Deceiving Lies
Page 25
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A deep ache filled my chest and I forced tears back as I reached for the hairbrush and spent minutes getting all the tangles out from however long I’d been here. After searching the bags and finding the hair rubber bands, I braided my hair low and off to the side, and finally, finally, grabbed the toothbrush and toothpaste.
I had thoroughly brushed my teeth three times and was reaching for the paste for the fourth time when Taylor’s hand caught my wrist to stop me. His expression was somewhat amused, but there was a hint of the apologetic look I’d seen this afternoon.
“It will still be here tomorrow. Three is enough.”
The hand that was holding the toothbrush fell dejectedly to the counter, but I knew he was right. I went about rinsing off the brush and my mouth before turning to look at him.
“What do I do with the soap and everything in the shower?”
“Leave it in there.”
“But, won’t someone take it? Or touch it, or something?”
He shook his head and put the rest of the new clothes in one bag before grabbing my old clothes and shoving them in another and tying it off. “This is my bathroom. If you’re not in it, they don’t have a reason to come in here.”
“Oh. Wait, this is your bathroom? So there are others? This is a house?”
“Somewhat.”
I waited for him to expand on his response, but when he didn’t, I followed him out of the bathroom and through a door to a bedroom filled with various workout machines and a bed that made my body yearn for it. I followed him inside and watched as he put the towel and bag with my old clothes down a chute, and when he saw me standing behind him, he gestured toward the rest of the room.
“This is my room.”
“Why don’t you sleep in here?” Better yet, why can’t I sleep in here? The mattress I’m on is thin and old as dirt. And at least in here there’s carpet instead of a concrete slab for him to sit on.
He looked at me but never responded. His dark eyes moved quickly back and forth as they searched my face. Ever since he’d come back with dinner, he’d been looking at me like he was making sure I was still there, or still okay. I didn’t understand it, and just as I was about to ask about the change in the last half hour, he breathed out deeply and turned to go back to my room.
When I was back on my mattress, he turned off the light and I waited for the minutes to pass by until I could make out his form on the floor in front of the door.
“You never answered my question.”
“Which one?” he asked, his tone teasing.
I rolled my eyes though I doubted he could see the action in the dark. “When I brought up your room. You know you don’t have to stay in here with me; I really won’t try to leave again. You should be able to sleep in your own bed.”
After a minute he finally answered. His tone was dark again, and the way his eyes had looked earlier flashed through my mind. “I do need to stay in here with you. It’s not you I don’t trust; it’s them. At least I can lock you in here well enough that it would be extremely difficult for them to get to you when I’m gone.”
A chill shot down my spine at the thought of someone else coming in here; and confusion set in as I realized that, once again, I was thankful for Taylor. I didn’t want to feel thankful to him for anything, and I didn’t like that I felt indebted to him for what he’d done for me. Because despite his protection, he was still the one who had taken me from my house and was keeping me from getting out of here. I needed to remember that.
Instead of trying to continue the conversation, I pulled my knees up to my chest and shut my eyes. But even as I waited for sleep to come, I couldn’t help but acknowledge that for now, at least, I was safe—and as long as Taylor was in this room, nothing bad would happen to me.
Taylor
MY HEAD HIT THE WALL BEHIND ME when I heard her breathing even out. Scrubbing my hands over my face, I bit back a groan and tried to get the images from earlier out of my mind.
I could see her¸ so I knew she was okay. But, Jesus Christ, the way Marco had used Photoshop to make those images always looked so f**king real. Going so far as to take pictures of her hands when we’d had her knocked out and making it seem like we’d severed her fingers. Taking the recordings of her screams from when we’d taken her and those first couple days she was awake here, and playing them out masterfully so it sounded like she was being tortured when they called into the police department. And I didn’t even want to think about how they got all that hair that looked the exact shade of hers for the package they were sending tomorrow. Jaime had taken some of her personal things before we began trashing the room, and along with the hair matted in unknown blood, the earrings that had been on her nightstand were also spotted with blood and would be in the same box. If another two days went by without any progress, the detectives were getting the video.
In the twelve days since I’d brought her here, I’d spent practically every moment watching her like a hawk. I could pick her out in a crowd of thousands of people, if I were an artist, I could sketch her features from memory. Even so, I was having an impossible time making myself understand that whoever that girl was in the video, wasn’t the girl in front of me now. Again, where had they found the video? I didn’t know, and I didn’t want to. It was f**king sick.
She’s safe, I kept repeating to myself. But for how long? If she tried to escape again and one of them got ahold of her, I didn’t know if they would listen to Romero’s orders about not touching her.
I had thoroughly brushed my teeth three times and was reaching for the paste for the fourth time when Taylor’s hand caught my wrist to stop me. His expression was somewhat amused, but there was a hint of the apologetic look I’d seen this afternoon.
“It will still be here tomorrow. Three is enough.”
The hand that was holding the toothbrush fell dejectedly to the counter, but I knew he was right. I went about rinsing off the brush and my mouth before turning to look at him.
“What do I do with the soap and everything in the shower?”
“Leave it in there.”
“But, won’t someone take it? Or touch it, or something?”
He shook his head and put the rest of the new clothes in one bag before grabbing my old clothes and shoving them in another and tying it off. “This is my bathroom. If you’re not in it, they don’t have a reason to come in here.”
“Oh. Wait, this is your bathroom? So there are others? This is a house?”
“Somewhat.”
I waited for him to expand on his response, but when he didn’t, I followed him out of the bathroom and through a door to a bedroom filled with various workout machines and a bed that made my body yearn for it. I followed him inside and watched as he put the towel and bag with my old clothes down a chute, and when he saw me standing behind him, he gestured toward the rest of the room.
“This is my room.”
“Why don’t you sleep in here?” Better yet, why can’t I sleep in here? The mattress I’m on is thin and old as dirt. And at least in here there’s carpet instead of a concrete slab for him to sit on.
He looked at me but never responded. His dark eyes moved quickly back and forth as they searched my face. Ever since he’d come back with dinner, he’d been looking at me like he was making sure I was still there, or still okay. I didn’t understand it, and just as I was about to ask about the change in the last half hour, he breathed out deeply and turned to go back to my room.
When I was back on my mattress, he turned off the light and I waited for the minutes to pass by until I could make out his form on the floor in front of the door.
“You never answered my question.”
“Which one?” he asked, his tone teasing.
I rolled my eyes though I doubted he could see the action in the dark. “When I brought up your room. You know you don’t have to stay in here with me; I really won’t try to leave again. You should be able to sleep in your own bed.”
After a minute he finally answered. His tone was dark again, and the way his eyes had looked earlier flashed through my mind. “I do need to stay in here with you. It’s not you I don’t trust; it’s them. At least I can lock you in here well enough that it would be extremely difficult for them to get to you when I’m gone.”
A chill shot down my spine at the thought of someone else coming in here; and confusion set in as I realized that, once again, I was thankful for Taylor. I didn’t want to feel thankful to him for anything, and I didn’t like that I felt indebted to him for what he’d done for me. Because despite his protection, he was still the one who had taken me from my house and was keeping me from getting out of here. I needed to remember that.
Instead of trying to continue the conversation, I pulled my knees up to my chest and shut my eyes. But even as I waited for sleep to come, I couldn’t help but acknowledge that for now, at least, I was safe—and as long as Taylor was in this room, nothing bad would happen to me.
Taylor
MY HEAD HIT THE WALL BEHIND ME when I heard her breathing even out. Scrubbing my hands over my face, I bit back a groan and tried to get the images from earlier out of my mind.
I could see her¸ so I knew she was okay. But, Jesus Christ, the way Marco had used Photoshop to make those images always looked so f**king real. Going so far as to take pictures of her hands when we’d had her knocked out and making it seem like we’d severed her fingers. Taking the recordings of her screams from when we’d taken her and those first couple days she was awake here, and playing them out masterfully so it sounded like she was being tortured when they called into the police department. And I didn’t even want to think about how they got all that hair that looked the exact shade of hers for the package they were sending tomorrow. Jaime had taken some of her personal things before we began trashing the room, and along with the hair matted in unknown blood, the earrings that had been on her nightstand were also spotted with blood and would be in the same box. If another two days went by without any progress, the detectives were getting the video.
In the twelve days since I’d brought her here, I’d spent practically every moment watching her like a hawk. I could pick her out in a crowd of thousands of people, if I were an artist, I could sketch her features from memory. Even so, I was having an impossible time making myself understand that whoever that girl was in the video, wasn’t the girl in front of me now. Again, where had they found the video? I didn’t know, and I didn’t want to. It was f**king sick.
She’s safe, I kept repeating to myself. But for how long? If she tried to escape again and one of them got ahold of her, I didn’t know if they would listen to Romero’s orders about not touching her.
