by A. P. Marie
“Touch them and I will take you apart bit by bit.” I can barely get out the words around the growl building in my chest.
“I see that they have earned your loyalty. That’s fine. I can break that. In fact, I look forward to it.” As he is speaking, he moves nearer to me and picks up a lock of my hair. “But I warn you. I have waited for you a very long time. My patience runs thin. I cannot earn your loyalty or trust as they have over time. Instead, I demand it and if you cannot give it to me, I will find a way to convince you.” He takes a deep sniff of my hair before he drops it and steps away.
Despite my acceptance of my fate and my desire to show a brave face I start to feel my armor cracking. I can’t stand the idea of Zander or Caiden being hurt. I just can’t.
“Promise me you won’t hurt Zander or Caiden and I will do anything you want.” I’m pleading and that is never a good sign, but I can’t help it. I need their safety.
My captor just smiles at me. “That isn’t how this works, sweetheart. They cannot survive if I have any hope of our mating ceremony working. Their bond to you must be broken.”
He raps on the door with his knuckles and it immediately opens. He steps out of my cell and I hear him speak to someone out of sight.
“Rough her up some. Nothing that won’t heal but enough that she knows who runs the show around here.” His voice is calm and velvety smooth as he orders my torture.
He wants me to crack. He thinks that if he breaks my body, I will give him what he wants. He’s wrong. I can deal with physical pain. It’s Zander and Caiden that were his one true out. I wasn’t kidding when I told him that I would do what he wanted if he left them alone.
Chapter 12
God Complex Cam
I’m getting really sick of waking up after total black outs and having to try and figure out what is going on. At least this time, they dumped my on the bed when they left my room. I’m starting to feel more like the dream. My lip is busted, and I wince as I probe my ribs with my fingertips. I can feel swelling around my eyes, but without the use of a mirror I cannot tell exactly how bad that is.
Physically, I am beginning to feel like I did in the dream, but I am fairing much better emotionally than my dream counterpart had been. No deep loss. No achy insides.
I try to sit up and hiss as my position puts pressure on my sore ribs. This room contains no clock and no window, so I have no idea of the time. I may have been in this room five minutes, five hours, or five days. Okay, so I know I haven’t been here five days. They haven’t fed me, and I definitely wouldn’t be doing this well without food for that long.
These guys have no subtlety to them. They didn’t try and hide their motives from me for even a minute. Every time they hit me, they whispered how worthless I was. Every time they threatened me, they told me how Cam was the only one who could protect me.
It was a very obvious attempt at basic brainwashing. I’m not even sure if it was done well or not. I have no desire to run to Cam (not knowing who he is certainly hinders that anyway) but it’s like they read Brainwashing for Dummies. It seems to me like brainwashing wouldn’t be effective if the victim knew from the beginning what they were doing. But hey, what do I know?
The man who ordered my torture was not a witness to any part of it. In fact, I haven’t seen him again since he left my cell. I assume he must be the ever-merciful Cam they taunted me with. Too bad Mr. Merciful is the one who sent me with them.
I sit in the cold, musty room for what feels like an eternity before anything changes. My knuckles knead my chest between my breasts trying to ease the tightness there, but no luck. Eventually I hear footsteps outside my room and the sound of my door being unlocked from the outside. I stand up to prepare for the return of the brutes that roughed me up earlier, but that’s not who steps into my room.
Instead, I see the elegant dress and handsome face of the man that ordered my inhumane treatment. I sit back onto my bed feigning calmness as he walks in to stand right in front of me. His dreads slide over his shoulder as he brings his hand up to grasp my chin. He uses his hand to lean my face up towards him and he inspects my bruised face.
There is no sympathy in his face. In fact, the look he gives me is very similar to pleasure. It’s almost as if he enjoys seeing me battered and bruised. Sick freak.
“I see you had a successful meeting with my men.” This time the look on his face is clear. Pleasure. Joy. His thumb gently caresses my cheek. “It’s a good look for you.”
“Thanks. I knew something was missing from my skincare routine. Apparently, it just needed to be beat on some.” I roll my eyes and try to jerk my chin out of his grasp, but his fingers tighten, holding me in place.
He smiles at me like I am the funniest human being he has ever met. “I cannot wait until I get the chance to teach you myself. That smart mouth of yours will get you in trouble very soon.”
“Mmm. That sounds fantastic. I cannot wait.” I refrain from rolling my eyes again, but just barely.
“Careful, Emily. You are walking a very fine line here. I am trying hard to resist my impulses but if you keep smarting off to me, I cannot be held responsible for what happens.” Truth. His voice lowers to a near growl and the seriousness of his proclamation oozes from his pores.
Maybe my survival instincts wake up at this moment, but something warns me against continuing to incite this man.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just… confused. I don’t know where I am or why. I don’t know what you want from me. Hell, I don’t even know your name.” I look him in the eyes and try for sincerity. While quietly praying that my hatred isn’t as obvious to him as it is too me.
He softens his grip and brushes his fingers over my recently bruised cheek. “Of course. I am willing to allow you time to adjust to your new situation. I only came in to see if you are hungry. I was about to sit down to eat and thought you might like to join me?” Lie. He either isn’t okay with waiting or he had another motive for coming in here. I decide to test the easier of the two.
“I’m starving.” I smile politely at my captor and as he reaches his hand toward me, I stretch my fingers up to meet his and allow him to help me stand. My skin crawls at the contact, and it makes the knot in my chest tighten up even more.
He turns and walks out the door waiting for me to follow. I quickly try and decide if there is any way I can refuse, but really, I’m too hungry to resist the possibility of food. I follow him out the door and I’m shocked again to find that the design scheme of my cell does not seep into the hallway.
Earlier when the men came to take me to the “white room” I was so scared about what was coming that I didn’t waste much thought on the design. Even scared though, I couldn’t help but be surprised by the hallways outside of my room. Where my room is all cement and metal with all the charm of a cheap motel, the hallway is extraordinarily homey. There is thick beige carpet covering the floors and warm lighting coming from the ceiling. It’s the difference of walking from a jail cell into Martha Stewart’s hallway. The change is unsettling.
I follow the back of my visitor down the hallway in the opposite direction of the white room. After a few steps I get tired of the silence.
“You never did tell me your name.” I’m still speaking to his back and he doesn’t turn around as he answers.
“You may call me Cam, for the time being.” He slows his pace to walk beside me and things start falling into place.
When he said earlier that he wanted me, he really meant it. His cronies tortured me and made sure that I knew the only chance for safety came from Cam. At the time I wasn’t sure who they meant but now it is painfully obvious. Of course, it would be this man.
“That’s a nice name. Is it short for something?” I ask the silly question to try and get more information. I still am not sure what all these people expect from me but right now the only weapon I have is myself. I am determined to hide anything I know or piece together, no matter how small it may seem.
In an attempt to not piss off my psychotic captor I remain quiet and he glances sideways at me.
“I see you are beginning to learn to show proper respect when it is due. That will help make your life easier here.”
He gives me an approving nod and it takes everything I have not to mention how much respect he is really due. We continue walking through the building which looks suspiciously like a home. A well decorated, expensive home. But what kind of home has a jail cell and the “white room” in the basement?
As we have been walking, we have been slowly traveling upwards through the house. Based on the appearance of windows I can guess we have reached the first floor of the building. We come through a doorway and turn an immediate left to go up another flight of stairs. These stairs are larger and grander than any we have passed so far and as I look behind me, I spot what must be the front door facing the stairwell. I’m sure that makes for a fantastic entrance into this house.
I try to secretly scope out the door which is the best chance for escaping I have seen but there are no less than four armed men guarding this door. When I turn back to follow Cam up the stairs, I see that he has stopped walking and is watching me.
“Don’t even think about escaping. I do not suffer from the same inadequacies that affect Zander. There will be no out for you. Ever.” The truth in his words turns my stomach.
I smile as politely as I can manage with my busted lip and bad attitude. I don’t want to risk angering him and having him decide I don’t need to eat after all. When he turns to head back up the stairs I follow quickly. Maybe he’ll let me eat and then send me back to my little room alone. Life is looking pretty grim when you start hoping to be send to your jail cell.
When we reach the top of the stairs, he turns down a long hallway that ends in elaborate double doors. Instead of going through, he turns to a non-descript door on the left side, opens it, and steps into the room.
I follow him, slightly confused about his placement of a kitchen and find myself instantly on edge when he closes the door behind me. We aren’t in a kitchen or dining room at all. Instead we are in a very plain bedroom. The room has one twin size bed and a nightstand. No personal belongings of any kind that I can see. There are also two doors leading off the main bedroom: one is open and clearly belongs to a bathroom and the other is closed but probably opens to a closet.
I turn to look at Cam, confusion clearly written across my face. He smiles at me, bemused, and shrugs unapologetically.
“It’s not what you think. Before we dine you need to freshen up. This room has an attached bathroom that you can use to shower and use the facilities. All necessities are provided in the bathroom.” He gestures with an open hand and I turn incredulously towards the door.
I step in the direction of the bathroom still suspicious of a trap. When Cam makes no move to follow me, I rush the last few steps to the bathroom door and quickly snap it shut behind me.
The bathroom is clean and new but not elaborate or fancy like my bathroom at Zander’s had been. There is a shower/tub combo, toilet, and a single sink. Beside the sink stands a cabinet that upon closer inspection reveals towels, shampoo, conditioner, body wash, loofas, razors; pretty much anything I could need for a shower, like Cam said. I grab what I need from the cabinet and prepare myself for a much-needed shower as I try and calculate how long it has been since I showered last.
My best guess is that I have been here about 3-ish days. I figure about a half day unconscious when I first came, then Cam came and talked to me and sent his guard dogs after me. My excursion into the white room was at least a few hours, then I was unconscious again for a few hours, and this morning I sat alone in my room for quite a while.
All together a shower is sorely needed. I have blood caked into my hair where they hit me when they came to Zander’s. I feel grimy and dirty from having been in that basement room for several days and I haven’t so much as had a chance to wash my hands.
I gingerly strip my clothes trying hard not to agitate any of my many injuries. I turn the nob to hot in the shower, all the while avoiding looking at myself directly in the mirror. The hot water running over my sore, battered body feels amazing. As I wash away the grime and terror from my body, I can feel myself returning to the person I normally am. But it also leaves enough room in my mind to think about other things. Namely, the tightness in my chest. It may have taken me a while to admit it, but now I know that the tightness is directly correlated to Zander’s nearness. When he is close the knot loosens up entirely. When he is gone, it tightens.
This time it is a little different. The knot is so tight it is borderline uncomfortable. One time, when I was with a real shitty foster family, I failed a test at school. My foster parents had been screaming all night before the test and I fell asleep during it. I knew that taking home a failing score was unacceptable for them, and I knew how they reacted to unacceptable behavior. That day, I was so nervous about going home, that I made myself sick. I spent the rest of the school day in the nurse’s office nearly crippled by my anxiety. This feels like that. His distance makes me anxious.
I lay my head against the shower wall and allow the hot water to wash over my head and neck, concentrating on that feeling. It has only been a few days but my experience since I last saw Zander has been so unusual that I am having a hard time reconciling the two events. My short stay with Zander and now my even shorter stay with Cam feel like they exist on different planes. I cannot reconcile that both events have happened in the last few weeks.
My misery is so complete right now, that it makes me question the calm, contentment I felt with Zander. Did it happen at all? Have I put my time at Zander’s on a pedestal only because it is better than where I am now? All I know is that, right now, with Cam is real. If only one of those events was real and happened, it is this one.
So, I cling to the string connecting me to Zander, because it is the only proof, I have that I didn’t imagine the last few weeks. I focus on it and I start to imagine that I can almost feel Zander. I can almost hear him breathing and I can draw from the calming comfort that he always gives me.
I’m so focused on Zander, that I don’t panic when I start feeling like I am moving towards that impression of Zander. I don’t panic when I actually start traveling down that connection and I don’t panic when a small thread breaks off and leads away from my current direction.
The next thing I know, I am standing behind Zander. He is sitting in his office at his house and he is clearly having a rough day. He is running his hands through his hair and his normally immaculate appearance is crumbling apart. His shirt is misbuttoned and untucked from his pants. His jacket has been thrown carelessly across the couch in his office and his tie is nowhere to be seen.
Despite what has been happening to me, I am instantly worried about Zander. I have never seen him look this dejected and I can feel his pain radiating through my own being.
I had wandered before why he could feel what I was feeling but for whatever reason I didn’t seem to be affected in the same way. Now I can see it clearly. I wasn’t aware of his feelings because I wasn’t accepting our link. When I followed the link to him now, it acted as an acceptance and I can feel him in my own chest.
The difference between him and me is obvious. I can feel my heart and his beat separately, and I can easily feel which is which. I can feel his pain, and mine, but there is no question who each pain belongs to.
He has so much pain swimming around in his body that I’m surprised he hasn’t crumbled under the weight of it.
Instinctively, I reach out to comfort him. A second before my hand contacts his shoulder, Zander’s head snaps up. When my skin makes contact the tingles return but it’s an echo of what it feels like when I am actually in his presence. Imme
diately, the tension leaves Zander’s shoulders and his body relaxes. He turns to face me slowly. It’s almost as if he is afraid that looking at me will cause me to disappear. When our eyes meet, I can’t help but break into a grin.
He stands and looks suspiciously like he has seen a ghost. I stretch up on tip toe and wrap my arms around Zander’s neck and bury my face into his chest. This place is safe. Here with Zander.
“I don’t understand. How are you here?” Zander brings his arms up and holds me to his chest. His tone is filled with disbelief and relief.
“I don’t have the slightest idea. I was thinking about you and all of the sudden I was standing behind you.” My answer is muffled by his shirt, but I don’t bother to pull my face away to make it clearer.
“Where are you?” Zander asks briskly trying to get down to business.
“So, I’m not really here?”
Of course, it would be too much to hope that I could just will myself somewhere else, but he feels solid and I can touch him, and it just feels so real.
“No, I don’t think so. Look.” Zander unwraps my hand from around his neck and holds it up for inspection.
A glimmer shines out of my hand, one that has never existed before. It almost looks like I’m a shade or two more transparent than normal and my skin has been doused in shimmery oil. It’s not as obvious as glitter would be, but it seems slightly reflective.
“Oh, that’s weird.” I respond as I turn my hand this way and that to watch it. “Does that mean I have to go back?” Dread settles in my gut.
As soon as the thought appears, I drop my hand and look at Zander. He is inspecting my face closely, leaving me nowhere to hide the fear. His jaw hardens but he nods his head.
“I don’t believe you can stay in this state for long. Already you are fading.”
Sure enough, when I look at my hand it is more transparent than it was even a few moments ago.