by Roya Carmen
It is. It’s one of those few movies Michael and I could enjoy together. It dawns on me that I’ve never watched a movie with Flynn. I wonder if he watches movies and if so, what does he like? There’s so much I still don’t know about Flynn.
I shrug, and he takes this as a yes and pops it in the DVD. He sits down on the sofa again. It seems, every time he plops down, he sits closer. I shove myself deeper into the arm of the sofa but there’s nowhere farther to go.
In spite of myself, the occasional smile creeps up on my lips as I watch absentmindedly – it is really a good movie. When we get to my favourite part; the bit where Tom Cruise rips off Renee Zellweger’s dress straps. “Oops…” he says, and then he’s so slow to kiss her, building the anticipation. And the kiss. I love that part. It always turns me on.
But not tonight. I glance over at Michael who shoots me a look.
Oh… come on.
This whole thing is so fucked up… like a really creepy twisted romantic comedy, only not funny at all. Does he really expect me to be all hot and bothered and fall into his arms right now?
He pauses the film and my heart goes into overdrive. He inches closer and I just want to disappear. His eyes are dark as they fix mine. I don’t want to do this. But what will happen if I push him away?
Then he stills, as if he senses my reluctance. He leans back and swallows, pulling his gaze from mine. “I thought we could go cross-country skiing tomorrow,” he says, “and have another romantic dinner. I bought souvlaki and Greek salad and pitas… you won’t even need to cook.”
I say nothing. What does he expect me to say?
“And then I thought you could put on your green dress for me… the one I like,” he goes on.
I feel sick to my stomach. Here it comes. Tomorrow is the night. I knew he would grow impatient. I knew it wouldn’t be long until he’d want me.
I don’t have much time, maybe another twenty-four hours.
Flynn
Jade has been missing for forty-two hours – too long. For the past day, we’ve all been working our asses off, scouring the internet and making phone calls. The whole gang of us have been holed up in different spots of the house, bent over our laptops and phones. So far, nothing. We’re no further ahead than we were when we started. And the police don’t seem to be making any progress either. I’m exhausted and at the end of my rope, but I’ll never give up. Never.
Amber rushes in, breathless. “I-I’ve found the blue cottage.”
With those few words, a heavy weight suddenly lifts off my shoulders – I feel light as a cloud. This is it. I jump into her arms. “I love you, Amber. You’re amazing.”
She can barely catch a breath as she starts, “It belongs to an old high-school friend. I found him when I was digging through the school’s records. I spent hours on Facebook locating classmates, and I finally found it… a photo of a blue cottage.”
I lead her to the kitchen table. “Here, sit down. Breathe. Are you sure it’s the right cottage?”
“Yes,” she goes on. “I had to Google him forever to finally get a phone number. I got an office number and they told me he was in Cuba on vacation. They wouldn’t give me his cell number. I had to beg them to get him to contact me as soon as possible. And he did, right away. When I told him what was happening, he couldn’t believe it and he confirmed that Michael and Jade have stayed at the cottage. And he gave me the address.”
She uncrumbles the piece of paper in her hand. She attempts to flatten it, and lays it on the table. “Here.” She’s been squeezing it so hard, the scribbles on it are barely legible.
“We should call the cops,” Ruby says. “Let them know right now.” She reaches for her phone. I grab it right out of her hand. She stares at me, slack jawed.
“Fuck that,” I scoff.
“You can’t be serious, Flynn.” Amber says, wide eyed. “Please tell me you’re not serious.”
“The cops will take forever, Amber,” I hiss. “You know how they are… all the paperwork. A cop can’t pick his fucking nose without a superior authorizing it. We don’t have that kind of time. He could be hurting her right now.”
She lunges for the piece of paper on the table. I grab it just before she reaches it.
“I should have never told you,” she cries. “I should have gone straight to the cops. Now you’re going to go get yourself killed.”
“I’ll be careful,” I promise. I kiss the top of her head. “I love you, Amber.”
She’s crying when I leave her and it breaks my heart. But I need to do this.
The basement is dark and dingy. We don’t venture in here often but it’s where we keep my dad’s old hunting gear. The door to the gun room is locked but I have the key. The lock is sticky and I jimmy the key. I really can’t deal with a broken lock right now – I need to get into that room. Thankfully, I finally manage to turn the knob.
Just as I’m reaching for a 30-30 tiger striped Winchester, Aiden barges in. “What the fuck are you doing, Flynn?”
“I’m going to get my girl.”
Flynn
“You can’t do this. You’re acting crazy. We should call the cops.”
I grab the ammunition. It’s been forever since I’ve shot this thing but I’m hoping it’s like riding a bike. “I’m going.”
Aiden reaches for the gun rack and grabs another rifle. “Well, I’m sure as hell not letting you go alone.”
I shake my head. “This is my problem, Aiden. I don’t want you involved.”
“You have no choice.”
I’ve known Aiden Rogers for a long time and I know just how pig-headed he is. He’s right – I don’t have a choice. He’ll beat me to the ground before he lets me go off on my own.
We dash back upstairs. Amber is frantic, clinging to the both of us, begging us not to go. “I’m calling the cops,” she threatens. “I’m calling them right now.”
“Go ahead. We’ll be long gone by the time they show their asses here.”
I’m driving as fast as I can without getting too crazy – the last thing I need is to get stopped by a cop. I feel my blood pumping, the adrenaline giving me a rush. I know I’m not thinking straight; all I can see are his filthy hands on her.
“You’re fucking crazy, buddy,” Aiden says.
“I know. I’m crazy about her.”
“I’ve got your back, buddy.”
I glance quickly at my best friend; a guy I’ve known forever. “I know you do.”
Jade
The day starts off just like the day before, with a big healthy breakfast I can’t eat. He lets me read for an hour or two but I can’t focus on a single word – I keep re-reading the same paragraph while simultaneously trying to come up with an escape plan. We have soup for lunch again and we play Scrabble in front of the fire in the afternoon, but I’m useless – I can’t focus long enough to put three letters together. He says I’m not myself.
Of course I’m not myself. I’m held here against my will, wondering if anyone will ever find me, wondering if I’ll be stuck here for the rest of my days, and dreading the moment when he decides to put his hands on me.
He brings the glass of wine to his lips. “You don’t like the souvlaki?” he asks.
“No… I’m just not very hungry.”
It’s been almost forty-eight hours.
He digs into his potatoes. “You should try to eat a little.”
He’s dressed up tonight. He’s wearing slim black pants and my favourite striped dress shirt, open at the collar. His hair is brushed neatly. He managed to grab a shower today but he had his phone with him, and the door was locked.
“I like this wine. What do you think?”
“It’s fine,” I say quietly.
I’m wearing the long silky green dress, the one he requested. It’s paired with a pair of black satin four inch heels. I’m also wearing the ruby necklace and earnings he got me in Italy. My hair is worn long – he brushed it before dinner – he’s always loved brushing my hair. I’m even wearing his
favourite shade of lipstick. I’m perfect for him.
I don’t want to be perfect. I don’t want him to love me.
I play around with my food, imagining the inevitable. I’m trying to stall. I’m all out of ideas. I don’t know what to do. I know he’ll want us to have sex tonight. I recognize all the signs; the darkness in his eyes, the curve of his smile, the soft stolen touches.
He wants me.
Following a very long dinner, I reluctantly clear the table. I’ve stretched the dinner to no end, taking an eternity to eat every single bite, asking for more wine, picking at my pita bread. Now it’s time to clean up the kitchen, and I’m equally sloth-like.
I lean against the sink and clean a few last dishes; a greasy pan and a large pot. He presses the length of his body against my back and wraps an arm around my waist. For a brief moment, I’m taken back to all the times he’s done this – a quick fuck after lunch or dinner, sometimes on the kitchen counter – I used to love those.
I wrap my hand around his arm and gently pull him from me. “I’m not quite done cleaning the kitchen.”
He backs off. “You’re sure you don’t need any help?”
“No… I’m fine.” I sink my hands back into the hot water. I’m trying to keep them from shaking, trying to calm myself, to slow my heartbeat. A light snow is falling out the kitchen window – it would be beautiful if the circumstances were different.
He walks over to the console table and lifts the top on the vintage record player. I watch him as he slides his fingers along the stack of old LPs. Physically, he’s the same man I married; tall, dark and handsome. But he’s different in every other way. He doesn’t have a hold on me anymore. Sure, he keeps me hostage here and completely controls me, but he will never have a hold of my heart ever again. It belongs to someone else now.
Even if I don’t ever see Flynn again, my heart will always be his.
He slides a record out. I can’t quite make out what he’s picked. I don’t care. But I imagine it’s something slow and seductive.
I hang the dish towel on the oven. It feels very strange to be cleaning up the kitchen in an evening gown. What do I do now? Feign malaise? I could pretend to have a belly ache… a headache.
He turns to me as he slides the large record into the player. “Come here, please.”
My feet are hesitant, my body unsure. I want to run. But again, where would I go? I finally trudge to the living area slowly. I stand by the sofa, not knowing what to say or do. I’m frozen.
“Yes… right there. You’re perfect there. Don’t move an inch.”
He drops the needle on the record and the music starts.
Oh fuck…
From the first note, I recognize the song. Chris Isaak’s Wicked Game. We’ve fucked to this song in the back of his car, late at night, in the summer at Sauble Beach. How appropriate – it feels like a wicked game we’re playing, only he holds all the cards.
He sits on the sofa, right in front of me. “Don’t move. Stay there.”
I’m rooted to the floor, wondering what he’s up to.
“I just want to look at you.”
His eyes drink me in, his gaze slowly tracing the curves of my body. I feel naked. I don’t want him to look at me this way. He leans back into the sofa, stretching is long legs. “You’re beautiful.”
The slow sensual music fills the room. It stifles me, steals my breath. I close my eyes. I don’t want to see his eyes on me. Yet, I still feel them.
I feel him stand. I open my eyes to see him closing the distance between us. He takes my hand in his. My hands are clammy but I don’t think he cares. He pulls me to him. “Can I have this dance?” He wraps an arm around my back and presses a hand on my shoulder. We go through the motions and move to the rhythm of the music. My pulse is racing. I feel trapped.
He presses his face against the top of my head. “I’ve missed you so much, Jade.”
Another slow circle.
“Did you miss me, Jade?”
My mouth is dry. I can’t utter a single word.
“Did you miss me, Jade?” he asks again.
“Y-yes,” I finally manage, my voice as meek as a mouse’s.
I feel the weight of him as he leans into me and presses his mouth against the bend of my neck. He bites my flesh gently. I used to love this – I would absolutely melt.
I’m still frozen when he moves down to my shoulder. He licks a slow line from my shoulder along the curve of my neck, a familiar dance of seduction.
I want to pull away but he still holds me in his arms, and still, despite the fact that I’m stronger than I used to be, I feel so small in his arms.
He drops to his knees. He’s at my feet, desperate. “I want you so much,” he says softly.
I press a hand on his shoulder. “We… we can’t, Michael,” I say, my words unsteady. I really don’t want to upset him. “We’re not together anymore.”
A flicker of anger flashes across his dark eyes. He slides a hand up my leg and grabs the flesh hard. “As far as I’m concerned, we still are… together. I’m afraid you have no choice, princess.”
I know I don’t. My eyes well up. I know tears won’t change his mind, but maybe there’s a small humane part of him that will feel guilty. How can he want to make love to me when I clearly don’t want him.
He pulls at the slit of my dress, exposing my leg. He kisses my knee softly and slides his tongue up the inside of my thigh. When he reaches my sex, he pulls at my panties. My legs are shaking, just about to give out.
I go somewhere else. I’m so much stronger now. My mind wanders to all I’ve achieved; riding Liberty, the majestic mare fully under my control, and sending the punching bag flying with a hard hook and a roundhouse kick.
I’m stronger than I’ve ever been.
In a split second, I become that person I’ve been working on for months. I’m not a meek weakling anymore. I’m fucking fierce. In a swift unanticipated moment, I grab his head, and pulling my whole body into it, I swipe my knee as hard as I can right into his face.
He stumbles to the floor – I’ve knocked the shit out of him.
He brings a hand to his nose and slowly raises his face to me. His nose is bloody, and he’s livid.
He’s fucking fuming.
I run for it. I run as fast as I can out the door. In my four inch heels. What have I done? I keep running, my heels digging into the snowy ground.
He catches me in no time.
“You fucking little bitch.” He wraps his large arms around me, crushing me to the ground. His dark eyes are black, flooded with rage. He wraps his large hands around my throat, stealing my breath. I’m done for – he’s going to kill me.
I claw at his arms and kick him wildly, struggling for breath. His grip is relentless, hard and painful. I keep fighting as I feel myself disappear. Panic wraps around my foggy brain as I realize he won’t give me my breath back. All I see are his dark eyes and the hatred in them as he fades slowly, as the world turns slowly to black. An eerie peaceful sensation wraps around me as I let go.
A loud bang pierces the air. His grip loosens and he lets me go. I gasp for breath, coughing violently. My throat burns and my sight is hazy but I see the shadows of two men in my peripheral vision. One is holding a rifle up in the air. The other… he has a rifle too.
My angels.
“Don’t you dare touch her,” one of them barks – I recognize Flynn’s voice instantly. I struggle to pull myself from Michael and off the ground. I want to go to him.
“Back away,” Flynn barks. Michael scuffles away from me, on all fours like a wounded animal.
Flynn sets down his rifle on the ground and rushes to me. He takes me in his arms and I hold him tightly. I never want to let go. I’m in tears, unable to speak, but I think he knows how thankful I am that he’s here, that he’s come for me.
Aiden points his rifle at Michael’s head. “Yep… our guns are bigger than yours, asshole. You’re not getting away this time, you fucker.�
�
Flynn kisses the top of my head. “I’m so glad I got here in time. I don’t know what I would have done if I’d been too late and found you lifeless in the snow.”
I look up at him. “Y-you found me,” I manage to choke out, my voice hoarse. “You came for me.”
He smiles. “I told you I’d go to the ends of the earth to look for you if you ever went missing, remember?”
I squeeze him tighter, my eyes brimming with tears.
“Are you okay?” he asks nervously. “Did he hurt you, Jade?”
I look up at him again and smile. “I’m okay.”
His beautiful face lights me up. “You sure… you’re fine?”
I press my lips to his and kiss him – a sweet chaste kiss. “I’m perfect.”
Eighteen months later…
My legs are tired as we near the large oak tree at the top of the hill. Its leaves are in full bloom, a bright shade of green. “This looks like the perfect spot, don’t you think? Plenty of shade here.”
I pull the picnic basket and the checkered red and white blanket from the stroller basket. I stretch my arms into the cool spring air and lay the blanket down on the grass. They both watch me intently as I pull out the staples from the basket.
Her red curls are wild again. I smile at the thought of Flynn’s widow’s peak and the wave that sweeps across his forehead. I squeeze her cheek. “Look at your crazy curlies… you get those from your daddy, don’t you?”
She lets out a loud squeal and stretches her arms out. She always does that when I say the word ‘daddy’. Little Ken reaches for me too. I stroke his wispy brown hair.
“You little rascals want to get out, don’t you?” I say in a sweet voice reserved just for them. “Just give me a second to lay out our picnic and then you can join me, sweeties.”
I spread out the goodies: egg salad and ham sandwiches cut in triangles, apple slices, chopped up ham and cheese for my little cuties, lemonade, potato chips and chocolate chip cookies for dessert.
Ken giggles when I finally pull him out of the stroller. I set him down while I get Angela. She clings to me like a little monkey. As soon as I turn around, I spot Ken crawling away. At ten months old, these two are very hard to handle when I have them both, but I love it. I sit her on the blanket with their toys and books. She sits up nicely but she also crawls everywhere. These days they’re both obsessed with keychains and keys. I’ve brought new ones out today; Amber’s keys.