Page 15 of Fear Me Not

Maybe he isn’t even real at all, and he is in fact the ghost I’d initially believed he was.

I close my eyes briefly, trying to dispel the strange notion. Of course he’s real. He carried me from the car wreck back to the hotel. A ghost wouldn’t be able to do that. Anyway, I’m not sure I even believe in ghosts, and I’m sure I hadn’t imagined Dov, or dreamed him. I can still remember the thud of his heartbeat as I lay with my cheek against his chest.

I hurt all over. My limbs are stiff, and there’s some soreness in my scalp when I touch it from where I hit my head.

But my overwhelming feeling is one of hunger.

I’m absolutely starving.

I feel hollowed out. Empty. When was the last time I ate? The soup and bread Blake brought me yesterday remains on a tray, untouched. I can’t even remember, but it must be more than twenty-four hours ago. I imagine my body has burned a lot of calories trying to stay warm, too.

Swinging my legs off the bed, I test them out, making sure they’re strong enough to hold me. I still feel a little wobbly, but nothing like the disorientation and utter exhaustion of yesterday.

I use the bathroom and stop to study my face in the mirror. I’m pale, with dark bruises beneath my eyes. My hair is in straggles, and an area to one side is crusted with blood. I’m going to need to wash it, but not right now. Besides, I don’t want to risk opening up the wound and for the bleeding to start again. My neck is stiff, and I wonder if I’ve suffered whiplash. I’ve got a large dark bruise on my hip, and another on my shoulder, where I must have slammed against the car door during the accident. I give thanks again that I wasn’t more badly hurt.

Carefully, I run a comb through my hair and tie it into a loose braid, so it hangs over my shoulder, and then wash my face with hot water and brush my teeth. I’m far from perfect, but it’s a slight improvement. I could do with a bath, but food is definitely more important right now.

Levi still hasn’t come to see me. I noticed how quiet he was yesterday when I was so ill. All his usual flirtations and crass comments had completely dried up. I remind myself that he was in on it with Blake. He also knew Dov was the one who killed Tobias, but he allowed me to believe I’d been responsible. He’s no better than his father. But then I hadn’t expected much differently of Levi. He’s always acted as though he wanted to get rid of me, even if he wanted to fuck me while he was doing it.

Still, my heart is heavy at his betrayal, as well as Blake’s. Should I feel the same way about Dov? After all, he was the one who killed Tobias. But he never lied to me. How fucked up is my moral code if murder is fine, but lying is a hard limit? I think of Blake’s screwed up moral code, too. The man protects his sons but is happy letting me believe I killed a man. He wouldn’t lay a finger on me because he thought I was too young but was happy for his sons to use me.

I leave my room and head downstairs to the kitchen. I’m anxious and lightheaded at the possibility of running into any of the men, but my hunger is stronger than my discomfort. I have no idea what I’m going to eat—I’ll pretty much take whatever is in the refrigerator. I’m craving a hot cup of coffee with a bucket load of sugar and cream, too.

I’m relieved to discover I have the kitchen to myself. Outside the window, the world is blanketed in a thick layer of snow. I picture Blake’s truck, halfway down the mountain, lying on its side. Would it even be visible now? Or would it be completely hidden? I imagine myself still inside the vehicle and swallow a gulp of air. I’d been incredibly lucky Dov came after me.

But what if I’d made it out? Where would I have gone? What would I have done?

Would I have gone to the police and told them everything?

I turn over my options. Am I kidding myself if I think I have any? I’ve already proven that trying to get off the mountain is a suicide mission. I didn’t even make it more than walking distance away, and that was in a vehicle that should have been at least somewhat suitable for the job. Attempting to leave on foot is impossible. But that doesn’t mean there won’t be a way to contact people on the outside. Okay, maybe my phone hasn’t been working, but it’s not like I’ve made any real attempt to contact anyone, and my phone most likely isn’t the only one in the building. Blake told me the Wi-Fi was broken, but maybe I’ll be able to fix it? I think of something else, and any thread of hope dries up and shrivels inside me. Even if I got the Wi-Fi working, what would I do with it? Who do I even have to contact and ask for help? I’m completely alone.

Could I call the police? Should I call the police?

Would I do it, even if I was able to find an outside line or get a signal? I picture myself explaining all the events of these last few weeks to a couple of stern police officers. What would they think of me coming to Windridge Hall on my own to live with three men, and then having my part-time boyfriend come and join me? Will the police find out that I had slept with both Blake and Levi, and that I had sexual relations with Dov?

My face flares with heat at the thought of the judgmental eyes that would be on me. Maybe I could get away with them not knowing the whole story, but I’d have to tell them some of it. After all, I did invite Tobias here, and I was the one who pushed him off the bed in the first place. I hurt him before Dov was ever involved, and I’m sure forensics could figure that out. I’d need to tell them it was self-defense.

Would the police even believe me?

They’d want to know what events led up to the murder, so I'd have to go through every step. I’d be forced to describe the intimate details of the assault—if they even considered it an assault. After all, we had been seeing each other, and I had allowed him into my bed. I can already envision how they’d judge me—a young woman with all these men—and the words they’d use to brand me. Slut. Whore. Tramp. They’d say I brought it on myself, that I was asking for it.

They’d never consider that I had been a victim and Tobias had been the predator.

I think of the cameras, not only in my room, but positioned all over the hotel. The police would surely request all the footage from them. How much would they find, assuming Dov has some way of storing it? Footage of me half naked with each of the men here? They’d assume we were running some kind of kinky game, putting on a show that got out of hand. That's probably exactly how it would look to an outsider.

Fuck. I scrub my hand over my face.

How I'd come across to the authorities isn't the only thing that's holding me back. I definitely don't want to talk to anyone about my sex life, but it's also that I don't want to hand Dov over to the cops.

I wonder what's wrong with me. Some part of me is broken. I've always felt that was the truth ever since I was young. My inability to connect in the same way others do. Emotionally, I'm distanced. I know that I should be scared of Dov now, even angry at him for what he did, and I guess deep down I am, but mostly, I'm just happy he cared enough about me to want to save me.

There’s coffee in the pot, so I pour myself some, wondering who made it—Blake or Levi—and where they both are. Are they deliberately giving me space? I’d told them I didn’t want to talk to them, and I don’t, but a tiny part of me is still disappointed that they haven’t checked up on me.

In the refrigerator, I find bacon and eggs and set about frying myself up four slices of bacon and two eggs. It’s way more than I’d normally eat, but I’m half-starved, and my body needs food. I find some bread to put in the toaster and cover it with thick slabs of butter. I’m so hungry, the plate barely makes it to the table before I’m taking bites of the buttery toast, dunking the corners in the sunny side up eggs. I positively scarf it down, barely chewing, and then follow it up with the coffee, which is now on the cooler side.

The meal makes me feel better almost instantly. The strange lightheaded, not-quite-of-this-world sensation fades, and I’m feeling more solid. Grounded.

Movement comes behind me.