Love in Dreams: Rescue

~~~

Cass Danby couldn’t manage a long, slow breath until she was
forty-five miles outside Minneapolis. She was headed north. Fast. The thin black
lines of patched asphalt pounded against her tires as she pushed beyond her
normal eight miles an hour over the speed limit.
Thump thump thump.
The
vibrations rumbled through her 1999 Saturn sedan’s suspension and straight into
her bones.

She checked the rearview mirror almost as often as she
scanned the road ahead. It was 6 a.m. Headlights from oncoming commuter traffic
blinded her. Every shadowy reflection in the mirror looked like it could be the
front grill of a brand new Ford F-150. Dark burgundy with yellow pinstripes.
Tan leather interior.

His
truck.

When Cass wasn’t careful, each car on the road morphed into
the Ford, and every driver transformed into the six-foot-four frame of Preston
Connors, her now very much ex-boyfriend. And she halfway thought he might have
the power to send his snarling visage into every vehicle she might pass. There
was something about the depth of Preston’s anger that made Cass believe he
could, and would, do just about anything.

Two bright headlights grew in the rearview mirror and the
trailing car surged into the passing lane. Cass held her breath as the stranger
drew even. She was still afraid to look over, even for a second. She gripped
the steering wheel, bracing for a menacing swerve or blaring horn from an enraged
Preston.

But only a blue sedan eased past. An elderly couple, the
woman asleep against the passenger side window and the man tapping his index
finger on the steering wheel. Probably two grandparents headed back up north
after a trip to see the grandkids in the Twin Cities. A weekend of museum
visits, ice cream shops, and strolls around the lake.

Cass sighed. As the late September sun made the horizon glow
to her right, she felt her body relax. She inhaled deeply, held still for a
moment, and then let the air out with a long, steady rush.

A smile crossed her face. It was tiny, but it was a start.
She’d made her escape. With at least two or three more hours before Preston returned from his night shift job as a security officer at the 3M plant, she’d have
a huge jump on him if he decided to give chase.

Cass knew it was more
when
than
if,
but she
held fast to the hope that Preston would come to his senses and leave her
alone.

Still, she’d checked her car as best she could for any
tracking devices. She even caked herself in makeup and ventured out to ask a
mechanic to look for “anything weird that shouldn’t be there,” not willing to
explain completely what she meant. She’d buried her phone deep in the fourth
drawer of the old dresser Preston let her use, and snapped the SIM card in two
before flushing it down the toilet. Once she got to the cabin she’d figure out
how she wanted to connect with the world. It wasn’t as if there was anyone
who’d notice her absence, anyway. Not anytime soon. After Grandma Florence passed,
there was nobody.

Cass had never mentioned her grandmother’s cabin to Preston, or that it had been passed on to her in the will. Three years together and somehow
it hadn’t come up, even though everyone around Minneapolis and St. Paul seemed
to head four hours north to a lakefront retreat at least two or three times a
summer.

Cass knew now her reluctance had been a sign – a telltale
secret revealing her uneasiness around him from the start. She shook her head.
That familiar and cold pit in her stomach re-formed and began to gnaw at her
resolve.

This was it. Preston was gone. Her life was gone. Their
friends, their routines, their house...she’d left it all behind. Thirty-three
years old and starting over. How tempting it seemed to spin the car around and head
back.

“Just kidding, Preston,” she whispered, imagining meeting
him in the kitchen. “Surprise! Want some breakfast?”

Cass started to tear up. Another fucking restart to her
life. When she’d hit thirty and found Preston, she thought everything was aligning
like the storybooks used to promise. Handsome boyfriend who hinted at marriage,
steady job, good home, kind friends she didn’t know well, but who welcomed her
into their lives. When Preston started to show his true colors, Cass swept her
reservations under the rug. After all, isn’t that what you did when you settled
down? You
settled.
For better or for worse. It was a matter of learning
his quirks and habits and adjusting, and making sure she never made the same
mistake twice.

She even learned to enjoy Preston’s manner in the bedroom.
He was much larger than her and very physical; he’d lose himself to an
in-between space sometimes, holding Cass down and taking her with a force that
occasionally left her bruised. It was like she – the real Cass Danby – wasn’t
even there. His voice changed, deeper and more menacing. His brown eyes grew
dark, and his jaw tensed. He asked her to do things that no man had requested
before, showing her porn clips on his laptop, and she suspected he was seeing
those other women’s bodies when he closed his eyes and grabbed her hair in his
fist.

Cass had been seduced by the powerful mix of pleasure and
pain, as well as something deeper: She finally felt needed. Wanted. She knew
she didn’t look like the women in those movies, but Preston’s hungry gaze made
her feel like she might come close. Her full breasts seemed fuller, her auburn
hair a shade more brilliant, her light brown eyes more sultry.

 So what if Preston cast her aside after he’d finished,
often spilling his seed on her face and chest? So what if he snapped photos of
her and laughed so cruelly that she spent long minutes in the bathroom
recovering? Quite often, it felt as thrilling as it was scary.

That’s what Preston always said, “God, wasn’t it thrilling?”

When Cass submitted like that she felt naughty and wanted
and yes,
used
. Was it simply a piece of the puzzle that formed a giant
neon sign flashing S-E-T-T-L-I-N-G?

If this is what it takes to satisfy my man,
Cass told
herself many times,
then I’ll arch my back like he says and...

Cass’s cheeks flushed and her chest grew warm. She was
instantly ashamed. She could never figure out why she craved what she knew was
harmful. She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and flinched. Her cheek
was still bruised.

It was a sharp reminder.

Three nights ago, Preston had cornered Cass in the den and
demanded her attention. He placed her hand on his crotch. She could feel his
firm intent through the warm denim. Cass had been sick all day and felt like a
huge, bloated lump.

“Not tonight, honey,” she’d said, nearly pleading. “I don’t
feel well.”

Preston’s face was a deep red, and he was more agitated than
Cass had ever seen him before. He’d been out four-wheeling with his work
friends, an activity that always involved several cases of beer and, from the
stories Preston told, plenty of discussion of how the single guys in the group
fared during their weekend conquests downtown. Preston frequently came home
from those outings and pulled Cass straight to the bedroom for a blindingly
fast release.

“You don’t get it, do you, Cass?” he said with menace. “What
good are you if you won’t suck my dick? I know you like it. I know you want it,
you little whore.” He unzipped his pants and Cass caught a glimpse of his
half-hard member. He loved to make her look at him, and comment on his size and
girth, and tell him over and over how much she wanted it. She knew that’s what
was coming.

All of it. Take it. Take it all, Cass. Tell me how much
you want it, you little cock slut.

“I’m not in the mood,” Cass said, shaking her head and
trying to get past Preston and into the center of the room. “You know I’ve been
sick. You can’t always...expect this, can you? Jesus, Preston!”

Preston pressed close to Cass, wedging her into a corner and
knocking over a lamp in the process. He ground himself against her stomach.

“Expect what?” he whispered savagely. “Expect...what?! You
should be begging for it. Don’t play coy with me.”

Preston laughed and grabbed at Cass’s hips.

“I’m not your fucking whore!” Cass shouted, slapping his
hands away. The words surprised her – the rage behind them, the volume of her
usually soft voice. A new force welled up inside and wouldn’t be contained.
“Leave me the fuck alone! I’ll fucking walk right out of here!”

Preston snapped. He grabbed Cass by the shoulders and shoved
her hard into the wall. He held her there with one hand while he pawed at her
chest, trying to tear her shirt and bra in one vicious swipe. His nails raked
over her nipples like razors.

“Ow! Preston! Stop!”

“Shut the fuck up,” he yelled. Without any warning he
whipped his right hand up and smacked Cass hard across the cheek. Her head
snapped back and she saw bright white stars exploding in a sea of red.

Preston wouldn’t let her go. He seethed with rage. He raised
his hand again.

“You. Do. What. I. Fucking. Say.”

Each word was punctuated by another hard smack that knocked
Cass’s head against the wall. After every blow he slammed her in to the corner,
grabbed her by her jaw and wrenched her face forward. Then he smacked her
again. Cass was stunned. Senseless. She couldn’t move. She saw the attack as if
she was across the room. She watched Preston looming as she cowered in the
corner. She heard each harsh collision of hand against flesh and each awful
whimper as she tried to scream and couldn’t. Cass felt a panicky warm urgency
in her abdomen and kicked her legs and squeezed hard, trying not to lose
complete control of her body. It seemed like the beating wouldn’t end. She
tasted salty tears, a trickle of blood from a swollen lip, and inhaled the
harsh scent of smoke and beer and sweat from Preston’s raging form.

After a dozen strokes, with Cass pinned helpless and limp
against the wall, Preston stopped. He panted from the effort.

Cass shrunk down and tried to curl into a ball. Her face
burned and already felt swollen and raw, as if she’d scraped it on asphalt. She
fought vainly to hold in her sobs. She didn’t want Preston to see or hear her
cry. He stood stock still in front of her, his penis now soft and limp at the opening
of his jeans. He shook his hand once or twice, then nudged Cass with his muddy
boot.

“Now look what you’ve done,” he said, breathing hard.
“Threatening me? You think you could do better than this?” His words were
softer. He sounded confused. He stalked around the room, muttering, “No way. No
fucking way. You better get your head right, bitch.”

He bent down near Cass, grabbed her chin in the grip of one
cruel hand, and whispered savagely, “You ever try to leave and I’ll fucking
kill you.” Then he walked quickly out of the den.

The words, so quiet and deadly serious, paralyzed Cass. She
huddled in the corner for a long time. She jumped every time Preston slammed a
door. Finally, he stomped upstairs and cranked the stereo in the bedroom to
full volume. She heard shouts and crashing furniture, and much later, an uneasy
silence settled over the house.

Cass found her phone and locked herself in the downstairs
bathroom, unsure of who to call. Lynn? Jamie? They were both Preston’s old
friends. What would they say? Philip, her boss? He barely gave her the time of
day...on a
good
day. The police? Then the neighbors would know, the
whole goddamned world would know. And it wasn’t like they’d keep Preston for
long...if they even got that far. He was so goddamned charismatic when he
needed to be. He’d have the cops laughing and thinking it was all a big
misunderstanding.

Hell, Preston had joked enough about holding Cass captive –
“Oh, I’ll never let
this one
get away,” he’d say at parties, “not even
if she fought back!” – that she was one hundred percent certain nobody would
believe her, even half of her face was crimson and swollen.

“Preston’s such a joker,” they’d say. “He didn’t mean
anything by it.”

She fought with herself the entire night, crammed between the
toilet and the bathtub. Stay or go?
Was
it a misunderstanding? Was it
all her fault? Should she have simply satisfied Preston’s primal urge and
watched him fall asleep on the couch? She’d certainly done it before. It had
been a small price to pay for the quieter, gentler times – those times when
Preston seemed as loving in private as he pretended to be in public.

The tiny voice in the back of her head grew louder, almost
to the point of shouting.

You don’t have to do it, Cass. You deserve better than this.
It won’t stop. It will never stop.