VULNERABILITY

Glass

Weston's house was in the middle of nowhere. It took a good fifteen-minute drive to get to town. Every wall in his house was blank besides a picture of his mother, Charlotte, in the living room. The woman who lied to me about her daughter in Haiti. His home was two stories and spacious. Too spacious for just one person. 

Now, two people, my mind said bitterly. 

As I repeat this assessment to myself, I know there is no point. I have been marked. An invisible collar has been strapped around my neck and Weston holds the leash in his scarred hands. Any thought of escape has been sucked from my brain. Instead, everything is blank. Numb.

The morning after he marked me, I wasn't on the living room floor. I was in my bedroom. My clothes were changed and my makeup was wiped off my face. I immediately cried into the pillow. I cried for hours because I knew what it meant. His mark was a tracker. It told him where I was at all times. 

I cried for Daniel. 

I cried for my future photography studio in New York that now I would never have. 

I cried for me. 

I cried for the betrayal of my family. 

When my sobs became sniffles a knock rang throughout the room. 

Weston walked in. I didn't look at him. I physically couldn't look at the monster. The events from the previous nights flashed through my head like a nightmare. 

"You are free to roam the house and go into town. I know your parents want to see you. Maybe you could do that today?" He offers as I stay silent and keep my eyes focused on the light grey wall in front of me. 

He sighs, "I'll be at work for most the day but I got you a car this morning. Gas money is on the table. I'll be home around five."

When I still didn't respond, he growled lowly in frustration and left the room. I heard his truck start and race down the road. He must have fixed the door. 

Despite him giving me freedom, I didn't leave the house that day. Or the day after that. Or the next day after that. 

However, today I went outside and sat on the porch. I twirled the keys in my hand and watched as they glistened in the afternoon sun. The car he got me was too nice. I didn't like it. I tilted my head towards the garage and gazed at the beautiful black metal of my new "car." I refuse to drive it. 

I set the keys next to me softly and watch the trees sway in the light fall breeze. Slightly above the trees, I can see the mountains peek out as if to say Hello, Poppy, everything will be okay. 

Sorry Mr. Mountains, but everything will not be okay. 

Before tears can erupt, I hear the sound of a car. 

A silver Toyota Camry pulls up. The windows are tinted so I can't see who is inside. Either way, I know it's not Weston. When the car door opens, I don't recognize who it is. It's a woman with dark straight hair wearing a navy suit. She looks funny in the middle of nowhere wearing heels and business attire. 

She slides her sunglasses off her face before directing her attention to me. 

"Is Weston home?" She asks in a cool tone. She eyes me up in down in an uninterested manner. 

I stare at her and contemplate even responding to her. When she starts tapping her foot with impatience, I decide to reply to the rude woman. Besides, the faster I reply, the faster she will leave me alone so I can wallow in self-pity.

"No. He's at work. He'll be back around five," I tell her and watch as she rolls her eyes in annoyance. 

"Tell him Cindy dropped by and that the treaty is all drawn up," she demands as she drops a stack of papers next to me onto the porch.