AN: According to FF statistics, twice as many people read chapter 14 than read chapters 11, 12, and 13. That indicates to me that because I dumped all 4 chapters at once, some of you may have assumed chapter 14 was the next chapter to read and missed the others. So, if you made that error, back up and read the other chapters. Sorry about the confusion.

CHAPTER 15

Down in The Dumps

If I moved even a hair more, the tip of his penis would touch my lips. I swallowed back the nausea and tried to convince myself I could do this, but as much as I tried to keep my face clear of all reactions, I knew I was failing. My revulsion had to be visible to him, and I thought any minute now, he was going to realize I had something planned. The longer I paused, the harder it became to go through with it. I thought I'd convinced myself this degradation was worth it to save my life, but if I let this happen, I didn't think I could come back from it.

I needed to distract him without sacrificing what little pride I had left. I cleared my mind of everything but my plan and instead of closing my lips around him like he'd been hoping, I squeezed the base of his penis with my right hand, pumping him with a firm grip.

One—two—three pumps and his eyes closed tightly. His body tensed, muscles standing out in relief.

Enjoy it motherfucker. This'll be the last pleasure you will ever have.

I felt the belt in my left hand, rough and hard. I pulled it closer, getting it into position and threaded one end through the buckle, creating a circle. He closed his eyes and moaned all while keeping his hands behind his back like a good boy. My heart was beating a mile a minute.

It was now or never.

And then it happened. His body stiffened and he threw his head back, groaning loudly. I couldn't let myself feel disgust as he erupted all over my hand and his stomach. While he was in an orgasmic fog, I let go of his penis and grabbed the belt with both hands, slipping it around his neck, pulling it tight. His eyes bulged and his mouth hung open in surprise. While the choking pressure built, I got to my feet and grabbed a fist full of his hair. I pulled his head forward and then slammed it back against the wooden pole as hard as I could.

It all happened so fast. For a moment, he was dazed and then he started struggling. He swung his arms wildly, trying to knock mine away and get to his feet, but his pants were still around his ankles, making it hard to defend himself. Realizing he was limited in motion, he fell back in the chair and kicked out with both feet, landing a direct hit to my thigh. It nearly brought me down, but I managed to recover and stepped behind him, out of his reach.

Using all the strength I had, I gave the belt another hard yank. He was struggling so hard to breath that his face was turning an angry red and he was kicking aimlessly while clawing at his neck. I focused all my energy into pulling harder and harder. In a desperate attempt for air, he twisted at the waist until his stomach was over the chair and he was facing me. His wild punches were landing on my face and chest. At first, they weren't as hard because he was getting into a better position, but after he got his knees on the chair for leverage, he landed a punch across my already damaged cheek. I stumbled backwards, almost letting go of the belt.

I was able to shake off the pain and give the belt another hard yank that caused the chair to tip over backward sending him to the floor. He was gasping for breath, making odd choking sounds as his body began to spasm. In a last-ditch effort, he rallied himself and whacked me behind my knees. I went down, head bouncing off the concrete. I lay unmoving, but my suffering had only just begun.

"Stupid bitch." He got on top of me, pressing his knee into my chest so hard I couldn't breathe, and landed blow after blow with his fists, pummeling me everywhere as he unleashed his anger with a roar. The blows came fast and furious until all I felt was one giant mass of pain. "I trusted you," he screamed as he got to his feet and kicked me one last time in my side. The pain was so intense, everything went black.

I don't know how much time had passed while I lay on the floor weaving in and out of consciousness, but each time I came around I was struck with more pain than I'd thought possible. I had no choice but to let the darkness take me back under. When I was finally able to rouse myself and stay that way, I realized I couldn't see a thing. My eyes were swollen shut and hurt like hell.

My heart raced, thinking he was silently watching me without my knowledge. I couldn't be sure he was gone. I needed to see it with my own eyes, but they weren't exactly cooperating. It took some time to work my eyes open but when I was able to look around, I didn't see him anywhere. I wanted to say I felt relief that I was still alive, but that would be a lie. I was angry… angrier than I'd ever been. That had been my last plan to get out of here and I'd failed. He was going to kill me now and put me in a case. I'd be part of his collection, gruesomely witnessing him tell some other poor girl all about how I fell in love with him. And I'll have to watch her suffer through starvation and beatings because she can't remember the details of our 'love story'.

I wanted to rage at the unfairness of it all.

I looked over at the bed, longing for its comfort and warmth, but it seemed a million miles away. I wished I could magically transport myself across the room because there was no way I could get up and walk. I wasn't even sure I could crawl, but I had to get off the floor and get warm. I managed to get my knees under me and start the slow crawl to the bed. I whimpered and hissed through the pain as I brought each knee forward in a journey that seemed never ending.

My thighs, my back, my ribs… they all hurt beyond measure. By the time I pulled myself up on the bed, I was sweating and breathing hard—weaker than I'd ever been. I was sure some of my ribs were broken. I didn't know how many or how badly they were broken; the only thing I knew for sure was that they burned like fire even when I wasn't moving.

The requisite brown paper bag was waiting for me on the bed. I didn't know if I should be grateful he was still willing to keep me alive or pissed off that I hadn't died. Right this minute, I felt that death would have been a gift compared to what he had in store for me. I took a few minutes to rest and then reached for the bag. I pulled out the bottle of water, desperate for a drink, but was barely able to open my jaw wide enough to take a tiny sip.

Every day my hunger grew worse. To pass the time, I found myself imagining all the things I would eat when I got out of here—things like pineapple upside-down cake, KitKat bars, Boston cream donuts, and fettuccine Alfredo with sausage from Rossini's. You name it, and I was going to eat it. Sometimes, if I concentrated hard enough, I could taste the greasy flavor of a Big Mac, the zesty sauce on a meatball sub, and the icy strawberry Freeze that would soothe my dry mouth. You'd think it would be torture, but in a strange way, it made me happy.

Other times, I imagined walking on the beach at Point Pleasant, kicking the water as the tide rolled in and then running up and down the beach, dancing like a kid again, happy and carefree. It made me think of young love and of Ian McLeary. I smiled even though I was in pain. I hadn't thought of Ian in a long time. Some of my happiest memories were of Mary Lou and Lenny… Me and Ian… and that summer at the shore. We were the four musketeers, making plans for our senior year in high school. I might have loved Joe Morelli as a girl, but Ian was the first boy who loved me back. And he was the first boy to truly break my heart. I wondered where he was and what he was doing with his life. Did he ever think about me? Would he be sad to find out what happened to me?

The problem with happy thoughts is that they never last as long as we'd like. Everything seemed bittersweet—as if I was looking back on my life, realizing it was already over. I guess on some self-protective level, I was making peace with myself. Just thinking these thoughts was depressing me, and I started to cry in earnest. I'm not talking about the dainty little tears that flow from the corners of your eyes that can be dotted with a handkerchief. I'm talking about the ugly ones. The one's that cause your body to shake and your face to get red and snot to flow from your nose like a faucet. It's the kind of crying that you can't stop… not until everything you feel has run its course and left you rung out like a dishrag.

When my sadness threatened to bury me… that's when I pulled out my memories of Hawaii. I relived every minute of mine and Ranger's time there. I recalled us taking moonlit walks, hand in hand on the beach, and making love in our cottage all hours of the day. But as much as the memories made me happy, they also brought sadness. They were like a double-edged knife, slashing me with their goodness and then prying open the wound as resentment settled in. I had wanted more from Ranger than what he was willing to give. That week meant everything to me. I rubbed over the ache in my chest wishing things could have been different.

I also wished our last conversation had ended differently. It took a lot of courage for me to ask him point blank if he thought we could have a future. Hearing his rejection was one of the hardest things I've ever had to suffer through. He wasn't hurtful when he let me down, just the opposite. He was kind, but blunt… leaving no room for misinterpretation. It hurt like hell. I wish now I hadn't confronted him. At least I could die thinking someday we might have been together.

I hated that my parents were suffering. They must be out of their minds with worry. The irony of my mother's warnings wasn't lost on me. 'Stephanie, why can't you be more like Tina Rinaldi, she works at the Button Factory and has benefits, maternity leave, and no possibility of kidnapping.'

Would I ever see any of them again? Did they know that I loved them?

That piece of the unknown haunted me the most.

After a few minutes of self-pity, my eyes widened, and I gasped. Rex! Oh, my poor baby. How could I have forgotten my little buddy? My shoulder shook with sobs. They hadn't even known I was missing until seven days had passed. He had probably starved to death before they found him.

I was riding a roller coaster of emotions. Fear and anger were the strongest, but they were tempered with random bouts of hopelessness. Most of the time I just wanted to give up. Tears pooled in my eyes when I imagined life going on without me.

I wondered how long it would take before Ranger stopped looking for me and found someone else to fill my cubicle. I'd be relegated to a distant memory, just someone that he used to know.

Would Joe forget all about me too? Would he find someone who could make him happier than I had and marry her?

The dam broke, and the tears fell.

My family could devote years searching for me with no closure. Or worse, they could find me posed in a glass case, wearing a fancy dress, rotting away for a pervert's viewing pleasure.

If I ended up like that, I hope they never found me.