Mansions

by Whitney Bianca

  I take a step back and glance over at Bryan. He barely blinks as he moves toward us, his face as emotionless as always. He seems unflappable but I know he has a mean streak underneath the calm facade. It doesn't run as deep and as dark as mine, but it's there. He knows what I want. The nights with Cora seem like they were from another lifetime, but I know he still remembers. Jessica whimpers softly as I turn to him with a smile on my face.

  “Bryan, this is Jessica,” I say, gesturing to the prone woman, as if he'd just walked into the room. I cut my eyes to the camera and I don't have to say anything about the silent viewer, the one who's watching. He knows. I glance down at Jessica, at her bare skin, so pale and smooth and unmarred. “Jessica, this is Bryan.”

  “Dorian,” she whispers, pathetically.

  “You can still go,” I remind her. “The door's unlocked.” She glances from me to Bryan and back again. “I'll bring you your clothes,” I offer, moving toward the table. She pushes herself up to sitting, forgetting her modesty for a moment.

  “No,” she says, her voice stronger than before. “I want it all. Everything you promised me.”

  “Okay,” I say simply. She nods. We're in agreement.

  Bryan unbuckles his belt and the heavy metallic sound echoes in the room. I stand back and give them room, feigning disinterest. My heart is beating hard in my chest though. This is the kind of disgusting shit that I live for. Perverted. Mean. Borderline criminal. This is what I am. This is what makes me tick. Adrienne knows this. She's always known it. That's why she climbed that tree to get away from me all those years ago. It's why she flew to Turkey to try to hide from me. It's why she's spent her life evading me. She knew.

  Now Jessica will know, as well.

  Bryan has the face of person who can move through a crowd unnoticed. He's not ugly, but he's not going to win any beauty contests either. The best description for him is plain - a blank page, a man with no family or attachments. He's indistinguishable and I like that about him. I have no idea why he's so loyal to me, but once I realized how good he was I vowed to never let him leave me. I know he doesn't give a shit about Jessica or why I have her here. I know he probably sees this as just another part of his job, not as any kind of personal reward. He's going to fuck a beautiful woman at my request, but I honestly have no idea if he cares at all. It doesn't matter, ultimately. He'll do it because I want him to.

  He positions himself in front of her and she scoots away, no longer looking at me. She's only looking at him. Her bravado has slipped and I can tell she's rethinking her decision. Bryan may look more scary than I do, but he'll be gentler on her than I would be. I know it for a fact. She's actually getting off easy, whether she knows it or not. He puts a knee on the couch, between her legs, and her breathing quickens, her perfect breasts rising and falling with each exhalation.

  I can smell the excitement, the fear, the uncertainty - all of it.

  I love the power that I have over all of them. I'm drunk with it, in fact. My dick is hard before Jessica even begins to whine. “Wait,” she says, her voice choked in her throat. I know her heart is beating as fast as mine. Bryan ignores her and nudges her legs open wider, baring her pretty pussy to me. He sticks two fingers in his mouth and then teases her clit. His movements are clinical, cold. His face hasn't changed, either. Jessica whimpers when he touches her, jerking her hips upward. He slides his fingers inside of her and she gasps. The sound makes every single muscle in my body clench. I'm in control of myself and I'm stubborn but I'm not as much of a machine as Bryan. Hearing all her little sounds is making me want to fuck. I want to fuck all night long, in fact, until my dick is limp and all my energy is completely spent and I'm covered in sweat and come and blood. That sounds downright heavenly.

  Jessica makes a desperate, throaty sound as he pumps his fingers into her. In and out, in and out, harder each time. She drops her head back and her hands claw at the leather of the couch. I hope she destroys it. I want to see the marks of her nails when he's done. If Bryan does the job right, she'll tear right through. He grabs her thigh and lifts her leg until her knee is balanced on the back of the sofa. She's still wearing her black leather boots and the sight is a beautiful one to behold. Creamy skin and black leather. For the first time that night, I can see that the situation is getting to Bryan. His movements are getting faster and rougher, more impatient. I can see his calm facade slowly slipping. I can't help but smile.

  It's tempting to stay that close for the show, but I'd rather watch it with Adrienne. It'll be the most satisfactory that way. As hard as it is, I turn my back and walk to the kitchen where the monitor is. I turn it on, and finally, finally, I can see her. She's laying on her stomach at the end of the bed, watching. Her nightgown is tangled around her thighs and she's got the blankets bunched in her hands. The cuff is still secured around her wrist, glinting in the light of the television. She's sixty miles away, but it feels like she's right here, beside me. I can feel her anger. Her disgust. Her hatred.

  It's good, I tell myself. Very good.

  *****

  The man in black hovers over Jessica, fully dressed despite her nakedness. He touches her roughly, does things to her that I don't want to see. Everything about the situation feels wrong. I shouldn't be watching this. They shouldn't be doing it. None of this should be happening.

  And yet, it is.

  I want to look away. I want to shut my eyes and pretend that none of it is happening, but I can't. It's Jessica - my best friend, my family, one of the only people on Earth that I care about. I wish I could help her, but I can't. I can only watch as the man touches Jessica. I can only scream at the screen but no one can hear me. I scream at him to leave her alone. I scream at her to stop. I scream at her to run from the apartment and never look back.

  But she can't hear me.

  She's learning firsthand that anything Dorian offers her won't come cheap and there's nothing I can do about it. She was innocent. She was desperate. Shit, maybe she though she could handle him. But she's wrong. So wrong. I've never underestimated Dorian Armstrong because I can see what he really is. From the first moment that we ever met, I could see it. Unfortunately, Jessica is probably blind to it. She's never been good at reading people. She's too much of an optimist.

  The man drags his hand up her body and cups her breast. It's almost like he knows I'm watching, because all of his movements are clear and visible, like he's positioning himself for the camera. I hate him, even though I don't know him. Not as much as I hate Dorian, but almost as much. He's complicit. He's a pawn. He's as much a part of this game as the rest of us. When he dips his head to suck her nipple into his mouth, I hate him even more.

  I haven't felt this much desperate anger in a long time. If I could, I would destroy everything in this room with my bare hands. But mostly, I want to destroy him. I want to make it so that he never tries to hurt me through Jessica again. He could hurt me everyday. He could force himself inside of me and beat me and burn me and break me for the rest of my life and I wouldn't care. I deserve it. Jessica doesn't. She's not perfect, but she's pure. Simple. Loving. She's probably cried for me everyday since I've been gone. She was probably the only person at my funeral besides whatever preacher she hired to recite kind words about me.

  Now, it's my turn to cry for her.

  My vision goes blurry as the tears well up. I can't do anything to stop them from falling down my cheeks. I haven't cried in a long while and I hate myself for being so weak. I hate myself for being so helpless. He's made me this way, though. I don't know how to hurt him. All I want in life is to hurt him. But he knows how to hurt me. He knows how to wound me deep enough that I might never recover.

  Jessica tosses her head, turning her face away from me as the man moves his mouth over her. He sucks and bites her nipples and runs his hands over her hips and her thighs. Jessica pushes her hands into his shoulders and I can tell she's afraid. A red hot slice of pain cuts through me and I press my face into the blanket and scream. It hurts so much
, worse than anything else Dorian's ever done. I wish I could be cold and emotionless like him. Sometimes, I can be. Sometimes, it feels like every little bit of emotion in me has been sapped out. But not tonight. Jessica is so close, but I can't touch her. I can't tell her that I'm alive. I can't warn her. I can't escape and neither can she. He's made it so that we can only suffer.

  So, we suffer.

  *****

  Jessica is loud. Louder than I thought she would be.

  She arches her back and moans as Bryan fucks her. She bites her cheeks to try to keep herself quiet, but it doesn't work. She digs her hands into his chest, balling her fingers into fists, but she doesn't fight him. She keeps her eyes shut tight but sometimes they burst open wide, especially when Bryan slams into her hard and fast. She gasps and calls out, exposing her throat, like a good submissive. It's beautiful to watch, truly. A great show.

  Unfortunately, I have only have eyes for Adrienne.

  My little crazy one writhes on her bed, curling up into a fetal position. I lean forward and place my hand on the screen. I can feel the static electricity through my fingertip as I run it over her face. She's probably plotting my death right now. The thought excites me beyond everything else. She has to know that I'll always have the upper hand. She has to know that she'll never win. I think this will be final nail in the coffin of her rebelliousness. For her sake, I hope it is.

  The sofa creaks as Bryan levers himself off Jessica and pulls away. Sweat glistens on his forehead but he's still fully clothed. He hasn't even unbuttoned one button on his shirt. His pants are loose around his thighs but that's it. He even still wears his shoes. Jessica raises her hips but lets her arms go limp. She watches him, her pupils dilated, as he pushes her thighs closed and repositions her on her side in front of him. She doesn't fight him at all as he slides back inside of her from the new position, his fingers digging into her hip. Jessica throws an arm over her face as he pumps into her, over and over. The sounds of their fucking fill the room, skin against skin.

  Adrienne isn't moving anymore. She's just laying there but she's not looking at the screen anymore. No, she's looking at me now. She stares into the camera as if she can feel that I'm watching her. I run my finger over her face again, wishing I could touch her. “Look what you made me do, pet,” I whisper. “You made me punish you.” She doesn't answer back, of course, but she doesn't look away. I can see there's wet tracks on her cheeks. She's been crying. I know my punishment has been successful. But as I stare at her, the glee that I initially felt fades away and I'm left with a numb dissatisfaction instead. Jessica's sounds of pleasure and submission suddenly no longer excite me.

  It's hollow.

  I don't know what this is, but I don't like it. My mood darkens as I sit there in the half-empty loft, watching my Adrienne crying on her big, lonely bed. Jessica and Bryan fade into the background. I know I can't go to her tonight, even though I want to. I hadn't planned to go back to Lockwood for another two weeks, just to make her suffer even more. I won't change my plans, but I'm angry at myself for even considering it. Adrienne deserved this punishment. But it's gone on long enough. I run my hand over her form on the monitor one last time and then I turn it off. The screen goes black. I stride across the room and, without another thought, I pull the cord from the camera that's feeding to Adrienne.

  “Enough,” I say loud enough for Bryan to hear me. It's shitty to make him stop before he comes, but I don't care. The game has come to an end.

  Almost.

  Jessica gasps as Bryan stills inside of her, mid-coitus. I walk back to the table and open the case again. There's a separate black snakeskin box inside, one that doesn't truly fit in any compartment. It doesn't belong in the case with the rest of these items. I normally keep it in a safe in my office. It's the crown jewel of my collection, the most important item. It's the one I've taken out and looked at countless times. It's the one I covet the most, almost as if it were still attached to the woman from which it came.

  Bryan clears his throat and stands. He corrects his clothing quickly, balling up the discarded condom in his hand. Then he disappears into the bedroom, leaving Jessica and I alone. I hear the water running in the bathroom and I know that when he returns, he'll be cleaned up and look like nothing happened. Jessica's not so lucky. Her skin is flushed, with red marks on her breasts and neck and thighs. She has mascara smudged under her eyes and running down her cheeks. She looks bright, though. Alive. I run my hands over the box, suddenly feeling exhausted, like I was the one who just vigorously fucking her.

  “Get dressed,” I say and she stands on shaky legs and does just that. In seconds, she's already pulled on her dress to cover herself. She ties it closed, not bothering to put on her underwear again. She runs her hands slowly through her hair, again and again, making it more disheveled as she stares at the box in my hands.

  “Is that it?” Jessica asks, her eyes never leaving the box. Her voice is no longer shaking. She doesn't sound scared at all anymore. I wonder if she feels as numb as I do. “Is that what you promised me?”

  I tighten my hands on the box. To me, what's in this box is more valuable than almost anything else on Earth. The strange thing is, I think Jessica might be the only other person on Earth who may understand that like I do. I open the box and stare down at the morbid little object nestled in black velvet. I turn it toward her and she takes a step closer get a better look. For a few seconds, I let it sink in. When she gasps and recoils, I know she's figured out exactly what she's looking at. “It's a piece of Adrienne's left tibia. Her shin bone,” I supply, staring down at the smooth, slim shard. “This is all that's left of her.”

  “It can't be,” she says so faintly that if she were further away, I wouldn't have heard her.

  “I assure you it is,” I say. “We've had it tested. Bryan personally oversaw the recovery of the remains.”

  “But the rest of her...” she trails off.

  “No longer exists,” I answer.

  “How can that be all?” she says, shaking her head. “There has to be more.”

  “I'm sorry,” I say, even though there's not a sorry bone in my body. “That's all there is.”

  “You're a liar,” she says, her eyes clearer than ever before. For a moment, I wonder if she can see through me. Can see right through to where Adrienne is. “You told me I would have enough to bury.”

  “You're right,” I say, closing the box. “I did lie.” Bryan appears in the bedroom doorway and I nod at him. “I've decided that I can't bear to part with it after all.” Her eyes widen as she realizes that I'm serious. She doesn't appreciate it like I do, I decide. Which is exactly why she can't have it.

  “Adrienne belongs with me!” she argues, but it's no use. She can yell and scream and it won't change a thing. I've made up my mind. Bryan reads the situation correctly and moves to her her side. He slides an arm around her waist and pulls her close to him, preventing her from grabbing for the box.

  “Take the case,” I say, surprising myself. When I planned this little game, I had no intention of parting with any of Adrienne's items, but now, it doesn't seem to matter as much to lose the camera and the bag and the clothes. I might regret it later. In fact, I'm fairly certain I will. But I let her have it anyway. I push the case toward her and return to the kitchen. She screams and cries, but it means nothing. I'm done with her now. She's served her purpose. Bryan deals with her, hustles her out of the loft and out of my life. Eventually, all is silent again. The smell of sex mixed with the scent of her perfume and the odor of the burned camera lingers, however.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The dress is long and green. It's covered in sequins that shine in the light like stars. I don't even have to try it on to know that it's my size. It appeared this morning, draped over the end of the bed.

  It's been almost two weeks.

  The TV is long gone. Yesterday, the handcuff disappeared from my bed as well. He's coming back. I wasn't sure until today when he would come back, but now
I know. I sit in the tub, my chin skimming the fragrant water. I've been getting better since he's been gone. I've been doing my exercises again. I've been eating properly. I want to be strong when he returns. I want answers. Ever since he played his little game with Jessica, I've been plagued with questions. He cut the camera feed before the end. I want to know what he did to her. I want to know why he wanted my father's house. I want to know why he kept my things.

  I let the water drain from the tub and then I wrap myself in the towel. With a sigh, I pull myself up on the side of the tub. I swing my legs around and lower myself back to the floor. It's ridiculous what I have to do to get around, but I'd rather rely on myself than anyone else. I crawl back into the bedroom and I stop short when I see Irina by the end of the bed.

  “I am to help you dress,” she says, and I shake my head.

  “No.”

  “Please,” she says, furrowing her brow and taking a step forward. “He will be angry.”

  “I can be angry too, Irina,” I say, as water drips from my wet hair to my shoulders.

  “Please,” she whispers. I glance at the waterfall of shimmering green fabric hanging over the side of the bed. I want to destroy it – rip it apart with my bare hands. I'm tired of his games. But I know that if I play along, I might get what I want. So I nod, even though it pains me to do so. She smiles and gets to work. She helps me put on the dress. Then she arranges my hair on top of my head, using a million pins that jab my scalp, and does my makeup and I let her. How I'm supposed to eat around a mouthful of red lipstick, I'm not entirely sure, but I don't complain. I don't argue.

  When she's done fretting over me, I look into the mirror and I see someone I never wanted to be. I look like the kind of girl my father always wanted me to be, the kind of girl that someone like Dorian Armstrong would want to have on his arm. The kind of girl he might even marry.