh, it's okay baby. You'll get used to it. The first time's the hardest." He continues stroking my face, cooing at me and giving light kisses on my back and neck. My body begins to feel as though I'm being pulled under a heavy current, and I can do nothing to stop it from taking me under. Tears stream quietly down my face as I hiccup every now and then. He starts pulling himself out to push back in, and I am no longer able to make a sound. I feel him tensing, picking up speed. He pulls out of me, and I find I feel too relieved to be concerned about what it means. Before there is time to think, he flips me onto my back, pushing himself back inside me again. It hurts, but less than what he had been doing. One hand grips my hair, the other wraps around my throat, too tight. Why is he doing this to me?
God, let me die. I don't want to live like this. This hurts too much. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I try to picture my moms, my family. Love. Safety. Kindness.
Finally he moans and finishes, his grip in my hair relaxes, but around my throat remains tight. Even in the darkness, my vision has blurred, the pressure in my head too much, and spots dance all along my vision. I don't want to die afraid, but it turns out it's impossible not to panic when you are facing death. I try to pull harder than I have against the cuffs, but judging by the heaviness in my bones, I doubt if I hardly even move them.
I was wrong. I want to survive. Everything is hazy and fading. There is ringing in my ears, and I almost think I hear my momma. I feel calmness wash over me at the thought. I see them in my mind. They tell me they love me. I love you, too. I don't want to do this, anymore. There is a loud ringing in my ears, and my arms slacken against the metal as darkness engulfs me.