POSSESSION

by Jaimie Roberts

  “What other avenues are you looking into?” I ask, briefly looking across at Kyle, who gives me a stern look. The look that tells me not to go there. He always tenses up whenever anyone talks about babies. It pisses me off sometimes.

  Sarah pushes her golden locks from her shoulder and smiles, which seems a little off tonight. It makes me wonder if she’s given up hope. I pray that isn’t the case because they would make a beautiful baby together.

  Sarah is as stunning now as she was when we first met. We’ve known each other since secondary school. Despite us being polar opposites…she has blonde hair, I have dark; she has dark blue eyes, I have light brown; she’s five-four and petite, I’m five-eight with curves…we’ve always gotten along.

  Come to think of it, Kyle and Ethan are opposite, too. Kyle, having thick blond hair, is not much taller than I am, whereas Ethan has short dark hair and towers over me. He’s also more toned than Kyle, working out at the gym down the road from my job. He lives a healthy lifestyle, hoping it would produce a healthy baby. I know he is going to be a fantastic father.

  “We’re thinking of surrogacy.”

  Ethan’s voice halted my thoughts. “Surrogacy? I ask.”

  Ethan smiles brightly, but Sarah’s is still off. “Yes. We realise now that IVF won’t work, so we’ve been talking about a surrogate mother. Someone who could carry our baby.”

  I frown, looking at Sarah. “You mean one who will carry the egg from you?” I look at Ethan. “And the sperm from you?”

  “Not me.” I snap my head to Sarah. “My infertility runs a little more complicated than that. Not only do I have endometriosis, my eggs are of poor quality. The best solution is for another woman to carry Ethan’s baby.”

  Ethan grabs Sarah’s hand and looks at her. “Our baby.”

  The sadness in Sarah’s face makes my heart ache. “It’s no use, though. The chance of us finding someone who is willing to carry our baby is virtually nil.”

  Just then, something comes over me. It’s almost like clarity has formed in my head. It feels as though I know why I have been put on this earth. Like, for the first time in my life, I have a purpose.

  Before thinking about the implications, I blurt out, “I can be your surrogate.”

  Tears fall as my husband’s cruel words whirl around my head. He could have been a little more understanding, even interested as to why I want to do this. Yes, I am curious to know what it feels like to have another life growing inside me—even knowing I won’t be a mother to the baby. I have been friends with Sarah for eighteen years. We grew up together, met our husbands together, laughed together, and cried together. We are almost like sisters. I wouldn’t think twice about doing this for my sister, so Sarah’s definitely no different.

  Despite my husband’s obvious disgust at the thought, I need to go ahead with this. Something inside me still says it’s the right thing to do.

  But I guess convincing Kyle is going to be harder than I imagined.

  Devon Jackson is a smug, arrogant prick. He’s also CEO at Worldwide Airways, and I’m the lucky one who lands a job as his PA—a job I soon learn to regret taking.

  I do absolutely everything for him, from organising his appointments to picking up condoms for him every Friday afternoon.

  Why do I put up with it?

  Because, despite it all, I am obsessed with him and have been since I was fifteen. He treats me like dirt, yet I still come back for more.

  To him, I’m untouchable. And not only to him, but every other man on the planet. The fact he’s my brother’s best friend has seen to that. They’re both possessive jerks.

  And I put up with it…for a while.

  Once I put my foot down, the dynamic changes. And it is at that moment I find out how he really feels.

  In fact, I find out so much more than I bargain for. Not only is Devon host to some serious demons, but he also holds a very big, dark secret. A secret that could destroy our relationship before it gets a chance to begin.

  I stand over my father’s grave, wiping the tears that threaten to fall onto the soil beneath my feet. I’m wearing a black dress, which is cut just above the knee, and on my feet is a pair of brand new, black and red Louboutin high heels. I scream class, but I am also the perfect image of a daughter in deep distress over her father’s untimely death.

  And what an untimely death it was.

  I clutch my chest, heaving sobs of grief as I bend down to lay new flowers at his grave. I have been coming here every single day, bringing new flowers to replace the old ones. I pick up yesterday’s flowers and toss them aside as I trace the line of my father’s name on his headstone.

  Here lies Richard Valentine, loving father to two daughters. Born 26th January 1970, Died 15th July 2016.

  That was three weeks ago. His body was found buried in Virginia Water in Surrey—only nineteen miles or so from where I live. He was buried deep, but a storm sixteen days ago unearthed his decaying body. He had a stab wound in his back which was determined to be the cause of his death. It was murder, of course, and it is only now that the police are investigating.

  At first, they thought he had run away—possibly met a girl, got swept off his feet, and was living by the beach, sipping cocktails with a buxom blonde. My sister kept on the case, though. She tried to tell them that it wasn’t like him to just disappear without at least keeping in touch. I vouched for her to the police, but I also reminded her of that time when he disappeared for a year without a trace and came back just as suddenly as he had left. I knew the real reason why, but I didn’t divulge it to my sister or to the police. That little secret was between Daddy and me alone. The two police officers gave each other that look… The one that says, “Yeah, there’s no foul play here.” They just thought he had found the girl of his dreams and was busy acting the part of the doting boyfriend to his new plaything.

  As I think on this, I stroke his grave tenderly and sweep away the leaves that have fallen from the nearby trees. I need to make sure that it is clean and tidy before kneeling down at his grave and throwing my arms over the gravestone. With my arms shielding me from anyone who may be watching, I take in a long, deep breath. A smirk rises on my face as I utter the words, “You always loved it when I threw my arms around you, didn’t you?” I sigh, scooting up to get closer to his headstone before spitting on his grave.

  “I hope you’re enjoying your time in Hell, Daddy.”

  No amount of physical or emotional scars left behind could ever actually reveal true heartache. The evil from which they were formed cuts so deeply into your bones that it seeps into your bloodstream and pumps through your veins until it’s ringing in your ears. The scars never truly show themselves… Never reveal the brunt of their true force. While they are a symbol of survival, they are also reminders of things we would much rather forget—of pain that cannot be shed.

  I have become an orphan … left to pick up the pieces of a broken heart which can never be fixed. I am incurably and irreparably hopeless.

  Time stood still the day my family was ripped away from me. I lost myself—my very identity. I was chosen to live. I was chosen to carry with me the burden of being the one who survived. I was left with the question which haunts me endlessly:

  Why me?

  Why me?

  Why me?

  And now, I lie in a small room. Four walls are what welcome me day after day. No sharp objects, no ropes… Not a thing I could use if I wanted to end it all. He took me. That’s why I’m here. He will never let me decide my own fate. He will never let me choose my own destiny.

  He will never let me go.

  It was he who chose me. It was he who had been stalking me for the last nine months. And it was he who pulled me from the car on that fateful day—two, maybe three weeks ago. He won’t leave me in peace… He will never leave me in peace.

  He is forever waiting in the wings, watching me. I am his, he tells me. As long as I have breath in my lungs, I will always be his. He rules my head, my body,
and my heart. But the most frightening thought of all is that … pretty soon … he will rule my soul as well.

  With that last thought, I clutch the duvet to my chest.

  I would have expected to be alone with my family gone, but he’s certainly made sure that my situation could have been worse.

  Far worse.

  I get fed three times a day, provided with refreshments on a regular basis, and a little later, I get treated to hearing his voice over a speaker in the corner of my room. He talks to me. He wants me to tell him about my life, my fears, my longings, and my dreams.

  He has not once entered my room, but now, I long for it. I long for the contact so much that my insides burn. I am relieved to hear his voice, but now his voice alone is not enough.

  I want more.

  I need to see him. Need to be with him… I need to touch him. I crave the contact. To feel skin on skin.

  He has started to invade my dreams so much that I cry out during the night. He knows they’re about him; he tells me so. I talk in my sleep, apparently, and he likes that. He also tells me that he likes the sound of my voice. For some reason, that makes me smile. I have no idea why.

  He abducted me and is holding me prisoner against my will. I didn’t ask for this. He forced me. So, why do I long for him the way that I do? Why do I seek out his company? It wouldn’t make any sense to a normal person… I guess that means I’m not normal.

  Despite it all, I still feel that frisson of excitement every time I hear his voice. I still smile the minute I hear the thumping of the speaker. And my heart still beats a million miles an hour every time I hear the sound of his velvety voice.

  Six days ago, I began asking him to come visit me, and I’ve repeated my request every day thereafter. All I hear from him is the same response: “It isn’t time yet.”

  “Why isn’t it time yet?” I would ask.

  “For now, I can’t say. I just need you to trust me… To realize that this is for your own good.”

  His response both frustrates and angers me. It’s been that way for days, but today things suddenly changed. I have become desperate for his contact, so I altered my request.

  “I want you to come to my room… I need you to come to my room… I’m desperate for you to touch me… To hold me like you did that night in the little house… Please make it happen, J. Please?” All has been silent from that moment on. I have been sitting here, feeling my heart beating erratically for the last hour—ever since I pleaded with him.

  My heart aches.

  My body quivers.

  My mind races.

  My pulse speeds up more when I hear a noise coming from my door. Maybe he is just coming to feed me, but I know from the patterns to which I’ve grown accustomed that it’s too early for that. He has taken my watch from me, so I have no concept of actual time, but I have gotten used to relying upon my internal clock. And my clock is telling me that it is too early to be fed, so what could it be?

  I gasp when I hear the tapping. That sound—the sound of footsteps—taunts me.

  I clutch the sheets even more tightly to me once I realize the noise is getting louder. There is nothing I can do but sit and wait to see what will happen next.

  Silence falls, and I watch the door like a hawk. I stare at the handle, which, for now, remains still. I swear that it, too, is taunting me. I swear it knows of my trepidation and is deliberately staying still just to tease me.

  I hold my breath—biding my time—as I sit here, rigidly clutching the bedclothes. It feels like hours, but it’s only been mere seconds since the total silence began.

  And then, it’s happening. I gasp again, clutching the sheets more tightly still as the handle on the door moves down, and the door pushes forward. For a fraction of a second, nothing happens. Total silence fills the room again as the creaking door comes to a stop. My heart starts hammering in my chest, and my body trembles as anxiety ripples through my insides and prickles my skin.

  Nothing is there apart from the door—which is now ajar—and the slight shadow of his body as the light shines on the bedroom wall.

  I remain seated, waiting in earnest to see what will happen next. Involuntarily, a sharp intake of breath floods my lungs and pains my chest when I see the shadow of one foot moving forward … then two. My eyes widen as I tighten my grip with both hands this time. My breath escapes in little wisps as the shadow increases its density. I gasp as I see a foot … followed by a hand.

  And then…

  He emerges.

  Take a Breath, and Take it Deep – Both have been pulled from Amazon for rewriting and editing. Release dates for both to come.

  Until I Met You – Released 1st June 2014

  DEVIANT – Released 31st October 2014

  Redemption – Released 3rd April 2015

  CHAINED – Released 17th July 2015

  A Step Too Close – Released 17th September in 2015

  Luca (You Will Be Mine) – Released 15th January 2016

  Luca (Because You’re Mine) – Released 26th February 2016

  Scars – Released 23rd June 2016

  Siren – Released 6th September 2016

  Possession – Released 10th March 2017

  A Surrogate Love Affair – Release date in April 2017

  Tailspin – Release date to come

  Tethered – Release date to come

  Her Guardian Trilogy – Release date to come

  Jaimie Roberts was born in London, but moved to Gibraltar in 2001. She is married with two sons, and in her spare time, she writes.

  In June 2013, Jaimie published her first book, Take a Breath, with the second released in November 2013. With the reviews, Jaimie took time out to read and learn how to become a better writer. She gets tremendous enjoyment out of writing, and even more so from the feedback she receives.

  If you would like to send Jaimie a message, please do so by visiting her Facebook page:

  https://www.facebook.com/AuthorJaimieRoberts.