Page 96 of Wallflower

Something akin to relief unwinds my anxiety, and that worries me more than a suicidal attempt at escape. I’m too attached to Ripley and all he’s offering me once I’m out of here. It wasn’t that long ago that I thought my chemistry with Sam was amazing, and I was picturing a life on the water with him. Which makes me truly realize how fucking naive I am. Ripley was right.

I risk opening my eyes once Sam rises from the bed. My vision is blurry, but he’s standing there, looking down at me. He’s waiting for me to return his feelings, and like every time before this one, I appease an abuser. “I know, I wish I could see you more too.” I fake a smile, the pulling of my muscles intensifying the throb in my cheek.

“I wish I believed you,” he says, hand reaching out to grab my throat. “I’m sorry, Rosie. But I can’t have you screaming anyone’s name but mine.”

“What the f?—”

Through my foggy vision a needle appears, plunging into my neck with a sharp prick.

Sam’s distorted smile is the last thing I see before darkness crashes in like a tidal wave.

I awaken to a soft humming, the sound floating through my soft pink-lit room. The tune is recognizable, though I can’t place it. Turning my head, I follow the sound. Sam sits in the plush black chair. It’s been moved from its original position, now pushed against the bed. Sam’s got his feet propped up on the mattress, head tilted back, eyes closed, with a content look on his face.

Everything is fuzzy, my body numb. I try to speak but nothing comes out. Whatever Sam injected me with is still trying to keep me down. Rolling over, I attempt to sit up.

My sluggish body works against me, but eventually I get into a sitting position with my feet planted on the floor.

“I wouldn’t get up just yet.” His voice comes from behind me, and I know he’s right. I can barely feel anything, and don’t know how reliable my body would be if I tried to walk.

It seems I’ve been redressed. As I observe the white t-shirt covering me, drops of red splat onto the fabric. He must have busted open my forehead when he smashed it into the bed. I touch the swollen area, fingers coming away flecked in blood. I grunt, tongue heavy and dry.

Sam rounds in front of me, an excited glint in his eye. “Don’t try to speak,” he says, “it will only make it worse.”

It’s déjà vu. Trying to speak but nothing comes out. An uncomfortable pulling sensation keeping my lips together.

“What did I just say, Rosie? Or should I call you flower? I’ve seen the way your face heats whenhecalls you that.”

Fuck.

He’s been watching my encounters with Ripley. Does he watch me when I’m alone too? What about when Brad shows up unannounced?

I shake my head. The nickname sounds wrong coming from Sam.

“That’s better.” He extends his hand, and I slide mine into it. What other choice do I have? “You prefer being my Rosie, don’t you?”

I nod, murmuring an agreeing reply.

Sam leads me slowly across the room toward the reflective piece of acrylic attempting to pass as a mirror.

My fuzzy vision starts to clear with every step.

Before I can see what’s happened to me, horror ratchets up the beat of my heart as pain starts to leak out from somewhere I don’t remember being injured.

My steps falter as I attempt to stop my advancement. However, Sam revels in my resistance, and drags me along with little effort.

He places me in front of the mirror, but the strength to open my eyes and witness what’s been done to me is nowhere to be found.

“Open up those pretty eyes, baby. See the masterpiece I’ve made of you.”

Slowly, I comply, knowing I have no other choice. This man’s stripped me of so many things since I’ve met him.

My lashes flutter open, wet with the tears I’m forcing myself not to spill. I won’t break for anyone but myself. I’ll only cry for the horror brought upon me.

I sure as fuck won’t cry for someone who enjoys my pain and the power they wield over me.

But when I finally see my reflection, the scream that’s caged in my throat is enough to rip my vocal cords apart.

What…