Loving the Cult

by Nicole Tillman

  “Yeah, I guess. If you can get past the fact that they've been completely brainwashed and have no semblance of a personality left, then yeah, they're nice.”

  I don't really think that, but something tells me that the men here expect the women to be empty, obedient, and loyal. So, that's how I'll paint them.

  Jameson ruffles his hair in aggravation and shakes his head. If I didn't loathe everything about this place, even him, I might feel sorry for the guy. I know I'm not an easy person to put up with. Maybe if I'm my usual difficult self, he'll get a taste of his own medicine. Or I'll be one walking bruise for the rest of my life.

  “I'm taking a shower. Don't...”

  I raise my eyebrows when he doesn't finish his sentence.

  “Don't what? Don't fly out the window again? Yeah, I won't be doing that anytime soon.” I lift the hem of my shirt the smallest bit, showing him the burgundy bruise on my side. I'm not sure if it's from the fall or from banging into the table earlier, but it's what hurts the most.

  Flashing him my skin probably isn't the wisest idea, but I want him to feel bad about what happened. Yes, it was my own fault, but I still want him to squirm.

  “Do you want some ice for that?” The sadness in his eyes is back, and for some reason, that makes me feel worse.

  “No, I'm fine. Thanks,” I say as I shyly pull my shirt back down.

  Jameson enters the bathroom but doesn't shut the door. I'm starting to wonder if he's going to shower with the door open, but he returns holding a small white bottle.

  “Tylenol?” I ask, my voice filled with hope.

  “Ha, not quite.” He chucks the bottle across the room and it makes a satisfying rattle as it lands in my hand.

  When I read the label, I'm so happy I want to cry.

  “Vicodin.”

  Jameson comes in one more time to give me a glass of water and takes the rest of the pills with him. He's probably scared that I'll try to overdose. He needn't worry. That seems like a horrible way to die. But, then again, I did hurl myself out a window... Maybe it's a good thing he didn't let me keep them.

  I take the pills, lay back in bed, and attempt to relax. The questions that have been zip-lining their way through my brain seem to slow after a while as the drug does its job. The sound of the running shower combined with the narcotic relax me until I'm practically melting into the mattress.

  “Screw questions,” I giggle to myself.

  A knock on the door startles me awake. I don't know who it could be this late at night, but Jameson comes running out of the bathroom and quickly unlocks the door.

  There's a hushed exchange between him and whoever is at the door. The hall light shines on Jameson's face, but his visitor stays out of sight. I roll onto my side, straining to hear their voices.

  “Thanks. I'll bring it back in the morning.”

  “That's fine. Just leave it by my door.”

  “Can do. Thanks.”

  “Yep.”

  I pretend to be asleep once Jameson turns back to me. Quietly, he takes whatever is in his hand and places it on the table. From the sound of it, it's a newspaper.

  Cracking one eye open, I peer at him through the dark as he sits, hunched over, attempting to read in the dim light from the bathroom.

  “You can turn the light on.”

  He quickly folds the paper and moves it out of my sight. “Thought you were sleeping.”

  “Paper not as interesting as you'd hoped?”

  He breathes out a laugh before standing up.

  “I was just looking for something. Didn't find it.”

  “Ah, searching the classifieds now, are you? You didn't find 'Single female seeks male sociopath for breeding purposes'?”

  I laugh at my lame joke even though Jameson doesn't find it funny. Well, why would he? It was at his expense.

  “What were you looking for?”

  “Doesn't matter.”

  He turns, making his way back to the bathroom, and that's when I notice the towel slung low on his hips.

  Holy mother of all things sacred...

  I'm drugged up just enough to let my negativity toward him falter, and let appreciation take its place.

  The muscles in his shoulders bunch and roll as he swings his arms, making his way out of the room. There are two delicious little dimples on either side of his spine, right above where the towel rests. His toned biceps, his long torso, and his bare neck are all sun-kissed to perfection.

  He's... well, he's hot.

  “Hah, figures.”

  He turns back around at the words I hadn't meant to say.

  “Pardon?”

  You're caught. No point in being quiet now...

  “I said, it figures.”

  “What figures?” He cocks his head to the side and smiles, no doubt reading my mind.

  “It figures that you would have a body like that.”

  My cheeks heat at the realization of what's coming out of my mouth and I throw my arm over my face in embarrassment. I've never been one to embarrass easily, so this is just one more thing I blame on the narcotics, along with my inability to filter my thoughts.

  I can feel him staring at me in disbelief and I wait for him to move. Quite a while goes by before he retreats to the safety of the bathroom. Yeah, safety. There's something definitely wrong with me. Mostly, I'm losing my damn mind. I'm supposed to hate this man, but instead I'm imagining my tongue on his neck, licking water droplets as they slide out of his wet hair.

  No more Vicodin for me!

  After he comes back out, dressed in a pair of red athletic shorts and a white t-shirt, he pulls back the blankets and drops himself onto the bed.

  “Whoa, what are you doing?”

  He looks around the room innocently.

  “Going to sleep?”

  “With me?”

  This shouldn't surprise me. I had known I'd have to share the bed, but the drugs have thrown me off-kilter.

  He shrugs, failing to hide his smile.

  “I'm guessing with your injuries, you would be opposed to sleeping on the floor. So, yeah, we're sharing a bed.”

  It wouldn't matter if I took twenty pills instead of just two, I know I'll never be able to fully relax while he lays beside me.

  Maybe I can smother him with a pillow in his sleep. Or maybe I can find the key and sneak out without him noticing. Or maybe I can just wrap my arm around his waist and...

  My eyelids flutter shut before I can form any more brilliant plans.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Harsh sunlight filters in through my closed eyelids. Amazingly, I don't wake up wondering where I am. I know instantly. My small bedroom at home is always cloaked in darkness thanks in part to the tin foil I have covering the windows.

  Covering my eyes with one hand, I carefully reach out with the other to see if Jameson is still laying beside me.

  Nope. I'm alone.

  Kicking the blankets to the foot of the bed, I stretch out as far as I can in every direction and wonder what I'm supposed to do. Surely I'm not supposed to just sit in this room all day while Jameson goes about his business, whatever business that is.

  Hushed voices catch my attention and I open my eyes. One of the voices in particular, a female voice, has my adrenal glands waking with a start as I bolt upright.

  I'm suddenly aware of the condition I'm in and I have to clamp my hand over my mouth to stifle a scream. My body hurts. I mean, really fucking hurts. It's so sudden and jarring that I contemplate laying back down, but I have to know what that vile woman is saying.

  Slowly and carefully I swing my legs over the bed and stand. It takes a few seconds, but the pain begins to ebb and turn to soreness as I roll my shoulders and circle my hips.

  Creeping towards the door, I can hear them talking. Jameson and Joan.

  “She's different. I don't know how to deal with her.” Jameson's voice is low, but holds the kind of desperation one only shows when talking to a parent.

  “She's no different tha
n any other woman here, she just does a good job of hiding her insecurities, her fears.”

  “I don't think so. She's... she's stronger, wilder. She's not weak like the others.”

  A triumphant smile spreads its way across my face.

  Hear that, Joan? I'm stronger.

  “Then break her.”

  Just like that, my smile is gone, replaced by a mask of fear. I don't care what Jameson has to say. I probably should keep listening, so I can be ready for whatever he has in store for me, but I can't. I can't listen to the exchange a second longer.

  I silently tiptoe back to the bed and pull the covers over my head like I used to do as a child. That tactic didn't protect me from my father back then and it sure as hell isn't going to protect me from Jameson now.

  I may be good at hiding my fears as Joan said, but I can't run from them. Not in this prison.

  As Jameson comes back inside, I'm dominated by one solitary thought alone.

  I will not- I cannot- let them break me.

  “Ready to face the day?”

  I'm not sure if he knows I'm awake, or if he just took a guess. Either way, I don't bother pretending.

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Too bad. You've got a lot to do today. Get up.”

  If this is his idea of breaking me, he's barking up the wrong tree. I could do this all day.

  “Jameson, I'm not sure if you're aware of this or not, but I fell out of a window yesterday. So forgive me if I'm not jumping out of bed to greet a clan of psychos who want to inseminate me.”

  The covers are forcefully jerked from my body and instinct tells me to curl in on myself, so that's what I do, clenching my eyes shut as pain rolls through me.

  “Fell out a window? You're going to have to try harder than that to gain my sympathy.”

  “I wasn't looking for sympathy,” I bite back, irritated that he won't leave me be.

  “Get. Up. Now.”

  My eyes shoot open at his command. I may have been swooning over his body last night while he stood half-naked at the foot of the bed, but not today. Today I hate him.

  “Piss off, Jameson.”

  He sighs as he runs both hands through his hair, yanking on the ends as if I'm literally driving him to pull his hair out.

  “I don't want to do this the hard way.”

  “Good, then let me go back to sleep.”

  He laughs, cracking his knuckles as he rounds the bed. Tilting his head to the side, he offers me a tight smile.

  “Last chance, Tess. Get up.”

  “Hmm,” I groan, rolling over into my pillow. “Let me think... no.”

  “You're really doing this?” He asks with raised brows.

  “Hey, if I have to be here against my will, I'm sure as hell not going to make your life any easier!”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Turning on his heel, he walks to the bathroom. The roar of water fills the room as it hits the ceramic tub and for a second I think I've won. I think maybe he's given up on me and is just going to shower and get on with his day.

  I hastily dismiss that thought as soon as he returns.

  “This is going to suck,” he says. “For you at least.”

  As quick as a cobra on crack, Jameson grabs me around the waist and throws me over his shoulder, sending bolts of pain shooting out in every direction, causing me to cry out in pain.

  “You could have done this the easy way. This was your decision, not mine. Remember that.”

  Oh, I have a feeling I won't be forgetting it anytime soon. Whimpering to myself, I'm amazed that I haven't caught onto him faster. As soon as I realize what he's about to do, I lock my arms firmly around his waist.

  “Don't do it, Jameson!”

  With a stinging slap to the ass, he grunts before throwing me into the freezing cold tub.

  After tossing my borrowed (and thoroughly soaked) pajamas into the sink, I wrap myself in the terrycloth robe Jameson left for me. My teeth are still chattering from the water, but I'm awake. Very, very awake. I'm not in excruciating pain, surprisingly, and I think the lingering adrenaline in my system is to thank for that.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  “Are you done yet?”

  I really wished the bathroom door locked. If he wanted to, Jameson could barge in on me anytime he wanted.

  “F-fuck off,” I say through chattering teeth.

  He mumbles something to himself I can't quite hear before saying, “you've got five minutes and then I'm dragging your ass out here.”

  I'm convinced that Jameson has split personalities. He was stern, then quiet and borderline pleasant, and now he's back to being a demanding and calloused asshole. Then I remember our late night visitor.

  “Amazing how one's attitude can change after running to their mommy for help.”

  He's silent on the other side of the door and I think I've won this round.

  “Four minutes, Tess.”

  Or not...

  I wait six minutes, just to test him. He doesn't hold true to his promise to barge in, even though I was counting on it, looking forward to it even. Pissing Jameson off has become my main purpose in life.

  Walking into the bedroom, I find him leaned against the wall, hands crossed over his chest, tapping his foot against the floor.

  “Impatience isn't a good look for you. I prefer it when you're brooding.”

  “And sarcasm isn't a good look for you,” he says without missing a beat. “I prefer you quiet and obedient.”

  I laugh. “If you're looking for obedience, you picked the wrong girl.”

  With a deep sigh, he pushes off the wall and gestures to my backpack sitting in a corner.

  “I'm beginning to realize that. There's your stuff. Get dressed.”

  Thankful that I at least get to wear my own clothes, I grab the bag and head back to the bathroom, but not before throwing Jameson a mock-salute with my middle finger.

  Once dressed, I walk out to find Jameson with Lyla and Daphne. Apparently I need babysitters for whatever we're doing today.

  “I have work to do, so the girls will be escorting you today. Listen to what they have to say and don't even think about running off. You won't get very far.”

  I decide to ignore his cryptic threat and instead turn to look at the girls. They have those ridiculous fake smiles plastered on their faces again. Something tells me I'll be expected to do the same- smile through the pain.

  “Well, ladies, what's on the agenda for today?” I ask, trying out my faux-smile.

  I don't care what we're doing as long as it gets me outside. Maybe I'll be able to 'wander off'. Fat chance, but I can't lose hope. If I want to keep my sanity, I have to continue to look for a way to escape.

  “They'll be giving you a thorough tour of the place, as well as introducing you to everyone you need to know.”

  “Why would I need to know anyone here?”

  He glowers but doesn't step forward to reprimand me.

  “Just... follow them around, eat meals with them, answer whatever questions anyone asks you, and then have your ass in bed by midnight. Think you can handle that?”

  “Yessa Massa!”

  It's hard as hell to keep my expression neutral, especially when Lyla and Daphne are looking at me with wide eyes and open mouths, like I just committed a cardinal sin.

  Jameson, on the other hand, isn't surprised. Instead, he purses his lips to hide a smile. If I'm not mistaken, he likes me like this. If anything, it's entertaining in a place with nothing but women drones stalking the halls.

  Not to worry, Jameson, there's plenty more where this came from.

  I know Jameson can't be as heartless as the rest of them. It's impossible. His eyes are so alive, his smile so genuine (albeit rare), and he just doesn't possess the air of superiority like the other men.

  “Right, well,” he says, still trying not to smile. “You ladies have a good day.”

  He opens the door to leave, but shoots me one last look.

  “Beh
ave. If you don't, I'll know about it.”

  Another lame threat. I know Jameson can be violent, but I'm starting to find ways to work around him. I think I'm finally figuring him out. If I can stay on his good side, well, his less evil side, I think I'll be safe. That's the smallest of my hopes.

  An idea sparks to life in a very neglected corner of my brain and I find myself smiling at the girls. My plan may require more feminine wiles than I possess, but it's the first tactic I've had that could actually work.

  I'll break you, Jameson. Miles and miles before you can break me.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  After I'm dressed in black leggings, a long black sweater dress, and my brown knee-high hiking boots, we all head down to the dining hall for breakfast. Again, I cringe when walking through the door, but there's no one glaring at me or hiding their eyes while they plot to dump their milk carton down my shirt. No, this isn't high school. These people are crazy, not vindictive.

  “I'm seriously in love with your outfit, Tess,” Lyla says as we take our seats with three steaming bowls of oatmeal.

  “Oh, thanks.”

  “Where'd you get it?”

  Girl talk... Too much girl talk.

  “Um, well,” I say looking down at my attire. “I work, well... used to work, at a place called Down Trek Outfitters. It's a clothing store.”

  “Oh, I've heard of that!” She squeals. “I've always wanted to go there.”

  The far-off look in her eyes makes me wonder what her life was like before she was taken. Was she a lively girl with lots of friends? Or was she withdrawn, with no family to speak of. Like me.

  It also makes me wonder where everyone here gets their clothes. Do they get to go on little shopping excursions if they're good? I find that unlikely. Or do they steal them? That seems out of place, even for them. Joan probably sends her lackeys out to fetch them.

  “I like your necklace,” I tell her. “It's beautiful.”

  She runs the pendant between her thumb and middle finger, a tiny smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

  “Thanks.”

  “Was it a gift? A present from someone?” I don't really care where she got the gaudy thing, I just want a little more insight into her home life. At least, what used to be her home life.