I’m about to tell him that I’ve gone fifteen years thinking I wasn’t good enough for him—for his friendship. For his respect. For his decency. But I don’t get the words out in time because Earl’s boots are making their way down the creaky basement steps, and I’m about to get raped for the seventh time in a row. Dean and I turn to the sadistic fucker who is advancing on us with a devilish leer.

“I have some new tricks up my sleeve for my pets today,” Earl tells us, slapping his hands together and rubbing his palms.

Oh, God. What could he possibly have in store for us? Torture? Sodomy?

I feel queasy.

I expect him to saunter over to me like he usually does every morning before work, but instead, he approaches Dean. I stand to my feet, anxiety bubbling in my belly.

Earl snarls at Dean, “Are you ready to have some fun, my dirty dog?”

I start rattling my chains around, sickened by the very thought. “No! Leave him alone.”

Dean remains sitting with a straight face. “Go fuck yourself.”

“Oh, it’s not what you’re thinking.” Earl throws his hands up, shaking his round head back and forth with a broken laugh. Then he pulls out his pistol and places the barrel at Dean’s forehead. “I’m no homo. Now, stand, pet.”

Dean rises. We share a perplexed look, both confused. Both frazzled.

“I’m going to unchain you now,” Earl says to Dean, his gun still pressed hard against Dean’s head. “One wrong move and I’ll blow you to pieces. I’ll find a new doggie for my kitten. Ya hear me?”

Dean nods.

“Good.” Earl pulls a key out of his pocket and uncuffs Dean. I watch as the shackles fall to the floor and Dean rubs his swollen wrists as he awaits more orders.

Earl is quiet for a few moments, taking three steps back so Dean can’t make any sudden moves. There is a giddy smile pulling at his fat, red cheeks, and the look on his face makes my anxiety swell and churn. Whatever he has planned cannot be good.

With one satisfied, drawn-out breath, Earl voices his intentions: “Fuck her.”

The air leaves my lungs.

The room starts to spin.

I look over at Dean, who is shaken and visibly paling before my eyes.

“What?” Dean questions, his voice hardly more than a taut whisper.

Earl chuckles, his beady eyes filled with wickedness. “Did I stutter?” He points the gun at me, then aims it back to Dean. “Fuck. Her.”

Dean is shaking his head in disbelief—in abject horror. “No.”

“No?” Earl repeats.

“No.”

“Then you die. Three, two, on—”

“No!” I shriek. “No, no, please. Just do it, Dean.” My chest is heaving, weighed down by impossibility.

This can’t be happening. This can’t fucking be happening.

Dean’s eyes are wide and conflicted as he looks over to me, his brows pulled together, the veins in his temples ticking with quiet fury. “I won’t do that to you. I’d rather die,” he says to me. And he means it. I swear to God he means it.