Sleepless: Callum And Harper - Sleepless: Callum and Harper Part 29
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Sleepless: Callum and Harper Part 29

I sunk even further into my seat as the flight attendants drove their beverage cart past us toward the front of the plane.

"Wh-what do you mean?"

John's cheek grazed mine as he whispered in my ear. "What do you think it means, Harper?"

"Tell me what you want," I asked bluntly.

"John," he corrected.

"Tell me what you want...John."

His eyes rolled to the back of his head in sickening satisfaction and he smiled. In a lightning flash movement, he unbuckled my seat belt, then his, before lifting the armrest that separated us. He brought me as close as possible and I was practically on top of his lap.

He spoke into my hair. "Put your hand here," he said, guiding my shivering hand onto his thigh, making him moan softly. The bile that had risen in my throat began to threaten an appearance but I tamped it down. He offered me his neck and I seriously considered biting it hard but thought twice. If it didn't get me the reaction I wanted from the rest of the passengers, I still had a few hours to survive with John and I'm sure that would make them even worse. I hesitantly kissed the bottom of his throat with tight, trembling lips and struggled with the nausea that caused. I retreated slightly. There was a twinkle in John's eye.

He crushed his mouth to mine and I willed myself to kiss back but couldn't. When John's grip on my arms tightened, I knew my chance to 'prove' myself, or whatever the hell he called it, was fading away and fast. Pretend, Harper, I pleaded with myself. Anyone. Pretend it's anyone...but Callum. Whatever you do, don't taint Callum. I wanted him to always be that pure part of me, to remain the only good part of my past and whatever future I had left. I reluctantly moved my hand to John's hip, fingers trembling the entire journey, and reached deeper with my tongue. The kiss became feverish, heavy, and altogether revolting. I fantasized it was the guy across from us to keep the knowledge it was actually John away from my thoughts but that did nothing but make me even more uncomfortable, if that was possible. I decided to act like I was kissing a stranger and that seemed to help, if help is what you'd call that.

John was forgetting where he was. Reaching beneath the hem of my shirt, pressing the warm skin of his hand to the bare skin on my back. Instinctively, I shoved him off me.

"I need to pee," I lied, trying to recover.

His pupils narrowed and grew cold. "Come then," he said, gripping my hand harshly in his.

"I can't go by myself? It's not like I can escape," I argued, like an idiot.

"Right but I can't risk you alerting anyone." He dragged me out of my seat, and shoved me in front of him.

Since we were the last seats on the plane, the walk to the lavatory was but a few feet. He shoved me inside and closed the door behind him.

"Go ahead," he said, crossing his arms at his chest, leaning against the door, as if he was about to enjoy the show. His eyes bore creepily into my skin and I wanted to rub my hands over myself to shed the feeling.

"Turn around," I said.

"No," he said, an evil grin spread flush across his face. "Just a warning, if you don't piss right now, I'll make you pay for interrupting when things were just getting good."

I maneuvered my clothing so that I wasn't exposed as I sat on the toilet. We sat there, John's eyes revealing just what a sick bastard he really was.

"I can't pee with you watching."

"Stage fright? Please, Harper, you probably did plenty of personal things with that bastard around, including taking a piss." He shook his head, his body began to shake. "You're such a slut!" He spit out, trying not to yell. "You shouldn't have any problem peeing in front of me in light of the fact that you and I will be doing a lot worse soon." He leaned toward me closely. "You belong to me now, bitch. You've always belonged to me and I'll drive every single smear of disgraceful stain he placed on your body. My tongue will know your body better than he ever did."

His words shamed me, made me feel dirty and disgusting and violated before he'd even laid a serious finger on me.

"Do it, Harper." Tears were streaming harshly down my face. "Do it, Harper," he gritted out, his face growing red with restraint.

Suddenly, a loud knock came to our door, making me simultaneously terrified and relieved. "Excuse me! Excuse me! I know you're both in there! Out! Right now! We don't tolerate that behavior!" The flight attendant said, all the time rapping loudly at the door.

I stood quickly and rebuttoned my jeans. I stupidly flushed out of habit. John flung the door open and walked out confidently, pretending to zip the fly of his own jeans. The flight attendant stood there, her hands on her hips, her lips pursed in disgust. I followed John out, humiliated, my face red, tears still streaming.

"Take your seats," the woman ordered. As we passed her, she glared at me, shaking her head, a snippy retort on the tip of her tongue but when she saw me crying, her face softened slightly and she bit her insult back, probably confusing my tears with shame. Though I was ashamed, I could give a flying eff what she thought of me. I only wanted her to see the pleading in my eyes but she was too distracted by what she thought we did. I looked across the aisle of the plane as we walked to our seats, everyone stared at us, some looked revolted, others amused.

The other passengers watched us carefully for close to an hour, unknowingly but, more than likely, only temporarily, saving me from whatever torture John had planned after the lavatory incident. Ironically, I actually needed to pee but I wasn't about to tell John that.

I wanted a normal life. And I don't mean normal, like, I wanted a mom and dad where we lived in a two story in the 'burbs with a white picket fence. I'd play hookie from school some random Monday to shoot hoops with the neighbor boy and get grounded for a month.

No, I wanted normal as in there weren't any psychopaths obsessed with me. The kind of normal where I didn't have memories of my foster mom and dad sleeping with each other in a living room I was expected to walk through to get to school on time, or swimming in a sea of wine corks, avoiding another set of foster parents' drunken, abusive rants. Or the kind where I wasn't threatened with rape every day by the kids who loitered on the corner near my school. Or even the kind of normal where I didn't fall in love with a normal family only to realize I loved them way more than they ever loved me.

I wanted Callum. I just wanted Callum and I wanted be married to him, to finish college and build a family where our own kids weren't aware that there were people out there who don't even deserve to breathe the same air as they do. I wanted them oblivious. I wanted them naive and sheltered and totally in love with us as we are with them.

I know a lot of people probably think that my dreams are unrealistic, that the world is too harsh not to prepare children for how awful it really is. You know what I say? Eff that! Why should I let my kids grow up knowing that? They'll find out eventually on their own. Why make them jaded before they've even gotten a chance to live, to figure out what's really important in life. And what's wrong with innocence, anyway? Huh? I don't get it. I grew up with no innocence. None. From day one, I was contaminated with the 'real world' and you know what? It sucked. It royally sucked.

Listen, I'm not an idiot. I know that eventually the world would deal them some awful blow but I wanted my kids to know that they could have what I didn't, that even though fate may deal them an occasional shitty hand, it doesn't make the game not worth playing. It doesn't mean that they can't create their own amazing, incredible life because, by God, your happiness is what you make it and if you want to be happy, damn it, that's your right! And it's not impossible because I had it once...with Callum Tate.

I turned my head toward John and watched him watch me. I decided right then and there, that this guy wasn't going to take anything away from me that I wasn't willing to give and I wasn't in a very charitable mood that day, either. I was gonna' fight this guy with every ounce of fire I had in me.

When the plane landed, every antsy passenger, ready to see their families for the holidays, stood, gathering their bags, purses and carry-ons, poised for the few inches they'd be given every ridiculously precious five seconds as the passengers ahead unloaded.

And we were the last. John stood and yanked me up brutally beside him. If the stupid people around me were paying one iota of attention, they'd see this guy for what he truly was but, instead, they immersed their heads with visions of sugar plums or whatever else people dreamed of on Christmas.

"Come on, dear," John said sarcastically, tugging me callously through the door of the plane. The flight attendants glared at us, the heat of their stare attacking the back of my head.

Just to embarrass me, John threw me just beyond the doors and kissed me brutishly on the mouth, grabbing my butt and pinching hard. I yelled in pain but they interpreted it as the perverted action John wanted them to think it was. He pushed me up the jet way, laughing at his own lewdness. He was being careless, like he wasn't afraid of losing, which scared the hell out of me.

He forced me hard against his chest and breathed in my ear. "Don't even think about running or asking anyone for help because I'll just run myself...straight to Callum and kill him with my own hands way before the cops could possibly save them. Run, Harper, and be prepared to identify a few bodies."

That was exactly what I'd planned on doing the second I saw an airport security guard but when he revealed his plan, it deflated mine. I just couldn't risk Callum. I needed to reach Callum somehow, warn him, then make my move.

"I have amazing plans for us, Harper," he said, wrapping his arms around my shoulders like we were best friends, squeezing lightly. "I've got to get a room first. We'll shower and you'll dress for me like you'd dress for your asshole husband." He paused. "We're going out." He smiled down at me, revealing the devious plans that lay just beneath his seemingly innocent statement.

We took a taxi in utter silence to one of the most broken down motels I'd ever seen. I wondered if it was even open for a moment before noticing a few people milling around a room with the door open. They looked exactly like the kind of people you'd see gathering around a broken motel door. One was most obviously a prostitute, one was possibly a dealer and the others were probably his users.

John walked us through the door to the front office. The walls were grimy, yellow, and black in a few spots. The carpet was close to the same. The lighting was artificial and sucked the life out of the entire room.

"What can I do for you?" The man behind the bullet proof glass asked.

He blended in with the room quite nicely with his dingy yellow sweater full of holes. He missed a few buttons on his once white shirt.

"We'd like a room," John said.

The man eyed me carefully. "How many hours?" He asked, before adding, "You look too expensive for this part of town."

"What?" I asked.

"She's not a prostitute," John said through gritted teeth. "This is my wife." My eyes widened a bit and my heart started racing. I'd rather he thought I was a hooker.

"Whatever," the man said. "A night's stay is thirty-seven."

"I'll pay cash," John said.

The man didn't argue which scared the crap out of me because most overnight establishments required some sort of credit card to secure a room. The fact that he didn't want one was alarming for two reasons. One, the owners and management didn't much care what went on in their rooms which was concerning to say the least and, two, there would be no way to trace us.

The man handed us a key, an actual key, like it was the freaking fifties or something. The key was attached to a hard bit of plastic that had seen better days.

"One-seventeen," the man said and slumped back into a chair, raising a paper to his chest.

We walked towards the room in silence. I looked up to see we were passing the unsavory group I noticed when we arrived.

"Hey, baby, something I can do for you?" The prostitute said when she noticed John, her eyes following the length of his body. Something told me this 'John' would be one she'd service for free the way she drunk him in. Have at it, I thought, but be prepared for a messy death after.

"Not if you paid me a million dollars," John said, laughing.

This offended her. There's something about prostitutes that screams demure, right? Exactly.

"What the hell does that mean?" She screamed, shaking her body and readying to get in his face. Two men I assumed were users or maybe they were just drunk, I couldn't tell, came to stand behind her. I doubt if they were any sort of knight in shining armor. They looked more ready to rob us than anything. Opportunists, really.

John smiled cruelly her direction and she actually shrunk inside herself a little, the fight inside died the moment he revealed his true nature. She'd seen enough of evil to recognize when she saw it right before her. She turned and ran toward the street but the men behind didn't take her flight seriously. They stood ready for a fight.

I found myself wishing they'd engage John, that would free me just enough time to ring Callum and warn him before I could run myself but after properly taking in John's size, they decided against it. The risk seemed to outweigh their reward.

I pleaded with my eyes for help but they didn't take any notice of me whatsoever. John pushed me toward one-seventeen and opened the door. It was disgusting. If there was maid service, this room hadn't seen anything but a sheet change and possibly towels for weeks.

"Get in the shower," he said immediately, making my body tremble.

I grabbed my bag and walked toward the shower. The sink was outside of the room with the shower and toilet, so I placed my bag on the worn laminate there trying to avoid the bed and carpet. John came behind me and pushed me slightly out of the way, rummaging through my bag, pulling out the dress I planned on wearing for Christmas dinner. It was short, came just above mid-thigh, a deep red silk chiffon, with a five inch silk detailing at the hem. The sleeves were long though and billowy and the dress fit snuggly with a choker neckline. It had paisley velvet details throughout the bodice the same color of the chiffon. I was saving it for Callum. It was my Christmas gift for him. Well, the girl inside it was going to be. The girl and the black lace underwear I bought to wear underneath it, that is.

"This will do nicely," John said, infuriating me. He rummaged further and pulled out the underwear I'd been saving. He smiled at me. "And these will as well." He shoved the pile back onto the top of my bag. I showered quickly, laying a folded towel down in the tub itself to avoid disease and fungus. It seemed smart at the time despite the other dangers just outside the door. I was so tense during the shower I had hardly any time to think of an escape plan. When I got out, I wrapped two towels around my body and emerged into the room, praying to God that John was somehow miraculously gone but he wasn't. In fact, he had positioned a chair a few feet away, facing the sinks.

"Dress," he said, casually resting against the back of the chair, twisting a pen in his hands.

"Turn around," I said hopelessly.

"Not a chance," he said, smiling.

I angrily yanked my underwear from the top of my dress and slid them up my legs, desperately trying to keep the towels around my body. John only laughed more.

"I can't wait to see how you attempt the bra," he said.

This was actually a lot simpler. I placed the bra over the towel and fastened it around it, tugging the towel underneath it and rearranging as best I could without exposing myself. I looked up, proud of myself but noticed the anger in John's clenched jaw. He yanked the towels from my body, causing an involuntary shriek from me. I frantically reached for my dress but John stood fully, clasping my wrists in his hands.

"Oh my God, Harper," he breathed, extending my arms out. He took a good, long drinking, look at me. I tried to bring my arms to my chest but he just tightened his grip more. "You are breathtaking. Much more beautiful than the other girls." I assumed he meant the innocent girls he took because of me and I wanted to vomit. My body shook as he trailed his hands up my arms. I brought my hands to my chest but he yanked them away. "Keep them here," he said, bringing them to my side. He ran his rough hands over my shoulders to the back of my neck, trailing his fingers down my spine. He brought the palms of his hands over my sides, then down the flat of my stomach. "So soft," he said quietly, eyeing me with a revolting hunger.

I pushed away from him, making him laugh and brought my dress to cover the front of my body.

"Get dressed," he ordered. "We'll have time for that later."

With trembling hands, I pulled the dress over my head. I just stood there, grateful to be covered, fighting tears that begged to trail down my cheeks.

"Dry your hair. Can't have you getting sick."

Chapter Nineteen.

Please Don't Go Harper Wearing the very outfit I wanted Callum to see me in first, John dragged me out the crap motel door and into the freezing cold.

"Where are we going?" I asked without thinking.

"I didn't tell you you could talk, Harper," he said, suddenly and inexplicably angry slamming me against the door after he shut and locked it, unexpectedly surprising me.

His eyes seethed as he stared into my face. I inhaled sharply as John cupped my right breast and squeezed hard, making me yelp in pain. His eyes softened slightly and he grabbed the back of my neck, bringing me close.

"Why do you make me do these things to you?" He asked grittily.

My mouth gaped slightly and I furrowed my brows slightly. "I haven't made you do anything. As much as I loathe to admit it, you're the one in control. Does it make you feel like a man forcing a woman to do things she doesn't want to only because she can't defend herself?"

This was a mistake. The second it started spilling from my lips, I knew it was a mistake and he showed me why by slapping me harshly across the face. I brought my hand up to ease the sting. Tears burned behind my lids.

"I'm sorry, Harper," he said, removing my hand and rubbing his thumb across the red mark he only just placed on my cheek. I was revolted by him. He caressed the side of my face with a tenderness that made me uneasy. "You told me you would cooperate."

"I-I..." I began to stammer but he cut me off by squeezing my jaw roughly, the direct antithesis to his previous gentleness, giving me emotional whiplash. "A promise is a promise, bitch."

I nodded, convinced I wasn't going to live out the evening.

"I want to show you something first," he said, pinching my upper arm between his meaty hand and squeezing hard, practically dragging me toward a waiting taxi. "Get in," he ordered, shoving me into the backseat.

"Twelve-twenty-seven First," he told the driver, making my throat run instantly dry. Ames' address. John leaned into my ear, his hot breath against my neck. "I think you need a little reminder."

He nestled me closely to his side and I gagged from the proximity. The driver was eyeing us strangely through the rear view. John suddenly leaned forward, banging his hand against the Plexiglas separation.

"Get a good look at my wife, old man?" He bellowed, making the man jump.

The man only steered his eyes toward the road, not looking at us once for the remainder of the trip.

"Get out," John said, when we pulled up to a beautiful old building near the pier. He paid the driver and the man peeled away, desperate to get away from us. Thanks, old man.

Ames' home looked exactly like he had described it in his letters. A five story building of old architecture. It reminded me a lot of our own building back home. Ames' flat was on the second floor, right above a coffee shop. I stupidly wondered if the noise was tolerable during the day but was abruptly brought back to reality when John's body ran flush against my back.

I sprinted for the front door, losing a heel as I threw myself up the steps to the building's main door. The door was locked. I quickly found Ames' buzzer, which wasn't difficult as there were only ten names available, and pressed repeatedly until John caught up with me, slamming me into the door behind me. I hit the corner of my head, the sensitive part right above the hairline, making me feel dizzy.

"You stupid, bitch! Fine! You want to play this game! You got it. You've just made the biggest mistake." He slammed me again, hard, against the door.

"Hello?" Callum answered through the intercom. I sucked in a harsh breath.

I opened my mouth to warn him but John clamped his hand over my mouth. I bit down on his hand but it did no good, he didn't budge, only tightened his grip, painfully straining my jaw. I thrashed around as he waited for Callum to give up. "Hello?" He asked again. "Kids," he muttered before breaking off the connection.

John smiled disturbingly into my face and tightened his grip, making me gulp for air. "You've sealed your deal, princess."

He dragged me down the steps by my throat. I lost my the other heel as each foot bounced against steps on the descend. At the bottom, he dropped my body and punched me in the stomach as hard as possible, sending vomit all over the pavement.

Tears began to flow and I folded myself into a fetal position to avoid anymore blows to my stomach. The pain was excruciating. A volatile mix of nausea and unbelievable agony pricked at my insides. A thick blanket of darkness approached, begging me to follow it. John repeatedly kicked me. I fought with myself against the black but it beckoned me with every blow from John's boot. My hands protected my face from each swing of his foot at my head but my fingers suffered intolerably. I manage to scream out in pain once when he finally fractured two fingers on my right hand.