Still Beating

Day twenty is upon us and our time is running out.

Earl didn’t feed us or give us water the previous day—all he did was allow us to use the bathroom, brush our teeth, and then I was subjected to a beating with his leather belt, amplifying my already broken body.

It was a punishment for my ‘misbehavior’.

I sucked up giant handfuls of water as I brushed my teeth over the sink, so I won’t be dying from dehydration just yet, but I feel my body getting weaker every minute.

I keep thinking about how the couple before us only made it twenty-two days, and I wonder if that’s the deadly number. Then I force myself to push those unproductive thoughts away because it’s not day twenty-two. It’s day twenty.

We’re okay.

Dean and I are in the middle of discussing a possible escape plan during our bathroom break later, when those boots make their way down the stairs and stomp over to us, each step sending a wave of nausea right through me.

“Is my kitten ready for her doggie’s bone?” Earl snarks, then bursts out into hoarse laughter, entirely amused with his sick, stupid pun. “Hope my pets enjoy it today—might be the last time. My own dogs are hungry for some fresh meat.”

Oh, God.

I hold back my terrified cry.

It’s not over. We’re okay. It’s not over.

Dean approaches me after his restraints are removed, looking weary and haggard and so unlike the man I once knew. I used to loathe that mischievous gleam in his eyes, the one that loved to instigate me and push my buttons—now, I would do anything to get it back.

Something tells me that even if we manage to make it out of here alive, I’ll never see those eyes again.

Earl barks his orders from the other side of the basement, as if we don’t know what to do by now. He waves his shiny gun around, but I don’t hear any of the words coming out of his mouth. Everything sounds muffled and far away, like I’m underwater.

I’m only focused on Dean.

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Dean closes in, reaching for my wrist and beginning his slow, circular motions over my skin. He then presses his opposite hand to my chest and lets his forehead fall against my own. I inhale a sharp gasp, not expecting the gesture. There is something intimate about it—something different. I force my eyes shut because I find myself unable to look at him while we’re in this strangely personal position.

Odd, considering he’s been inside me. It doesn’t get more personal than that.

He pushes his hand against the crown of my breast, but not in a sexual way. He sighs so deep it resonates right through me. “It’s still beating,” he whispers, his words a soft kiss against my lips. “As long as it’s beating, you’re okay.”

With his hand to my heart and his thumb trailing along my pulse point, he leans in. I meet him halfway, eager to feel his warmth, desperate for that human contact—that connection. His tongue invades me, and our kiss feels hungrier than usual. It’s more than routine. It’s more than survival. Maybe he’s craving that connection just as much as I am.

Dean trails his hand down my breast, slowly, splaying his fingers along my abdomen. His touch is gentle and soft against my sore ribs, merely a tickle. A small whimper escapes my throat, and I instinctively raise my leg to wrap it around his waist, our tongues in a frenzy and our lips devouring one another. Dean’s hand leaves me to unbutton his jeans and yank them down his hips, and then I feel him at my core, seeking more of my heat. We’re both warm and breathing and alive, and it’s intoxicating. Life is intoxicating when you’re on the brink of death, day after day.

I inhale a tapered breath when he pushes inside me, my hands gripping the pole. My eyes are still closed as I try to zone out to my usual, happy place—the one that’s far, far away from here.

But I keep being pulled back to Dean.

I’m too aware of him today, too drunk on the feel of another human body filling me up and breathing life into me. His cock thrusts deep as his forehead touches mine again, but I keep my eyes shut, too scared to look at him. Too scared to see if his blue, blue eyes are reflecting everything I’m feeling right now.

His movements are slower than usual. Slow, but steady. Intense.

Usually he’s quick and hurried, eager to get this over with. But not today. Today, it’s different—almost like he’s savoring every inch of me. And I’m not sure why, I’ll never know why, but my body starts to respond. I block everything out, except for Dean, and I feel a pool of heat surge between my thighs… an ancient buzz of pleasure.

Pleasure.

What a thing to feel when you’re chained in a basement with a madman waving a gun at you in one hand and beating off in the other, while your soon-to-be brother-in-law fucks you against a pole.

But I go with it.

I go with it because it’s better than feeling like I’m dying inside.

I think Dean notices, too. He palms my ass with one hand beneath my t-shirt, my unwashed hair falling over our faces like a curtain. I’m dirty and gross, and I probably smell like a sewer, but that doesn’t stop Dean from burying his face into my neck and breathing me in, inhaling my scent like it’s sweet, beautiful oxygen. He picks up speed, and I realize my other leg has wrapped around him, holding myself up and pulling him close as his cock drives in and out of me.

He lifts his head.

I can feel him looking at me. Watching me. Begging me to open my eyes.

I do.

My eyelids flutter open and the air catches in my throat when our gazes meet. He’s staring at me like I’m the only goddamn thing in the world, and I suppose, right now, I am.

A soft moan passes through his lips and I want to know what it tastes like, so I lean forward to capture his mouth in another searing kiss. He kisses me back with everything he has left, every last ounce of life and hope, his tongue tangling desperately with my own.

Then his thumb halts its calming designs along my wrist.

My security blanket is gone. My way out has turned to dust.

And I hardly notice.

I don’t even care because I’m so wrapped up in all of the strange, powerful feelings coursing through me, swallowing me whole.

Dean trails his hand up my arm and cradles my neck, pulling back from my mouth to find my eyes again. He doesn’t want to give me an escape this time. He wants me to be here, in this moment, with him. My breathing is heavy as tiny sounds crawl up my throat with each hard thrust of his cock. I want to reach for him. I want to touch him like he’s touching me. I want to feel his skin beneath my fingertips, assuring me he’s real.

I’m not alone. I’m not alone.

Dean’s hand disappears from my neck and falls between us, and I almost choke on a gasp when I realize what he’s doing. The thumb that has been tracing my wrist, giving me comfort, is now pressed up against my clit, massaging me as our bodies crash together. His eyes don’t leave mine. My eyes don’t leave his. We’re locked together, something silent and unspoken but all-consuming passing between us.

It doesn’t take long before the telltale sparks begin to scatter and climb, an orgasm building. My breath hitches with tiny gasps and whimpers, and my God, the look on Dean’s face when he realizes what’s happening—when he realizes I’m going to come…

Shock. Disbelief.

The space between his eyes creases, his brows furrowing, his pupils dilating. His gaze is wide and full of something I can’t even begin to unravel.

And then I feel myself peaking, bursting, so he kisses me, devouring my moan with his mouth and plunging into me three more times before his own orgasm takes over. He lets out a primal groan, shuddering and digging his fingers into the underside of my thigh as he comes.

And then it’s over.

We both come down, our lips and teeth pressed together, our breathing low and heavy. Dean’s grip on me loosens, and my legs fall from his hips. I’m absolutely terrified to look at him, partially disgusted by what just transpired, but mostly confused. I duck my head the moment our mouths separate, forcing back the hot tears of shame.

What the hell was that?

A slow clap rings out beside us, echoing right through me, and I realize I had forgotten he was even there.

“Well done. My little playthings put on quite the show,” Earl sneers, a gurgling laugh erupting from him.

Dean quickly pulls out of me, and I can see that his chin is to his chest as he steps backwards. He can’t look at me either. He’s shuffling with his pants when Earl lurches forward and pushes him to the opposite corner with the barrel of the gun.

“Intermission time,” Earl says as Dean pulls up his zipper.

“Fuck you… you vile, filthy, inhumane piece of shit.”

A beat.

Oh, no, Dean. What are you doing?

Dean must have a death wish because he continues. “You’re a sick, twisted piece of garbage. You’ll never get away with this because you’ll keep doing it. You’ll keep kidnapping women because there’s not a single fucking reality where you could even pay a woman to touch your tiny, impotent dick. You’re going to get caught, and then you’re going to rot in a prison cell where Carl shoves his enormous cock up your ass every night until you drop dead, you fat, fucking fuck.”

Earl is silent for a moment, his pistol positioned right at Dean’s chest. My heart all but stops as I wait, my insides twisting with dread.

He’s going to kill him.

He’s absolutely going to kill him.

I can’t let that happen.

Before the trigger is pulled, before a shot rings out and Dean drops in front of my eyes, I let out a mighty, shrill scream and shake my chains at the same time. It’s enough to pierce the silence and force Earl’s attention in my direction for the briefest moment.

It’s enough to give Dean a tiny, pivotal window to make his move.

It’s our one and only chance of getting out of here alive, and Dean takes it.

He follows through on his promise.

With a guttural growl, Dean lunges at Earl and knocks him right off his feet. They both tumble backwards onto the hard ground, Dean on top, Earl grabbing for his pistol that slipped from his meaty paw. Dean gets to it first and shoves it away with a quick swipe of his hand, and I watch it slide across the floor and out of Earl’s reach.

“You motherfucker,” Dean spits out, slinking one palm around Earl’s neck as he rises to his knees and straddles our captor, beating him with his opposite fist. Dean pummels him. He’s violent and angry and completely zoned out. “You sick piece of shit. This is for laying your disgusting fucking hands on her.”

Thwap. Thwap. Thwap.

The sound of fist against face is sickening as blood spatters up at Dean and all around us. I’m holding my breath, squeezing the pole with all my might, watching the horrific scene in front of me.

“You bastard. You fucking bastard.” Dean is focused. Determined. He’s using both fists now to wreak havoc on Earl’s face until the monster becomes unrecognizable. “How dare you fucking touch her. I’ll fucking kill you.”

Thwap. Thwap. Thwap.

Blood, flesh, bone. It’s everywhere. Earl’s limbs quiver in shock as he loses the fight and goes limp on the cement.

“You’re dead. You’re fucking dead,” Dean seethes, spitting through his teeth, his punches hard and brutal. He’s an animal—out of control. “I’ll kill you.”

But he already did. It’s done.

It’s over.

I hear skull cracking, and I clench my eyes shut, shouting, “Dean, stop!”

“Fuck you, motherfucker.”

Thwap. Crack. Thwap.

“He’s dead, Dean!” I cry. “He’s dead. He’s dead. Please stop.”

My voice finally infiltrates the vengeance-fueled haze that has consumed him, and Dean stills his fist mid-air, his chest surging with weighty breaths, his body shaking with rage. His eyes widen as he takes in the gory scene in front of him—a horrifying, ugly mess he created with his own, bare hands. A life taken.

End scene.

Dean propels himself backwards when the image sinks in, scooting himself away from the blood-spattered body and pulling himself to faltering feet. “Fuck… oh, Jesus…” He holds his hands out in front of him, staring at the bloodbath, his breathing intensifying and becoming unhinged.

I want to run to him, console him in some way, but I’m still chained to this goddamn pole. I tug at my manacles. “Dean, please get me out of these. I want to go home.”

He snaps his head up, and the look of incredulous horror on his face will be ingrained in my mind forever. Dean looks back down at his hands, then starts scrubbing them against the front of his jeans. “Yeah, okay. Fuck… okay…” He’s out of sorts, pacing around in a circle, tugging at his hair.

“Dean.” His name breaks on my tongue, and I bob my knees up and down, desperate for freedom. “Please.”

He swallows, blinking at me and nodding his head. “I’m sorry… yeah, okay…” Dean jumps into action, putting the grisly truths aside until we are out of here.

He pauses to glance at Earl’s body, and I think he’s going to search him for the key to the handcuffs.

Instead, he runs back to his pole and slides down to his knees, his hands roving over the cement to find the pin of the belt. He locates it, then stumbles over to me with wild eyes and blood-stained skin. “This might take a few minutes.”

I nod, closing my eyes so I don’t have to look at the mangled body lying in front of me. I can feel Dean’s breaths beating against my hair as his hands shake and quiver while they try to unchain me.

It takes a long time. Ten—maybe fifteen minutes. But when the cuffs finally slip loose and clatter against the cement floor, I pull my arms free with a cry of relief. I hear the pin follow with a tiny clank, and Dean’s forehead falls against the pole beside me while he takes a minute to regroup. I turn to him, watching his eyes close as he tries to control his breathing. His sticky hands cling to the pipe—the same piece of metal that has held me captive in this hellhole for almost three weeks.

I reach out my own unsteady hand, placing it against his shoulder, stepping forward until we are almost fully touching. Dean’s jaw clenches and unclenches as he twists his head to the side, still leaning against the pole, finding my face. I rub my hand along his back, much like he had done at the veterinary hospital that dreary afternoon with Blizzard. Our eyes hold as I try to quiet the demons so clearly wreaking havoc on his mind.

And then, in one fell swoop, Dean tugs me towards him as he stands up straight, crushing me to his chest, his arms wrapping around me and holding tight.

My own arms slink around his middle, my face buried against his racing heart. I can smell blood and fear and terror and victory. I feel him trembling in my embrace, his body coming down from the massive adrenaline spike. He hugs me tighter and tighter, and I don’t even care that my ribs are screaming in resistance—he could never hug me tight enough.

Our emotions begin to settle and we slowly pull apart, our eyes lingering for one potent beat before he takes my hand and pulls me to the staircase.

I don’t spare Earl, or whatever’s left of him, a final glance as we race past his body. He’s not worth another second of my life.

We won.

Dean is scrubbing his hands and arms in the kitchen sink with a bristled brush, erasing all remnants of Earl off his skin. He’s relentless and harsh, washing and cleansing until his flesh is pink and raw. I watch the water run red as Dean’s eyes stay laser focused on his task. Even when all of the blood has disappeared down the drain, he keeps scrubbing.

Swish. Swish. Swish.

“Dean,” I say gently, coming up behind him in an attempt to distract him.

He doesn’t hear me.

Swish. Swish. Swish.

“It’s okay, Dean.”

He keeps scrubbing. Dean is trying to cleanse more than just his skin.

Tiny specks of blood begin to form along the surface of his arms, and I finally reach my hand out and place it against his shoulder. “Dean, stop. You’re hurting yourself.”

He pauses his movements, turning around and glancing between me and the blood-tinged bristles. He swallows. “Sorry, I just…” Dean trails off, but he doesn’t need to finish the sentence.

We both know exactly what he’s doing.

I jump in place when police sirens sound in the distance, and I waste no time running to the back door off the kitchen.

“Cora, wait. They’ll come inside to get us,” Dean says, trying to keep me from darting out into the subzero weather in nothing but a blood-stained t-shirt.

But I can’t listen to logic or reason right now. Safety is roughly four-hundred yards away, and I’m desperate, reckless, aching, to have a taste of humanity. I can’t wait.

I’m done waiting.

The door slams against the wall as I whip it open, and the icy air blasts my face. I gasp at the intensity of it, but it doesn’t stop my feet from launching me forward, pulling me closer to freedom. There’s a dirt road behind the house, and I try not to think about the fact that if I’d gone out this door two days earlier, I probably would have made a successful escape. We’d have two extra days with our families in our warm beds, eating real food.

I could have spared Dean from a grisly crime that he will likely carry with him for the rest of his life.

But I try not to think about that. There’s no room for what ifs right now.

As I stumble forward, I clutch my throbbing ribs as they scream at me to go slow. My head is pounding, my body is crumbling, my limbs are numbing from the cold, and I realize I’ve barely made it a few feet. I see the flashing lights ahead, though, and it’s too tempting—too seductive. I need to keep moving.

I press on, holding back my cries of pain as I push forward across the crunchy leaves and frost-tipped grass. It’s then that I feel him behind me, his warmth touching me before his hands ever do.

“I’ve got you.” Dean throws a jacket over my shoulders and picks me up off the ground, one arm around my back and the other tucked under my knees. We pause for a moment, our eyes catching, and I wrap my own arms around his neck, allowing him to carry me the rest of the way.

I lay my head against his shoulder, and I swear I could fall asleep. Even though I’m half-naked with broken bones, caked in blood and dirt and semen, being trekked through an open field in the arms of my sister’s fiancé—I’m at peace. I feel safe. I’m exhausted.

My soul is exhausted.

I listen to Dean’s arduous breaths as he totes me through the property in his strong arms. I concentrate on his heartbeats, quick and steady. I can’t help but wonder what the future holds for us now. It’s impossible to go back to the way we were because we aren’t those people anymore. We’ve been through too much. We’ve seen too much.

I’ve witnessed the deepest, darkest parts of Dean. I’ve seen him cry and kill and come.

He’s been inside me.

When we finally reach the dusty, blocked-off road where police cruisers, ambulances, FBI, media, and firetrucks are all lined up, I burrow my face deeper into the crevice of Dean’s shoulder. After three weeks of surviving the bowels of Hell with this man, I realize I don’t even know how to process life beyond our nightmare.

Dean sets me down, gingerly and careful, and we stand there for a moment facing our new reality together.

A fresh start. A second chance.

Flashing lights, noise, cameras, faces attached to people who will never understand.

I inhale a splintered breath, closing my eyes, feeling overwhelmed and panicked and relieved all at once.

And then his knuckles graze against my own like a soft kiss, a knowing touch, a promise. I feel his fingers interlace with mine. We stand there, hand-in-hand, watching as EMTs and police officers move towards us like a slow-motion movie. I hold onto him. He’s still my lifeline. He’s still all I have.

We’re in this together.