Chapter Thirty-Five

I don't cry over Ellie anymore. I don't allow myself. It's been three days since he's died. I know there is no room for self-pity here, there is no room for tears.

I'm sitting on the bed, running a hand through my now dried-out hair. Marley wasn't joking when he said he was going to dye my hair blonde, but it was poorly done. He had come in the room, sometime yesterday, and handed me a box of dye, and some bleach. It was like a nightmare, as though my whole situation isn't one, he pulled me down a different hall of the house, one I've not been down before. There's another bedroom, and a bathroom. I'm shoved into the bathroom like a doll, and throughout my whole time here, I've never been put on edge so much so, as being alone with him, in a tiny farmhouse bathroom.

It was so cramped as he made me kneel down in the bathtub and begins to cut my hair with an old pair of scissors. I sit frightfully still as the scissor's blades are millimeters from my neck. When my hair was the length he preferred, he began to mix the bleach, and I'm terrified at how casual he's acting.

Like he knows exactly what he's doing.

Like he's done this before.

The hair bleach burns my scalp, but I say not a word. He's humming to himself a tune that I faintly recognize, but don't care to think about. I'm sitting on my knees on the bathtub floor for almost an hour before he tells me to stand up, and wash the bleach out. My knees feel bruised at this point when he tells me to take my clothes off.

"Excuse me?" I can't stop myself from asking, and he says it again.

"Take your clothes off, so I can turn the water on."

I don't know what to do. If I say no will he hurt me? And if I comply, will he try to touch me?

I'd rather him just hurt me.

I try to lower myself to his mindset. What can I say that would convince him I'd rather him not stare at my naked body?

I decide to risk it, and say, "I'd like to wash my hair alone." I urge my voice not to quiver, "It's only natural that a gentleman would leave a woman to fix herself in private." My stomach twists as I continue, "I don't think you'd want to see me naked for the first time," I point to my hair, and I know I'm talking too quickly, but I can't help it, "in this type of way." I want to die.

It's the most I've said to him since Ellie died. I think he's just as surprised as I am, but nonetheless, it miraculously works. "You've got five minutes, I'm leaving the door open, don't try anything."

"Of course." I try to lighten my voice, maybe acting like a delicate vintage movie star is exactly how I'll get out of here alive.

He left the bathroom, but I could hear him right outside the hall. I quickly undress myself, turn the water on, wash the dye out, and put my clothes back on without bothering to dry myself. My hair is still dripping wet when I tell him I've finished.

Afterwards, he hands me a towel, and brings me back to the bedroom, where I'm locked inside.

Now, I'm sitting here, recalling yesterdays events with a scowl on my face. I dodged a bullet then, but what if he wants to try something else later?

I don't have much time; I need to start hatching a plan to get out of here soon.

I glance around the room. This morning he had brought a large box of vintage dresses, all of them dating back to the 30's and 40's. He told me to put one on and give him my old clothes.

So now, I'm wearing an old brown dress full of holes from being stored away for years, and my hair is dry, a hideous orange-yellow color, and falling out.

I don't think I look like the pretty Hollywood star that he was hoping I would.

I lay down on the bed, I feel lost for a moment, until I remember the large mining nail that I had hidden underneath the mattress. At the thought of it, I'm comforted only slightly, but it is still enough to drift me off to sleep.

I am awoken by a pounding on the door.

I sit up, my exhaustion immediately replaced by a frantic pulse of fear. I'm staring at the door warily, all while I debate whether I should grab the mining nail. It is my only chance of escaping, it is my only weapon, should I risk letting him see that I have it now?

It's too late, before I can comprehend what I should do, the door swings open, and Marley staggers in. He's drunk, I can tell that immediately by the smell, and the way he moves.

And as he trudges towards me, I know that I should have grabbed the nail.

I can feel my heart pounding heavily against my chest, as he's now inches away from me. He smells thickly of alcohol, it's suffocating. "You're beautiful." He tells me, and reaches out to wrap his finger around a strand of my hair. I wince.

For a long moment he just stands over me, I'm still sitting on the bed looking up at him, praying that he'd remember himself and leave.

But he does the opposite. He raises a knee up on the bed like he's about to climb on top of me and I panic. I try to pull myself back, but his hand is now on my knee slowly rising, rising, rising, and I can't breathe.

I grab a fist-full of his shirt, trying to keep him from moving any closer to me, "M-Marley what are you doing? This isn't what a gentleman would do-"

"Shh," He cuts me off, "Be quiet baby, don't speak." His voice is slurred and quiet, like he's focusing, but not entirely there all together.

"Marley." I beg as his hand slips underneath my dress, I don't know what to do. I struggle away from him, but he's moved himself on top of me, and I try not to cry, but it's so hard to focus on anything but my fear.

His hand suddenly moves in between my legs, and my instincts kick in. With strength that I didn't even know I had, I managed to grab his shoulders, and shove him off of me, onto the floor. He falls back, and I run out of the bedroom. I make it to the front door and attempt to open it but it doesn't budge, it's locked and I don't have the key. I pound on the door, I'm screaming now, begging for anyone to hear me and help, but of course there is no one. We are miles and miles away from civilization. There is nobody out there who can hear me, there is nobody out there who will help me.

I am completely alone.

A voice in my head tells me that I'm going to die here. The windows are all boarded up, there is no way out.

A hand grabs a fistful of my hair, and without warning, my head is slammed against the door. I fall to my knees, the room spins around me, and Marley attempts to pull me to my feet by my hair alone, but it only makes me cry out in immense pain.

"Stupid bitch." He spits at me, gripping my arm with his dirty fingernails, he pulls me to the bedroom. I refuse to walk alongside him, I'm screaming at him, and he is dragging me on the floor. I try to hit his hand, to pry my arm out of his grasp but there is no point. He throws me into the bedroom, and slams the door shut, locking me inside.

It takes me a minute to gather myself, tears streaming down my cheeks, as the room slowly stops spinning, leaving me to suffer with a pounding headache, and a racing heart.

I pull myself up onto the bed with all my strength, and curl up into a tight, guarded ball. For the rest of the night, I stare at the wall, too scared to sleep.