Run Away, My Angel

Chapter 3
Mallory

I don't know how long I have been walking along the road, but the strap of my travel bag is starting to hurt my shoulder and my legs have trouble supporting my weight, to which it is now added the weight of my big bag. I drag myself around aimlessly, not knowing where to go, when a car pulls up next to me. I turn my head in the opposite direction, having no desire to explain to a stranger what I am doing on the side of the road with my stuff on my back. The unwelcome stranger decides otherwise. I hear the passenger window coming down and the music coming from the car twists my eardrums. The hard-core music is carried by the wind at a mind-boggling sound level. Suddenly the sound dies off and a voice that I did not expect addresses me.

— Mal? What are you doing here?

I turn around to be sure I am not hallucinating, but no, it is my friend behind the wheel of his car. I would cry for joy if my tears were not dry. All I do is stare at him, without moving or answering. He then decides to pull over to the side of the road and goes around the car to join me.

— You're okay?

I nod, unable to speak.

— Let me help you.

He takes my bag and throws it in the trunk before opening the passenger door.

— Hop in. I'll take you home. Let’s both talk and you’ll tell me what's going on.

I get into the car like an automaton, always silent, and my friend straps on my seatbelt that I did not even have the reflex to do. I suddenly feel less alone and I hope that emptying my bag will allow me to see more clearly and have a plan for the future, because I cannot wander aimlessly forever.

I realize I had never been to his house. Not even once. His house is small, away from the road and from any neighbors. The small path which leads to his front door is rough and I jump on my seat. That dangerously stirs my stomach, which revolts with these chaotic movements.

— Sorry. I haven't had time to fix the outside of the house yet.

I give him a weak smile, keeping my mouth tight so as not to vomit on the gear stick. Fortunately, it does not last more than a minute and we park in front of a small exposed brickwork house that has a crazy charm.

— It's very pretty.

He smiles at me and a dimple appears on his left cheek.

— Thank you, I inherited it from my grandmother a few years back and I've been trying to revamp it ever since.

He goes around the car to open my door, very gentlemanly.

— Come on. I'll make you a nice cup of tea and we can talk.

He grabs my hand and I think of rejecting it. I have not held the hand of any one but Brandon’s for a long time and this strange, bigger, stronger hand leaves an unpleasant impression on me. My host does not notice my distress and makes me go inside by an old wooden red door that closes after I come in. I barely have time to detail his entrance decorated with a mirror that leads me to a state-of-the-art kitchen, perfectly equipped, with a huge piano and a large island lined with comfortable high stools.

— Sit down there. I'll prepare you some tea.

I take the opportunity to turn around and look at the house with curious eyes. Everything is modern, friendly looking, and yet I feel awkward. There are no photos, no trinkets, no traces of life. Everything is superb, but sanitized, like a show house without a soul. It is difficult to imagine that a single man lives in this place. Where is the mess? The dirty laundry lying around? Any sign of life, please!

— You take two sugars, don’t you?

I turn my attention back to my friend.

— Yes, thank you.

He places my cup in front of me and I take advantage of the warmth on my hands to refocus. It feels good to be taken care of. However, I have to think about what comes next.

— Are you ready to tell me what happened after you hung up?

It is true that when we spoke, I was in tears, confined in my car. My ex-car. Everything became ex after that phone call.

— I told you to call me if you needed to.

— I didn't want to disturb you.

Which is true. In part. I already felt I was a burden for my ex-fiancé. I did not want to become one for Leon, the friend who has supported me in recent months, against all odds.

— You’ll never bother me Mal. I have already told you.

He plays with my fingers on the table and a shiver lifts my spine. I get my hand back and I hug my shoulders to warm me, although I doubt that the cold is responsible for my goosebumps.

— I had an argument with Brandon.

The memory of the last words uttered by the ex-love of my life clogs my throat with a ball as big as a football.

— It's going to get better Mal. As always.

The ball gets bigger in my windpipe. I feel like I am suffocating,

— No. No, it's not going to get any better. He asked me to leave. He wants us to take a break.

I start laughing with a laugh that is both hysterical and somewhat frightening, even to my ears.

— Everyone knows what it means to take a break. He has broken up. He has left me. For good.

Leon purses his lips in front of me which now become invisible behind his full black beard.

— Brandon is an idiot. He will regret it.

My laughter gradually turns into tearful sobs and a torrent of tears invades my face before I realize it. It seems that the tear fountain has not dried up.

— He swept away more than two years of relationship as if nothing had happened. As if this time together did not matter. The only one to blame is me. I should have made more effort. I should have listened to his fears. He just wanted me to find a job and...

— Shh. Stop it Mal. Breathe. You're holding your breath.

The fact is I have taken no air during my tirade. Remorse takes my breath away. Leon caresses my back from bottom to top, instructing me to inhale and exhale on his rhythm. The heat of his palm crosses the fabric of my top and once again, I find that he is getting too close to me.

— I'm going to go.

— Don't be silly Mallory. You're not in a position to go anywhere. You don't even have a car. Do you have a place to go at least?

I slump a little more in my seat, shoulders hunched.

— I'm going to have to go back to my parents.

Despite my reluctance, I have no other options. Tears of shame bead in the corner of my eyes. Soon I will turn 27 and I will have to return to live with my parents as if I were a child. I am angry at myself for being unable to be responsible of myself.

— You could stay here for a while.

I jerk my head up and I look at Leon as if a third head or a horn had sprung out of his forehead.

— That's very nice of you Leon, but it's not a good idea.

He stands up his whole height, towering over me, and something like fear creeps into me.

— It wasn’t really a suggestion, Mal.

I get up and walk back to the door.

— You're starting to scare me, Leon. It's better if I go.

He walks towards me like a predator cornering his prey. That is exactly how I feel: a prey stuck against a door that refuses to open despite my desperate attempts to turn the handle.

— We're going to be fine the two of us, Mal.

His words have a hard time breaking through the fog of my panic. I shake my head, but I feel like it is wrapped in cotton. I have a hard time putting my thoughts together and when I open my mouth, I suddenly feel my tongue weighs a ton. Halfway to the door I collapse as Leon gets closer and closer. He does not seem worried about my sudden weakness and a suspicion takes hold on me.

— What have you done to me?

I can barely hear my voice. He puts his hand on my cheek and I am unable to even start the movement of revulsion I would like to make. My legs barely hold me. I feel myself slipping little by little to the ground. Before I fall to the ground, Leon passes an arm under my legs and on my back and presses me against his wide chest. My head is tilting back at a painful angle, but I am unable to hold it straight.

— I thought I had a little more time. Your room is not quite ready. I hope you will like it.

What is he talking about? How long has he been planning to kidnap me? And why? I thought he was my friend! My questions will go unanswered. I am unable to express them and I end up sinking into unconsciousness as Leon lays me down on a soft surface.

My eyelids flutter under the strong light. The sun assaults my retina with its light rays. I am disoriented, unable to remember where I am or what brought me to this unknown place. I try to rub my eyes to clear my vision, but my right wrist is stopped with a metallic noise. I insist, but this only causes me pain. A cold metal badly bites my skin. Then I resort to my left hand to rub my eyes, and I can see what is restraining me. Because that's what it is. A handcuff that is keeping me prisoner, tied to a bed. Panic wins me over. I look everywhere around. I am alone in an unknown room and my belongings are stored on open shelves, as if I had been living here for a long time. Anguish twists my guts.

— Is there anyone here?

There is only silence to answer my call.

— DOES ANYONE HEAR ME?

My voice comes out higher than I wanted, but whatever. In the next room, a chair squeaks on the tile and the sound of footsteps approaching speed up my pulse. When the ajar door opens, I cannot believe my eyes.

— Leon???

His smile has something unhealthy and disturbing. It is however no different from usual. It is probably due to the incredible situation I face.

— You're finally awake, I didn't realize I had forced the dose a little too much. Do you have a migraine? Nausea?

It's really a surreal situation. I am chained to a bed and my kidnapper worries about my health after he has drugged me? Because that is what he did, if I understand well.

— Why am I here? Why did you tie me up?

He sits on the edge of the bed and by reflex I move away from him, which makes him sigh.

— Would you have stayed with me if I had asked you kindly?

No, definitely not. I'm trying to slow down my heart rate while he keeps justifying himself.

— We are made for each other Mal. I knew that as soon as I saw you for the first time.

— You were with Lilas. You were good together.

He plays with the strands of my hair and I cannot run away. I cannot stretch my arm any more, and my wrist hurts from being pulled like that.

— She wasn't meant for me. All she thinks about is having fun and fucking. I’m looking for something more serious. I knew right away that you were a passionate and incredibly romantic person. You are my ideal woman.

I try to reason with him.

— I am not the one for you, I am not constant. I am unable to commit myself.

— You don't want to work, which suits me very well since I want you to stay at home. With me. Remember, I work from home. We'll be together all the time. I make enough for both. We're going to be very happy.

He leans over my face, lips forward, and I spit in his face to make him go back. He grunts, wiping himself with the back of his sleeve.

— You will come to your senses. You’ll be mine. Forever.

— Never Leon. NEVER.

Then he sits on top of me squeezing my stomach and I gasp under his weight. I am afraid he wants to rape me, so I start screaming nonstop. Then he buries my head in the mattress to muffle the sound and I suffocate with the sheets that get into my wide-open mouth.

— Stop shouting! I am not going to take you. I just want to mark you. You're mine. And when you finally understand that we are soulmates, you will be proud to show it to everyone.

I stop screaming to be able to breathe more freely and hear him taking something out of his pocket. He then lowers the collar of my T-shirt and I start shaking again until I feel a cold metal on the top of my back.

— A mark as a proof of your love for me.

The blade then sinks into my skin as if in butter under my howl of pain. Leon slashes my back with a vertical gash and my blood flows down my neck.

— You're going to be perfect.

After that he leaves me there, stunned, and with my body injured.

Chapter 4
Mallory

I could say I do not know for how long Leon has been holding me prisoner, but every wound on my back is a real daily count and a reminder of the passing of time. 177. It's been 177 days since Leon captured me and he marks me every day with a daily gash as if I were cattle. My back is on fire. All I have is pain and a reminder of my suffering, both physical and mental. My resistance weakens more and more. The hope of escape fades away with the passing of time. At first I did make a few attempts, and this only hardened the conditions of my captivity, totally destroying my resistance.

My first escape attempt took Leon by surprise. I still remember his stunned look when he untied me so I could go to the toilet and I jumped on his back in a desperate attempt to knock him out with my handcuffs. He made no attempt to pull me off him, he just knocked me to the floor like a sack of potatoes. Then he lifted me unceremoniously squeezing my throat, pressing brutally on my windpipe, and my satisfaction at seeing blood coming down his head quickly gave way to the panic of my imminent death by strangulation. At that time I did not want to die yet.

— Is this how you thank me for trusting you and this is how you show me that you love me?

His thumb on my neck did not allow me to give him a scornful response. I could only painfully choke while I felt my life slipping through every pore. Then he decided he was going to let me live.

— So, you prefer rough love? Don´t worry, just ask for it.

He then bit my lower lip hard until it bled.

— Never do it again or you will regret it. Did you understand me well?

I nodded without conviction, already thinking about another way to escape. Leon had not been fooled, of course. Next day I received a solid chain. This way I could go to the adjoining bathroom without him having to untie me from the bed. It also cut me any possibility of privacy since I could no longer close the door while at the toilet. I also caught Leon several times peeking through the gap during my shower and I felt dirty by his look. This was unfortunately only the beginning of my ordeal. My torturer actually imagined we were a couple, in every sense of the word. After a week, he wanted to kiss me supposedly to wake me up gently. I bit her tongue out of reflex. This earned me a monumental slap and his angry frown for several days, followed of course by one of those incredible comments.

— You are mine. I have all the rights! If you don't want to end up with a chain around your neck like the bitch that you are, it is in your best interest to be nicer to your fiancé.

The word fiancé hurt me more than it should. I had lost an adorable and loving boyfriend despite our arguments to fall into the claws of a psychopath. The first kiss he forced me to give him made me nauseous. I had to keep myself from throwing up on him. After a while it just got easier, more mechanical. A simple exchange of saliva without emotion. A moment when I turned off my brain to keep my conscience intact. The worst was when he started wanting to touch me. I had mentally prepared myself to be raped one day or another, but nothing could make it acceptable. Nothing could have made easy the moment when strange hands greedily ran over my skin without my consent. His hands on me were disgusting. I could not bear to feel his touch brush my ribs, my thighs, my breasts. My luck in my misfortune? Leon turned out to be impotent. He never managed to penetrate me. The first failure made him extremely angry.

— IT'S YOUR FAULT! YOU'RE MAKING NO EFFORT, YOU'RE BLOCKING EVERYTHING!

His poor grotesque tail hanged pitifully down his leg, to my delight. He finally never managed to go all the way through, which helped me to relax noticeably, although I still felt his touching me was very repulsive. His touching me became a necessary evil. As long as he did not force me to do the same, I could detach myself from my body until he finished.

177 days and I feel like I am another person. I learned my lessons. I now play the nice little housewife. Every good deed earns me a good point. At first I thought that capitulating on some small things would allow me to gain his trust and that he would relax his vigilance. He has never done it. On the other hand, I gained some degree of freedom. My chain has been lengthened. I still feel like a dog on a leash, but my leash is now longer. I have become a nice docile dog who has lost his soul and his desire to fight against his master. I am cooking and cleaning like a good little housewife while the man works in his office to earn the money and maintain his little woman. I never had this impression with Brandon during my periods of unemployment and clearly it is not my aspiration in life. I have never wanted so much to be working. That was obviously not to the taste of Leon who refused to agree to my request. He was well aware that I would take the scampering off whenever I could. Once, when he was out shopping, I took the opportunity to slip into his den. I wanted to send an SOS to my friends, family, anyone over the internet. I never succeeded. Leon is a computer nerd. His computer was protected by codes and in addition, all activity was automatically recorded. So he saw my maneuver and it made him laugh, with a cruel and unhealthy laughter.

— Whom did you want to contact? Brandon? He doesn't care what happened to you. He turned the page and he is engaged with a pretty little bimbo who worships him like a god. As for Beth, you made her understand that you didn't want to see her anymore, so why would she help you?

He then hugged me to whisper in my ear.

— You have only me in your life. And that's fine, since you don't need anyone else. And in case you've forgotten it: I have eyes and ears all over. I'll find you anywhere. You will never be able to hide from me.

This was followed by a session of unilateral fondling that I prefer not to describe so as not to vomit my lunch.

Today, Leon is more restless than usual. He is nervous. He throws furtive glances at me and walks around in circles. He went to his office and came back exasperated and anxious. His bushy eyebrows meet under the effect of concentration. He opens his mouth several times before closing it without uttering the slightest sound and resumes his pacing while I try to ignore his presence. A book in hand, the pinnacle of luxury: I now have the right to read, I keep my nose dipped in the pages to escape from this sinister place and from my dreary life. I am stiff in my chair, unable to lean on my back due to the countless wounds that now adorn my back and which are now part of me as part of my body. I startle when Leon stands in front of me and takes the book from my hands so that I pay attention to him.

— I must speak to you, my beautiful.

I hate when he calls me like this. These names are to be used only between people who care about each other. On the contrary, I have come to hate him beyond reason. More than I thought I could ever hate anyone one day. I did not think I could ever feel such a strong emotion. This man stole my life and my hatred is boundless.

— I'll have to be away for a few days.

My heart misses a beat. The hope that I thought extinguished for many months makes its way to my conscience, my soul claims the freedom it has been deprived of for too long. However, not everything is won and if I want to have a chance, I must play it smart and silence my fear. So, I keep an impassive face.

— Why?

My question surprises him. I must say that from the beginning I paid little attention to him, and the fear I express in my question is two-way. I am not afraid to find myself alone, but I am rather afraid to feed false hopes.

— Work. I'm called in as a backup and I can't refuse.

Work. He works with the police, dark reminder that I cannot wait for help from that side either. Who is going to be believed between a girl who got dumped and counts for no one and a respected computer scientist who has been helping investigators for several years? I am not even sure that my disappearance has been reported. Who would care enough about me to worry? Maybe my parents? I have no doubt that Leon had found a way to remedy this problem. He never returned my cell phone. I have also never seen a phone in this house. Yet I am sure I had it with me when I left Brandon.

— Mal, I want you to promise me to remain quiet.

Translation: promise me you will behave well so I can continue using you to my liking when I return.

— I promise.

A hollow promise for a hollow, meaningless life. How much is a word worth when you fear for your life? No more than his declarations of love when he is holding me against my will. He scrutinizes me, trying to detect the deception in my words. Impossible. I have learned to hide my emotions a long time ago to avoid the punishments that followed my reactions of revulsion.

— I will miss you so much, my beautiful.

He presses his body to mine and his warmth passes the fabric of my sweater. His erection presses on my stomach and I pray that, as usual, the pressure will decrease as his excitement increases. He kisses me full on the mouth and I close my eyes to imagine myself in someone else's arms. At the beginning of my ordeal, I thought of Brandon in difficult times, but since I now know that he is in a relationship with somebody else, even his image bothers me. So I imagine an ideal man, tall, brown and muscular. And specially with no tattoos. Tattoos have become for me synonymous with madness and I do not want my perfect man to have them. However I have trouble representing his eyes. They are sometimes blue, sometimes green, but always tender and expressive. I return to the present moment when Leon removes his tongue from my oral cavity and begins to kiss my collarbone with wet kisses.

— You are so sweet, so perfect.

I feel his sex soften little by little, to my delight. He lays his forehead against mine, with shortness of breath.

— You're making me lose my mind.

One day he confessed to me that what happened was that he lost control of himself in front of my beauty. Needless to say I am not complaining about. It is even a relief. It is out of question that I am going to feed his lustful ideas that I do not share.

— Come with me to the room. I want to spend some time with you before I leave. I want to engrave your image in my memory.

He leaves me no choice. Never. He drags me to the bed and takes off my sweater before forcing me to lie down on the mattress that sags under our combined weights. My breath accelerates. I know the rest of the program and I dread it, as always.

— Turn around, my beautiful. I want to leave my mark on your skin so that you will not forget me during my absence.

How could I forget the man who has inflicted on me more internal and external scars than anyone ever could? I obey clenching my teeth, preparing myself for the rest. My tears are already beginning to flow, even before I feel the bite of the blade that slices my skin without hesitation.

— If you just knew how much I love to see your marks of belonging.

He caresses them all with a repulsive satisfaction, slowly counting them one by one. The oldest have now healed, but the lack of care gives them a relief that I feel under his finger as he walks through the wounds like a painter proud of his work.

— 178 days that you have been all mine. Almost half a year. When I come back, we will celebrate our six months of relationship. If you just knew how happy you make me.

He presses me against him, leaning on my most recent wounds, and he spoons me before plunging his nose into my hair. I close my eyes to contain the wave of pain that overwhelms me. Loneliness is an unbearable burden, even more than physical pain. I did not think one day I would feel so lonely in the arms of a man. I never imagined either that a man could hurt me so much one day. I breathe deeply, regulating my air supply and repeating to myself like a litany that soon everything will be over. Soon, I will be free.