Mentally waking up to the realization that she has to set herself free.
As her hands went to her face she could feel the wetness of the tears that had fallen on her cheeks. When had she started crying? She had no idea why she cried now, this wasn’t the first time he would be disappointed in her behaviour and it wouldn’t be the last no matter how much she wished things were different.
She hated him for the way he would parade her around in front of others like she was a prize, the perfect wife and host with her luscious red hair, big gray eyes and full lips but behind the closed doors he was not the same person he showed to the outside world around them. Once the doors were locked and the shades were drawn in the old Victorian house the smile that radiated from him in company, left his lips swiftly. If she was good she would be allowed to retreat to her room, separate from his and across the long hallway upstairs, behind a locked door. And it wasn’t locked from the inside.
If she was bad…she had two options depending on what she had done and both options were bad. The rack or the pit; she preferred the rack if only because it was in the attic and there was a small window so that she could get some light. He was more hands on with the rack though the alternative of her being in the pit was damp darkness that was cold the sensory deprivation drove her mad. After the first few times she would scream until her lungs hurt, if she kept going he would sedate her…with his fists. He learned quickly that those sedation's left bruises and he didn’t want anyone to see those so instead he would turn the hose on her and fill up the pit until she was straining on the tips of her toes to keep her head above water.
So she played the game. Day in and day out it was always the same.
Leaving was not an option unless it was in a body bag and until she could find a way for it to be him in the bag she would be the good, loving wife. Talk softly and not ask questions and please him no matter what he asked for.
She had forgotten she was on the floor in the bathroom. How long had she been in here? Her realization had kick started her senses bringing them back online. She couldn’t feel anything in her feet, they were completely numb but her ankles were on fire because of how she was sitting on the cold linoleum. Her legs tucked underneath her power blue skirt. She tried to move quickly and that was a mistake as the pins and needles rushed through, spread out like tiny little daggers across her skin and protested the hell out of her using them so she stopped and took a deep breath.
She tried again this time bracing herself on the vanity for support. Once she got to her feet she caught sight of herself in the mirror and took note if her red puffy eyes and immediately started to panic. Visine thought quickly as she tore open the medicine cabinet and found what she needed. Just as she picked up the bottle she heard a firm knock on the door and everything froze. Her breathe her body…everything.
“Carol Anne?” he called. He sounded alright but she could hear the small edge of tension in his voice that he was trying very hard to hold back. Quickly she turned on the tap and dropped 2 drops of Visine in each eye. “I’ll be right out, just washing my hands!” she tried to keep her voice level. He paused and it felt like her heart was going to jackhammer out of her chest as the seconds of silence felt like hours.
“Our guests are waiting…sweetheart.” He replied calmly only under his breath she heard him say fiercely. “Unacceptable.”
Carol Anne Moore knew at that moment that the pit would be waiting for her tonight after their guests left. Its cold stone and darkness will give her no comfort as she spends a sleepless night trying to remember how she got here in the first place…and how she was going to get out.
Smoothing her hair down with her hand and straightening her skirt she pulled herself together and took one last look at the gray eyes staring back at her. She took a deep breath and steeled herself, stood up straight and opened the bathroom door.