I feel more caged in with him now than I did before as he slides over and presses the rag between my legs as if he is trying to clean me up. What a joke. I will never be clean again. The smell of sex in the air has me gagging and choking beneath the tape.

Maybe he notices, because he drops the rag and removes the tape tenderly. I gasp and suck in as much air as I can. I don’t want to look at him and suffer the humiliation any longer, so I turn my head as he finishes wiping me clean and adjusting my clothes back into position.

I risk a look up at him. In my clouded mental state I can’t quite figure out the expression spreading across his face. Remorse? Or possibly guilt as he realizes exactly what he has done.

He tries to speak . . . maybe he does say something, I don’t know. The last thing I see before I let myself fall into darkness is the look of hatred on his face as he was slamming his body into mine.

Chapter Eighteen

I know I must have completely passed out afterwards, because I come to in the front seat of the truck. My hands are free and I see the sun is hanging much lower toward the horizon.

Looking out of the window, I watch deep gray clouds start to roll in. The sky is as dark as I feel. A deep, black hole where you keep falling and falling with no end in sight, limp and lifeless as a rag doll dragged behind a child and tossed around. The light is right there within reach; I keep clawing and clawing toward it, yet I am retreating further into the darkness as I watch it slip away.

I’m wrecked, a ghost inside my own body. I feel so dirty and I know I have been cast into hell. Trying to sit up, I grimace at the pain shooting through my arms. I manage to pull myself all of the way up and look down at my wrists.

Dark red welts adorn each one. I gently rub them, running my fingers across the rough abrasions. My upper arm has a bruise and feels like it has been pulled out of its socket. My face feels swollen and my head and stomach are throbbing as if I have been hit with a baseball bat. I fight back my tears as I recall in excruciating detail exactly what Trent just did to me.

Never in a million years would I have thought something like this could ever happen to me. How could it? Just a little over a week ago I was living as a happily married woman, working a job I loved and surrounded by a family whose bond I had believed with all my heart was unbreakable. But now it has been broken. No one is going to look at me the same and when they do, it will be with pity.

Turner. How will he ever be able to get past this? He won’t. It’s bad enough that I slept willingly with Trent, but now he’s raped me. Oh, God! Just the thought of that word has my skin itching. This time I really am going to be sick.

I start coughing and gagging as a wave of nausea grips me.

              “Jesus Christ. Are you going to get sick?”

The sound of Trent’s voice has me trembling. I turn my head to the window so I don’t have to look at him.

“Fucking hell, Clove. You’re white as a ghost.”

I still say nothing. I can’t, and I won’t. I have no words for this man who has completely destroyed every part of my world and taken everything I love away from me. I don’t even realize we have stopped until my door is pulled open and I feel him put his hands on me. That is when I snap.

“Don’t you fucking touch me!”

I recoil farther into the truck. He backs up and holds his hands in surrender, yet I don’t trust him.

“There is an outdoor bathroom right here.” I follow the direction of his hand and notice we are at a gas station. “Go now.”

He turns and walks around to the other side of the truck. Reaching down on the floor I grab my purse and exit the truck as fast as I can. My legs are wobbly as I make the few short steps to the bathroom, keeping my eyes to the ground. I know I look a mess.

Closing the door behind me, I push in the knob to lock it and slump back against the cold steel door. Several minutes pass before I am able to approach the mirror and the sink. I take a few deep breaths before I raise my head and look intently at myself. I am unrecognizable. Both of my cheeks are bruised and swollen. My lip is busted open and my hair is a frizzy mess. I can’t control the angry sobs that escape me. Tears stream down my face and sting as they make contact with my lips.

Suddenly having the strong urge to pee, I drop my things onto the floor and enter the stall. When I lift my skirt up and squat to use the bathroom, a small gasp escapes my throat as I see the purple bruises on my upper thighs, but it is nothing compared to the burning sensation racing through the lower half of my body as I try to urinate.

Placing my hands on each side of the stall for support, I finish my business and all of a sudden the nausea is back. I turn around just in time to vomit. Not much comes up because I haven’t eaten anything since this morning, but dry heaves wrack my body for a few moments after I’ve brought up everything I can.

Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I take a deep breath, and when I do I can smell him on me. That smell sends me over the edge. I run out of the stall and grab wads and wads of paper towels, then I turn the sink on as hot as I can get it. I pump and pump the liquid soap dispenser, dousing the wet paper towel with it. When I’m done, I push my skirt aside and scrub roughly between my legs, not caring if I am causing further damage to myself.

              “Good God,” I mutter to myself as I assess the bruising forming on my inner thighs.

There are several of them, and they are tender to the touch. How could someone commit such a terrible act of physical violence? How did I not notice him hurting me like this? This man is going to rot in hell right along with the worst of Satan’s spawn of despicable human beings. I hope like hell I am there to witness when that bastard takes his last breath. Better yet, I hope I am the one who sends him to hell because he sure as shit doesn’t care if I live the rest of my life there, the crazy motherfucker.

A loud knock on the door makes me freeze with my hand in mid-air. The knocking turns into pounding when I don’t answer.

              “Clove, if you’re not out here in five minutes I will come in there and get you, now hurry the hell up.”

He’s becoming impatient and not wanting to further delay us from getting wherever the hell it is we are going. Not responding to his command, I take my time getting changed and splash several handfuls of cold water onto my face. There isn’t anything more he can do to hurt me at this point. He’s crippled me beyond repair with the sadistic things he has done. So yeah, he can fuck off while I try and do my best to clean myself up.

I grab my brush and run it through the knots in my hair until my scalp is sore. After what I know is longer than his five-minute ultimatum, I secure my hair into a ponytail and drop the brush back into my bag. I pull out my toothbrush and toothpaste and scrub the residue of my vomit out of my mouth.

Tossing the items back into my bag, I swing it over my shoulder and grab my purse off of the counter. I take a deep breath as I open the door. I see Trent’s form leaning against his truck with his legs crossed at his ankles and his arms crossed over his chest.

I can’t even look at him and I sure as shit don’t want to sit next to him, either, so I open the door and start to climb in the back. I halt as flashbacks of the rape freeze me to the spot. A chill creeps up my spine and I drop my bags onto the floor in defeat. I raise my eyes after a moment, and that’s when I see the long, jagged knife laying on the floorboard of the truck. My eyes go wide and without even thinking, I reach for it and stuff it in my bag.