I can sense him still leaning up against the truck, watching my every move. Dear God up above, please don’t let him have seen me pick up that knife. I climb back down and slam the door with as much force as I can and open the front and climb in. After securing my seatbelt, I turn my body completely away from the driver’s seat and lay my head up against the window. I close my eyes tight as I feel him enter the truck and start it.

“There’s a bag back there with some chips and other munchies I got at the station,” Trent says as we accelerate onto the highway.

Fuck him. Even though I am starving, I don’t want a damn thing from him. Hearing his voice and being this close in proximity to him has my nerves all over the damn place. So I remain rooted in my spot and ignore him, ticking off every mile marker in my mind. For ten miles, ten damn miles, there is silence and then he reaches over and places his hand on my knee.

The color instantly drains from my face. I try and block out the fact that he has his hand on me and I can’t. My breathing becomes ragged. My teeth start chattering and a cold sweat forms on my forehead. I can’t seem to get any words to come out of my mouth. I know he must feel me shaking and when his grip tightens on my leg, I tremble more.

“You need to calm down, Clove.” His husky voice shoots a bolt of absolute terror through me, starting at the top of my head and traveling through every vein and every organ of my body until it ends at the tips of my toes.

              “I’m not going to hurt you. I swear.”

Those eight words break through the trance I am under and I take hold of his hand and remove it from me.

“You’re not going to hurt me?” I all but whimper as I continue to keep my vision forward.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him run his hands through his hair as if he is frustrated. Neither of us speaks again for a long time and my mind drifts, until he pulls off onto another exit. My anxiety and panic start all over again as he drives a mile or so down the road through the middle of God knows where before pulling into the parking lot of a rundown, cheap motel.              “W-what are you doing?” I manage to squeak out.

              “This is where we are sleeping tonight. Now get out.”

He puts the truck in park and exits, taking the keys with him. I don’t move and when he turns and notices that I am not behind him, he starts to walk back toward the truck. I promptly open the door as he approaches.

“I have had it up to here with your defiance, Clove. Why do you continue to push me? This would go a hell of a lot smoother for the both of us if you would just do what you’re told for once. Jesus, you really must have a death wish.”

Yeah, I have a death wish all right, buddy. My wish is for you to fucking die a very slow miserable death.

“Seriously, Trent. If I go in there looking like this, don’t you think whoever is working in there is going to suspect something? I mean, look at me. My face looks like I have been beaten up, which I have by the way, and they will suspect you. So if you want me to go in there with you, I would say that you’re the one with the death wish because not all people go around beating and raping women. Trust me, if you get me around another person I will tell them exactly what you have done to me,” I seethe.

“You really don’t listen, do you? You must want a repeat performance of what happened a few hours ago.”

His face is within an inch of mine now.

              “You don’t scare me anymore, Trent. You’ve won. You have broken me and it doesn’t matter what you do to me now. I’m as good as dead already.”

My hands are clasped together in my lap to hide the fact I am shaking desperately, truly fearing what he may do to me. However, I shrug as if I really don’t care. The big problem here is I do care. I want to live to be able to see Turner one last time.

I watch several expressions dance across Trent’s face. He knows what I am saying is true. His eyes roam all over my face for several long moments and when they shift lower and land on my wrists, they grow wide as if he is the one who is in shock.

I wish like hell that I knew what he is feeling right now as he brings his gaze back up to meet mine. Is this real remorse for the things he has done? Is he being eaten up by his guilt? I hope he is. I hope it eats away at him until it kills him.

“If you even think about running, I will call my father and have Turner killed immediately, do you understand what I am saying?”

              “Where am I going to go? You have us in the middle of nowhere, Trent. And despite what you may think of me, one thing is for certain. I may be an idiot for not letting my brother nab your ass and throw you in jail right where you belong. But what I am is in love with my husband, and I will do anything to see him, as you are already quite aware. And one more thing. There is no need to threaten me again, because I am very well aware of what you are capable of.”

He’s bewildered by my words, although he says nothing as he spins around and strides into the motel. I scan the parking lot looking for anything or anyone to help me, and it’s completely deserted. Only one other car sits in the parking lot and I can only assume it belongs to whoever works here. Slumping back in my seat in defeat, I shake my head back and forth and pray like I have never done before that there are two beds in this room. I don’t want to feel his skin touching mine ever again.

Trent returns several minutes later with a key card in his hand along with fresh towels.

“Let’s go,” he commands as he reaches in the back and pulls out his bag.

I open the car door and slam it shut with a little more force than necessary and retrieve my own bag. Damn it, the knife is in there. I need to make sure he doesn’t see it. Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I follow a small distance behind him until he stops in front of our room and slides the key in. The small light turns green and he pushes the door open. When I enter, I am immediately assaulted with the smell of stale cigarettes and a very strong odor of who the hell knows what.

              “Fuck, this place is a dump,” Trent mutters as he tosses his bag on the bed.

He walks into the bathroom and closes the door just a fraction. He comes back out within a minute and I hear the shower running.

              “Go shower, and make it quick.”

Sitting himself down on the bed, he lays back on the pillow, stretching his free arm over the top of his head. He grabs the remote to the television with the other hand, then clicks it on and starts flipping through the channels.

Not saying a word, I grab my bag and make my way into the small bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind me and stripping my clothes off instantly.

Grabbing a towel, I close the lid to the toilet and place the towel on top of it. I check the temp of the water which is a little too hot for my usual shower, but I leave it to try and help burn away all of the remaining traces of what he took from me a few hours earlier. I may be able to erase all of him from my body, but I will never be able to erase what he has done from my mind.

I lean back and let the water soak into my hair, and when it hits my face I brace my hands against the wall as it stings and burns my bruises and cut lip. No longer being able to hold my shit together, I slump down on the floor of the shower, pulling my knees up and placing my chin on top of them. All hell breaks loose as I cry silently in the middle of nowhere. I have never felt so alone in all my life.