by Rina Kent
“No cold soup today?” I motion at both his hands in his pockets.
“You won’t need it anymore.” His voice is toneless, expression vacant.
A ball the size of my fist forms at the back of my throat. No matter how much I swallow, it won’t go away.
Oh. God.
It’s time. He’s going to kill me.
It was weird that he kept me around without hurting me— not physically at least.
How stupid was I not to notice? No, not stupid. I was in denial, hoping that he changed his mind about killing me.
How foolish.
“Why didn’t you do this from the beginning?” I shout. Tears spring to my eyes as I jump to my feet and shove at his chest with shaky hands. He doesn’t even sway. “Did you give me hope on purpose? Do you get off on those things, you sick bastard?”
“This isn’t the time for your tantrums, mouse.” His hand wraps around both my wrists in a firm grip and yanks them down. “We need to go.”
“No.” I cower away from him. “I’m not walking to my death with my own feet.”
“You’re being absurd.” His expression morphs into irritation as he beckons. “Come. Here.”
I frantically shake my head and step back to put the bed between us.
I won’t die without a fight.
With a swift movement, I pick the empty tray by the foot of the bed and position it in front of my chest. Adrenaline flows through my muscles, tightening them. I plant my feet in a wide stance and hold his merciless gaze with my own.
Bring it, psycho.
Aaron approaches me with adamant steps. I almost flinch at the lethal look in his eyes. Almost. Instead, I purse my lips and hold my chin high.
When he’s at arm’s reach, I pull the tray up and bring it down on his chest. Aaron is faster. He grabs and twists my wrist with bruising force. My fingers unclench and the tray clatters to the ground.
“No!” I struggle against him, kicking at his chest and legs. “Let me go!”
Aaron’s arms wrap around me from behind. The brute force subdues all my struggles.
I can’t win against him. Not physically.
A tear rolls down my cheek. “Please...” I whisper, adrenaline leaves place to tremors.
“Stop it.” Hot breaths caress my neck as his low merciless voice penetrates my ear. “I will not kill you.”
His words reverberate in the space before they strike me. I swallow. “Y-you’re not?”
“I am not.”
Chancing a glance at him, I study his face for any signs of truth. Nothing. Only that expressionless façade. “T-then where are you taking me?”
“A change of location.” He releases me with a gentle push. I stagger at the lack of the strong hold. “Follow me.”
My feet are too numb to move. “To where?”
He pivots around, a fog of annoyance clouding the twitch in his left eye. “Shut the fuck up, Mae. One more word and I will drag you out by the hair.”
I bite my lower lip to keep my mouth closed. That was the first time he cursed, and it was only due to irritation. I don’t want to see what this man’s anger looks like. I force my feet to follow his strides.
Once the darkness of the corridors meets us, I freeze at the doorway. My mind screams at me to crawl back into the light.
“Move.” Aaron glares. “I have no time for this.”
My fingers tug at the hem of my baggy T-shirt. I’d rather anger him than what awaits me outside. “I can’t. It’s too dark.”
He extends his arm to me. “It will help, right?” He motions for my hand. “Take it.”
My lips part. Is this another cruel psycho joke? He smothers his victims with fake care then takes sick pleasure in crushing them?
“Mae.” My name is called in a form of a warning— one whose repercussions I don’t wish to know.
I reach for his arm and clutch the soft material of his jacket as a safe line. My soul curses me for not being brave enough to refuse his help.
The long corridor walk is spent in silence. My eyes stray behind me, expecting the monsters to appear and chase my brains out.
They don’t.
Aaron’s presence scares them away. Even monsters are afraid of this monster.
Still, my harsh breathing doesn’t decrease. Being forced into a jog to keep up with Aaron’s pace is of no help.
We climb the stairs— that almost led me to freedom before— and pause at the top for Aaron to open a double metallic door.
Glimmers of white blinds my eyes. I halt, my hands fly up to protect my vision.
Heat infiltrates my skin as I tentatively open my lids. Light burst in sharp lines through large windows.
Sun. Warmth. Light.
“Move, mouse.” Aaron tugs on my hand and I follow his steps, my eyes trying their best to adjust. It’s been so long since I was exposed to daylight— a week judging from the soup I got twice a day.
Who knew I would miss such small necessities in life?
Four tall windows adorn the length of a vast hall we walk through. Or more like Aaron walks. I’m struggling to keep up with him. The sound of my slippers against the white and granola marbled floor is anything but quiet. The white walls are decorated with bold vertical lines of gold painting and horizontal beige patterns, obviously designed by an artist. The ceiling holds more gold, less white. A round chandelier with a thousand crystals dangles to the centre. The size so massive that I duck when we pass underneath it. What if it falls atop my head?
You’re being silly, Mae.
The longer we walk, the more I’m dazzled. It’s like I’m assessing an evocative painting. The hall is symmetrically filled with leather chesterfield sofas, high tables and elegant curtains. My mouth drops when we approach the stairs. Beside it, on a high platform, sits a marble statue of a knight on his horse. A black panther in dark stone rests by the horse’s side, his frozen eyes sharp and glinting, made from sapphire. The sword in the knight’s hand has the same crest on Aaron’s ring.
My family is wealthy. I’m used to luxury, but this place is different. It’s old money. Judging from the refined taste, Aaron could either be from a prestigious mafia, or a long chain of aristocrats. His signet ring could be a noble family’s heirloom.
Does that mean he uses his power to get away with kidnapping people? And maybe killing them?
Don’t go there, Mae.
We ascend long marbled stairs, the dark red carpet embellishing them soft underneath my slippers. When we turn into a hallway, I get a brief glimpse of countless tall paintings decorating the walls. From the renaissance to the baroque, romanticism and impressionism eras. There are even East Asian paintings. Wait... is that Robins’ missing painting?
Does Aaron collect art? Or steal it?
We stop at double white doors with the same golden lines of the walls. Aaron gives me his back and my vision gets blocked from whatever he’s doing.
Why is no one here? This place must be kept by servants.
I search the place for a possible exit or a rescuer. Perhaps they don’t know their master is a psycho kidnapper and will help me escape.
“Don’t even think about it.”
My lips part. “How do you know what I’m thinking about?”
“You’re expressive to a fault, mouse,” he says over his shoulder before going back to his task.
Ugh. Whatever.
I tiptoe to peek over his shoulder, but the man is too damn tall. My upper body leans sideways to get a better view. His fingers type on an electronic screen before
he presses enter.
Ah. A password.
“Always a curious little kitten, aren’t you?” He faces me, and I’m relieved that irritation has completely left his features. Only clear midnight eyes.
Wait. Are those...
As if compelled by an alternate force, my feet shift closer until my chest almost grazes his. Aaron doesn’t move; he merely raises an eyebrow as if wondering what I’ll do next.
Tiptoeing, I use both hands to clutch his face and bring it down to stare into his fascinating eyes. I didn’t notice them before due to the lack of light. You have to look quite close to spot them. Flecks of grey interrupt the darkness of his irises, spiralling them into an imperfectly perfect harmony.
Holy. Damn.
Why is his imperfection even more beautiful than his perfection?
“What are you doing?”
Warm breaths tickle my skin. I’m holding his face in a way where his mouth is an inch away from mine.
I release him with a jerk and step backwards. Heat flushes my cheeks. “N-nothing.”
He narrows his eyes. I look down, unable to take his suspicious stare.
“Follow me.” He pushes the double doors. My steps imitate his own, grateful that he doesn’t press the issue.
I need to work on secrecy around him if I don’t wish to make a fool out of myself.
You already did, Mae.
The door closes behind us with a click. We resume our walk into a long hallway furnished with a stone grey carpet. The lower half of the walls is decorated with an expensive-looking mosaic of different parcels of grey. We pass wooden doors the same colour as Aaron’s hair and suit, all closed, forbidding any enquiries of my part.
Except a faint ray of sunlight from a tall window at the end of the hallway, there’s little to no life in this place. It’s the complete opposite of the lavish hall outside.
Which one of them is the real Aaron? He seems to fit into both categories so damn well.
Something warm and solid hits my head. I grimace at colliding with Aaron’s back. I was so absorbed in taking in my surroundings that I didn’t notice when he stopped.
He motions for me to go inside the only open door.
“Are you going to leave?” God. I want to slap the desperateness out of my voice. Yet, I’d rather be with him than alone.
The Devil’s company is better than no company.
“Don’t be a child, Mae.”
I cross my arms. “Give me back my life and I will be a child somewhere else, Mr all mature.”
His eyes fix mine and I can’t help but drown into those grey flecks. “Go inside your room.”
“My room?”
My question goes unanswered as he picks up his phone from his pocket, his voice curt. “I will be out in a minute. Stop pestering me.” Then he hangs up.
Aaron’s eyes aren’t lifeless. The sight of their softness calms me against all logic.
“I’m a busy man, little mouse.” His hand brushes against my back and propels me forward.
Click.
The first thing I’m glad for is the large window from which sunlight beams to submerge the room.
No darkness anymore.
The space is filled with elegant, antique furnishing. Like in some Victorian painting. The bed sheets and the curtains, pulled from the window, have beige and caramel patterns. My feet move to the console at the opposite side of the bed. Plush mocha carpets swallow my feet. I remove the slippers and sigh when softness meets my flesh. This is heaven compared to the cold ground of the dungeons.
When I stand in front of the full-length mirror, I scowl. My face is a carnival of tear lines, my hair a tangled mess, and Aaron’s clothes swallow me, making me look homeless. I’m becoming an ugly creature both inside and out.
Ripping my gaze from the reflection, I turn to the window. My fingers latch around the handle to open the forged glass. It doesn’t move. After a few futile tries, I release it with a long sigh.
There’s no way to escape this. Not that I can jump from whatever floor this is.
Rays of sun heat my face, and I close my eyes, enjoying the exposure. When I open them again, I’m greeted by tall trees in the distance. I edge closer until my face glues to the glass. Is this a forest or something?
Down, what seems to be a back entrance of sorts. The undulant pavement of grey stones, outlined by bright grass, stretching for as long as my sight can go. More gigantic trees in the far distance.
Seriously. What is this place? Judging from the huge sub-terrain corridors and the imposing architecture above, this is either a manor or a palace. A fortress? I’m bad with differentiating those things.
Three black figures move at the faraway path. I squint to identify what they are. Once they get close, shapes of hands and legs come into view.
People!
“Help!” I scream at the top of my lungs, banging on the solid glass with both hands. “Help—”
My shouts are interrupted when the door to my room clicks open then shut.
“Please stop doing that, Miss.”
My head cranes to the monotonous voice of a man. He stands by the closed door, his bulk swallowing the frame. The palest blue eyes consider me with an apparent softness.
“Who are you?” I ask the first human being I’ve encountered since I came to this place. Aaron doesn’t count. He’s not human.
“My name is Kane.” Despite his neutral voice, nothing about it is threatening. “I’m here to take care of your needs per His Lordship’s orders.”
His Lordship? Am I really subjugated to an aristocrat?
One with no nobility whatsoever.
“That’s it, I’m doomed.”
“I beg your pardon?” he asks.
Looking into his welcoming features, I relax a little. “What’s Aaron’s exact title? An earl? A lord? Is his father a duke?”
“I cannot answer any of your questions, Miss. I’ll order your meal. Is there anything specific you want?”
“I want to get out of here,” I plead. “He kidnapped me, Kane. He snatched me from my loving family and friends. I’m losing myself little by little in this place. If you don’t help me, he’ll kill me.”
I don’t know why I’m telling a stranger all this. Maybe because of the sympathetic look in his gaze, but most likely it’s because the fact that he’s my only hope to regain my freedom.
His eyes ease further. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Miss. I’m only a servant.”
My shoulders sag, long breaths leave my lips. Another option out of the window. Kane seems too loyal to His psycho Lordship.
He turns to leave but stops at the door. “And miss, the men you called for help are His Lordship’s guards. When he finds out about this incident, it won’t please him. I suggest you don’t entice his anger.”
Oh. Great.
I just angered Aaron.
Chapter Thirteen
Aaron
The directors’ board meeting sucked my soul into a cycle of infuriating boredom.
I have an hour for lunch before the afternoon’s briefing with foreign partners. Spending my break with Tristan and Dylan is not an option. I’m already screwed to a whole day of signing papers and keeping the company’s image, adding their nonsense conversations to the pot is out of the question.
But that doesn’t excuse where I stand. This is the last place where I should be. Yet, here I am. Staring at Mae’s painting. In a public exhibition.
‘Get out of here,’ Mother’s trembling voice orders.
&nbs
p; Aunt chimes in to shut her out. ‘Are you out of your damn mind, Aaron?’
You tell me, demons. The last time I checked, you control that.
‘You are definitely losing it,’ Father says, ‘There’s little to control as of late.’
‘Do you think she painted you? Or us?’ Mother asks.
My gaze plunges into the black and white figure of a mythical creature of some sort. He’s faceless. There’s only a grey blur where his features are supposed to be. He stands tall, chaotic dark lines form a ball on his right hand. One black wing springs behind him in full glory while the other hangs loosely by his side. Broken. Scarred. Damaged.
The familiarity of what Mae’s hands created springs an unprecedented curiosity. What does it mean? What was going on in her head when she painted this?
The fact that an optimistic person such as Mae has this dark defective image in her mind is... fascinating. The contradictions in her persona are alluring. Almost like the splashing of blood from a carved artery.
My demons are right. This seems like a version of them. Perhaps this is the exact reason why I refused to let Mae out of my sight ever since I saw this painting in the college’s workshop.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
My neck arches to the woman who stands beside me. Her bloodshot eyes are fixed on the painting, a pale smile curving her lips. Her ivory dress is in complete harmony with the same skin tone she passed down to her daughter.
“Yes, it is.” I turn my gaze to the painting. “The artist has admirable imagery.”
“She does,” Mae’s mother says, her voice low as if speaking from another dimension. Anguish crosses her gaze as tears stream down her face like an unstoppable oozing of venous blood. She ignores them, seeming lost in the painting.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She sniffs and gives a weak smile before using the tissue in her hand. I can see her struggle. I can see hopelessness and desperation at the bottom of her gaze. But I can’t feel it. I’m not allowed to feel it. That infected unwanted part of myself was cut out a long time ago.