This is kind of a two-part chapter, just wanted to break it up so it's not so long and confusing.
"Amber." She heard his voice, loud and firm, from beneath the blankets that she had pulled over her head. She could sense that he was dangerously close to her, but she didn't dare move. She didn't want him to know that she was awake. She held her breath as he moved around the bed, and felt his strong hands on her back, shaking her gently. "Amber, it's time to get up."
She groaned inwardly at his words, stifling a yawn and not bothering to pull the covers away from her face. Even through the layers of blankets, she could see the sun streaming in through the windows. It must have been early morning; the sun must still have been rising. It was probably eight in the morning and he-
"Amber, it's eleven-thirty. Come on, it's time to wake up." She heard him moving around her bed again, his hand reaching out to grasp her ankle through the covers. He shook it gently and she kicked, pulling away from him.
"Leave me alone," she groaned from beneath her warm haven, pulling her feet up beneath her so that he couldn't reach for her again. "Go away, Corny."
She pressed her face into the pillow, trying to block him out. It wasn't the first time she'd felt this way, not by a long shot. In fact, she'd skipped three days of school last week just to lie here, and he'd finally caught onto her game. She wasn't completely sure why she'd been so completely careless about having a life. She knew she needed to get up, find a job, go to school, see some friends. And yet, she didn't want to.
"Amber," she heard his strong, chiding voice again, "I hung out that purple dress you like so much. It's hanging on your closet door. I'm going to go, and make you some breakfast, and when I come back, I expect you to be dressed and ready to leave."
"Where are we going?" She yelled back at him, just as he had begun to exit the room.
"We are not going anywhere, Amber. You are going to find a job today, remember? That job you've been promising to find since you moved in here over a month ago?" His words hit her hard, and she burrowed beneath the blankets, letting the pillow cover her head. He didn't understand. He didn't know what it felt like to be so completely empty all the time. He didn't know what it was like to want to leave the house, and to be so afraid to do it.
It was more than seeing Chip again that she feared now. Corny was right, the anger had slowly begun to fade into something worse; something scarier and more frustrating than anything she'd ever felt before. It hurt more than the first time Chip had raped her, and pushed through the tension that met him between her thighs. It hurt more than the time he had smacked her upside the face and knocked her head against the wall. It hurt more than any of the bruises he'd ever given to her, more than anything he'd ever done to her. Her anger had slowly subsided into hurt, fear, rejection.
Instead of wanting to scream, throw things, hit people, she wanted to cry. She wanted to bury her face into the feather pillows and sob, all day, all night; wanted to feel sorry for herself for once in her pathetic life.
Everyone else had moved on, even Corny. He could look at her now without seeing the bruises, and he could forget what had happened to her, she was sure. The girls at school no longer gave her awkward glances; the boys had resumed their pathetic attempts to flirt with her. When she ignored them, or snapped at them for it, for attempting to patronize her as the victim they had no idea she was, they called her an ice queen, a tramp, a bitch. She had become withdrawn and closed since the anger had turned into hurt, and it hadn't gone unnoticed by others. It pushed everyone further away, which was exactly how she liked it. It made them keep their distance, because they assumed she was just a snobby brat who would attack if cornered. She liked it that way.
She didn't hear Corny again for a while, and assumed that he had disappeared into the kitchen. She took the opportunity to let some of her tears escape, and when she heard him at the foot of her bed again, she wiped them away angrily.
"Okay, Amber." She heard the clack of him setting the dish upon the dresser. "Time to get up now, and eat. Then you're going to go get a shower, make yourself presentable, and go find a job." He busied himself for a moment with her breakfast, and then came toward her, "You've skipped school at least three times this week; probably more that I don't even know about. You cannot lay in bed all day, Amber. It's not healthy. You need to get up, and find something to keep you busy."
She didn't move; she refused to move. When she felt his fingers pulling at her blankets, she groaned loudly.
"Corny, no!" She meant to sound strong, just as firm as he had, but the words escaped her lips like a plea. She felt him halt in his motions, but he regained his strength a moment later, pulling the blankets from around her head. She buried her head into the pillow, and he had to curl his fingers into fists to keep himself from pulling the pillow from beneath her head. "I'm not ready!"
"Amber, come on." He felt like he was talking to a stubborn child. "You have got to get out of bed. You'll never be ready with that attitude."
"I can't!" She yelled back at him suddenly, pulling her face from the pillows and glaring at him, "You don't understand, Corny! You don't get it! You're not the one who has been broken. You are not the one who is dead inside."
"Amber," he struggled to keep his voice level, "I understand that this still hurts you. I get that you need time to deal with this, and you know that I am here to help you in any way I can." He paused for a moment, and shook his head. "But look at you, Amber. I mean, really look at yourself." She narrowed her eyes at his words, and he swallowed hard.
"Amber, your bruises are gone. Your scratches have disappeared. You no longer look like the girl who showed on my doorstep. You haven't put on one of your nice dresses, haven't done your make-up in weeks. You used to be so beautiful, Amber. You've just let yourself go completely."
As soon as he said the words, he regretted them. He hadn't meant them in that way; of course Amber was beautiful with or without make-up. She looked gorgeous in her beautiful dresses that hugged her sharp curves, or the shapeless nightgown she'd been lounging around the house in for the past few days.
Amber's jaw went slack suddenly, her crystal eyes narrowing at him. She shook her head slightly, and he began to sputter.
"You know that's not what I meant, Amber. I-"
"I didn't realize that beauty was a prerequisite of living here," she snapped suddenly at him, "I didn't realize you were so damn shallow, Corny."
"Amber! I-" He started to defend himself, and she tore the blankets off of her, making her way toward him, pointing a finger at him like she'd always watched her mother do.
"You have no right to talk to me like that. You have no idea what I'm going through, you son of a bitch. You think that just because all those superficial injuries are gone that I'm suddenly all better?" She swallowed hard, tears burning her eyes, "You think I wouldn't just love to wake up one morning and say 'Oh! My bruises are gone! I can go back to being myself now!'? You think I wouldn't just automatically be better if I could, Corny?" She was trying to keep her jaw from trembling now. "It's nice to know that you understand what I'm going through, you arrogant asshole. It's so easy for you to sit up on that high horse of yours and judge me while I'm down here on the floor, isn't it?"
"Amber, you have got to stop feeling sorry for yourself. What happened to you is terrible, yes, but you've got to get on with your life! You've gotten into worse fights with the council girls before, I'm sure." He narrowed his eyes at her, "You can't let bruises and scratches change who you are, Amber."
His stupidity, his naivety; she would have found it so amusing, endearing, even, if she had been in any other situation but this. She wanted to say so much to him, wanted to tell him that although outwardly she was normal again, she was devastated on the inside. She wanted to tell him about the rape suddenly, about all of the lewd, horrible things Chip had done to her in the dark of her bedroom, but she knew she couldn't. It was too horrible, too awful of a secret to tell anyone. It was a heavy burden, though; one that she knew she would carry with her for the rest of her life. Still, if he knew about rape, he might feel differently. He might understand why she couldn't get out of bed. He might understand why she couldn't stop crying herself to sleep at night. He might understand why she would never be the person she had been before.
And yet, he might not.
Amber stared at him, her eyes brimming with tears. She swallowed hard, and nodded, pushing past him to grab the silky dress he had hung up for her to wear.
"It's nice to know that you're so supportive of me. Thanks, Corny," she spit the words at him, pushing out of the room and into the bathroom, "Thanks a whole fucking lot."
She slipped into the shower and let herself cry into the streaming water. When she got out, she dried her body with a fluffy towel and stepped into the dress Corny had put out for her. She zipped it, and stood before the mirror, her eyes burning as she studied her reflection. As much as she hated to admit it, and as awful as it had sounded coming from his lips, he was right; she had let herself go. She had always prided herself on her appearance, but now, there was nothing to be proud of. Her cheeks were hollow, her eyes were dark. Her wet hair hung limp around her face. The dress was bigger than it had ever been, and it seemed to swallow her thin frame. She looked, and felt, like a zombie.
She swallowed hard, trying not to cry as she dug through a suitcase in the back of her closet. It was full of things that Corny had rescued from her house, things that she hadn't looked at since he'd brought them here.
She found it near the bottom, and opened it with shaking hands, her eyes grazing over the make-up inside. There were so many different pretty colors, lipsticks, eye shadows, eyeliners. These colors, this artificial beauty, it was a world she had abandoned the night Chip had attacked her, save the times she'd needed it to cover up the damage he had done to her.
With trembling fingers, she began to open the make-up, and began to apply it to her face. It was cold and awkward, to pretend to care what she looked like, but she forced herself to do it.
She was, after all, grasping at straws to save what was left of her worthless life. Apparently this simulated beauty was all that really mattered to anyone, including Corny. She had, after all, learned that lesson from her mother many, many years ago: If you were beautiful, you would be loved.