Dark Mysteries by Jessica Gadziala

him. Keep her head
down and do what was told.
    She
never wore earrings again. She wore the necklace even in the shower.
    But
as she got more obedient, he got less tolerant. Everything she did
irritated him. Every small misstep made him fly at her, slam her
against walls, kick, punch, bite, and throw objects at her.
    Ellie
laid awake at night next to him after another session of obligatory
sex she had tried to convince herself wasn't rape. No matter how much
she hated it. No matter how much she didn't want it. She would crawl
out of bed and shut herself in the bathroom, staring at herself in
the mirror. Not crying. She never cried. She just watched herself,
trying to figure out what had happened. How it had happened. What
could be done.
    But
she never did anything.
    One
year in, she missed her period. Two months in a row. The nausea
becoming overwhelming and she knew without having to take a test that
she was pregnant. So, she started planning. She counted the steps
through the house. Timed how long it took to get from her room to the
front yard, from the kitchen to the back access road. And then a week
later, when he was on the phone, yelling at someone about a botched
deal... she grabbed a small bag and ran.
    She
had gotten as far as the end of the access road before he caught up
to her, grabbing her and dragging her all the way back to the house
by her hair. His silence was the most terrifying thing she had ever
experienced. As he pulled her down the basement stairs, through the
storage area full of cheerful Christmas decorations and through a
door she never knew existed.
    Inside
she found a small square room, the cinder block walls covered in some
sort of foam tile. There was a wooden chair inside, and two sets of
shackles: one hanging from the ceiling, one poking out from the
floor. He threw her against the wall, quickly securing her wrists and
ankles and moving the chair away from her.
    And
then her left her. For two days. Standing. Hanging at times from her
wrists, her legs too tired to hold her up.
    When
he finally returned, he had a sly grin on his face and a newspaper in
his hand. He held up the paper, showing her the headlining story. The
death of a decorated detective. Shot in the back of the head,
execution style.
    Her
father.
    And
then he had beat her. Savagely. Mercilessly. Until he was as drenched
in sweat as she was in blood. Until she felt the blood trickle down
her thighs and knew she had lost the baby. Until she was in so much
pain that she passed out.
    She
spent six weeks in that room of pain.
    Beat
until she was bruised everywhere. Starved. Humiliated. Left with a
raging infection and hallucinations for days before she was released
to be cared for by one of the maids in the house.
    --

    Ellie
woke up screaming, jumping into a seated position, looking around in
the dark. Her pulse hammered in her ears as she reoriented herself to
her surroundings. Safe. Safe in Xander's apartment. She leaned
forward, cradling her head in her hands, rocking. Trying to soothe
herself. Trying to block the memories away.
    “Hey,”
Xander's voice said from the other side of the room, sounding rough
from sleep, but alert, “you okay?”
    She
didn't know what made her do it, but she was moving, her feet sliding
silently across the floor. She sat at the foot of his bed, looking
down at the sheets. “No,” she admitted, surprising
herself.
    “Come
here,” Xander said, moving the blanket aside and patting the
space next to him.
    She
shouldn't. She should just go back to her couch and try to catch her
breath. But even as she was trying to convince herself that, she was
crawling in beside him. He reached down, dragging the blanket up and
over her body. He snaked an arm underneath her shoulders, turning her
and pulling her against his chest.
    Ellie
settled slowly, holding herself at first rod straight, her arm glued
to her side and her face hovering just barely over the warm skin of
his chest.
    “Want
to tell me about it?”