by R. J. Lewis
Finally, after what felt like forever, my body gave out. The adrenaline drained from my limbs. I lost the fight. My body was fucked and soaked in sweat. I lay there, his scent in my nose, his hold on me firm, knowing I was vulnerable now. Fear coiled inside me, wondering what he was intending to do with that blade.
I thought of Tony’s words. “I’m going to stick the handle end of my blade so far up that cunt tonight.”
Was this guy just as fucked up?
Probably worse.
“No, no, no, don’t hurt me,” I begged without thinking. My pride was long gone now, and I was growing hysterical. He had reduced me to a weakling; a puddle of nothingness. I’d never felt so helpless, and he’d done nothing but hold me down! “Please, don’t. Please…”
My spine tingled something fierce when I felt him glide the blade down it. The terror in that moment was unequivocally the worst I had ever experienced. The vulnerability brought me back there again, to when I was a little girl, too scared to leave the tent in fear of Bogeyman being there.
I waited for pain, for the searing burn of his blade cutting into my spine, but I felt… nothing. Instead, I heard the pop of buttons, one after the other, all the way to my lower back. Then he secured the blade back into his belt. He only used it on my dress, not on me, but I was still trying to get a breath in.
Still locking my arms in place, he used his other hand to tear open my dress, forcing it down my chest. Finally letting me go, he grabbed the dress, and in one swift movement, he slid it completely off me. I was stiff as a board, shaking, my brain scrambling to process his actions. It took a few moments for me to accept that I hadn’t been cut into, but still, I shook uncontrollably, my teeth rattling.
Conscious of him more than ever, he lingered over me, his body going still now. I didn’t know what he was doing, until his hand rested on the white lace bodice I had been wearing under my dress. I didn’t move, and it wasn’t for lack of trying. I was too tired. I shut my eyes, unsure of what he wanted, only knowing I was utterly exposed in front of a monster and he could do as he pleased with me.
His hand went from my lower back to the space between the clasp of my strapless bra and the lining of the bodice where my bare flesh was. It must have been red because it ached like fire. All that rubbing from the dress had chafed the shit out of my skin.
His fingers were surprisingly cool, seeping through my skin. It was a gentle touch. A featherlight brush of his skin against mine. I made sure not to move, but my breath lightened in response.
No man had ever touched me there.
No man had ever touched me, period.
I didn’t know what he was intending on doing. I was scared, but curious too. Mostly because it had gone quiet, and his touch was gentler than I expected. Plus, he smelled so good. Why did he smell so good?
His fingers roamed back up to my upper back, tracing my spine to the back of my neck. He dug his fingers there in that meaty bit, loosening the tension I built there. I fought the way my body wanted to sag beneath his touch, but my shoulders relaxed on their own. I opened my eyes, peering at the dark void around me, wondering why my body was softening like butter and what kind of sick game this was for him to massage me. The knots in the back of my neck loosened and it felt… amazing. I tried to resist that feeling, but the chemicals in my brain were already releasing those feel-good endorphins. The shaking subsided. My teeth no longer chattered. For a moment, I felt like I was drifting on a cloud, the fear stripped from me. If this was his way of comforting me, I didn’t know, and frankly, I couldn’t bear to think a man like him would try. Still, I relaxed further against his touch. I made a light noise at the back of my throat – a noise I hadn’t anticipated to come from me – and his massage stopped abruptly.
Tense silence filled the air.
He withdrew his hand, ending the quiet moment. Then he patted my head once – like I was a fucking animal – and removed his weight off me. Standing up, he balled the wedding dress and stood over me. I didn’t want to dare look at him, but I couldn’t stop my eyes from glancing.
I felt foolish when I saw him. He had the faintest smirk on his face. The look of pure domination. This bastard was content. He had won again, and I couldn’t be sure why I let him. It troubled me, and I hated myself for letting him touch me at all. I shouldn’t have stopped squirming. I should have fought ‘til the end.
“I’m not marrying you,” I whispered, shakily. It was the only thing I had left to fight about. Everything else he’d stripped away.
This time he cocked his head to the side, his eyes narrowing on mine. He looked thoughtful and…impressed? The smirk had faded, turning softer. He looked me over, limp as a noodle but fierce in the face. I could see how ridiculous it was. The contradiction colliding. The weakness mixed with determination. The fight I was still trying to win.
“I’m not marrying you,” I repeated. I didn’t know why I was saying it. I sounded like I was talking to myself more than I was talking to him.
He dragged his front teeth over his bottom lip, scrutinizing me with those soulless eyes. Then he knelt to my level and his head wavered close to mine. He looked into my eyes as thoughts blazed behind his. I didn’t breathe. I eyed him warily, watching as he leaned closer to my face, his mouth parted slightly now as he took me in. It felt…intimate. It felt like…he was trying to look into my soul.
Jesus, he was… attractive. His nose was straight, his lips red and full. Wafts of his goddamn delicious scent wafted to me, making me a bit hazy as I struggled to keep my eyes on his. His face softened further. Maybe he was aware of the way I was feeling. He could probably see it in my slow blinks and dizzy gaze. Now he was looking at me differently. In a way I couldn’t interpret, but it sent warm shivers down my spine and made me ache for something I didn’t quite understand.
My focus was transfixed to his lips as he parted them again. An image of his mouth on mine lit up inside my mind. I didn’t even try to push it away. I thought about it as I dizzily inhaled his scent and wondered how close he was prepared to move to me.
His hand reached up and, slowly, he brushed away a few strands of hair that had fallen over my face. My blinks slowed in reaction to his touch. My lips trembled, unsure of why I was feeling like I’d swallowed a rock. But…the gesture was so gentle, and…I’d lacked so much gentleness in my lifetime.
Nothing but distance.
Nothing but isolation and…stagnant emotions.
Just pure apathy.
Apathy that acted like another cage in my life, containing my emotions.
And this touch was bringing me back to the past, digging up a kind of memory of affection that I couldn’t recall, yet it triggered me so suddenly. I could feel the memory, but not see it. My sight went blurry. A tear fell from my eye. And I did what I always did when confronted with pain. I felt a sharp lightning bolt of anger and lashed out.
Shoving his hand away, I snapped, “Don’t touch me!” His expression went cool in an instant. “I’m not marrying you,” I had the audacity to add. “Keep me in here all you want. Starve me, deprive me of fucking air, I don’t care! I’m not going to marry you. I’m not.”
This time I felt he understood my defiance, and who wouldn’t with a tone like that? But instead of anger, his face remained cool and…passive. He didn’t seem concerned in the slightest. My words meant very little, if he even understood them at all. It made me feel unimportant and small, and that surprised me because I was so used to that feeling anyway.
He looked me over again, this time with a faint jut of his lips. He was smirking the way someone did when they were amused by something. It was the same look I’d been given all my life by people. When they stared at me like I was a spoiled bitch having a fit. Was that what he thought, that I was having some rich-bitch-fit?
“You think you know,” I whispered to him, my voice thick with anger and…pain. “You know nothing.”
His eyes found mine just then. He held my gaze for a few moments – a few mo
ments too long. Then he stood up, and I was sure he was about to leave. It panicked me to be alone again, but I held it in. I craned my head up and watched as he strolled to the barred window. He stood there, gazing out, his profile visible to me. I slowly sat up, resting my back against the wall. I crossed my arms, unused to the feeling of my skin. I felt less suffocated without the dress. My skin was breathing for the first time in what felt like an eternity. I was secretly glad he forced it off me.
I was nervous as he peered out. I spent the day where he was standing, watching him. I wondered if he knew that just then. Maybe I was being paranoid, but I couldn’t afford to lose my window. I didn’t know how long I was going to be trapped in this shithole.
“Don’t take it away from me,” I whispered. “You better not take it away from me.”
He didn’t hear, not when a chorus of laughter flooded the room, drowning out my words.
Backing away, he finally turned to me. My back straightened at his sudden attention. His face was shrouded in darkness. I couldn’t be sure what part of me he was looking at, but it made every inch of me hyperaware.
His footsteps were slow and heavy toward me. There were brief moments when the moonlight hit his face. I caught his eyes focused on my face the first time it hit, and then they were on my exposed legs the next time. I didn’t breathe as he bent over and tugged at the blanket beneath me. He slid it off and leaned closer to me. I felt his breaths against my cheek. I stared at him as he quickly wrapped the blanket around my body, covering me. I twitched, thinking he was going to grab at my throat again, but he didn’t. And the lack of contact was strangely disappointing.
“You’re going to leave now, aren’t you?” I asked, shocked at how upset I sounded.
In response his eyes travelled slowly from my blanket, to my arms, to my bare neck and, finally, to my eyes. I fought the flush spreading to my cheeks in futile, feeling warmed again by how close he was. Once more, my bubble was totally obliterated, and I wasn’t fighting to regain it.
Reaper watched me for a short while. We breathed in and out, a quiet exchange amid loud laughter. I stared at his wide chest as it moved up and down with each calm breath. His dark hair was loose, the way it usually was, some strands stuck to the side of his left cheek. He was the epitome of rough. Nothing subtle or pretty in his features. Just…raw.
I felt a pinch in my chest. I closed my eyes for a few moments, trying to clear my head of my body’s confusion. When I reopened them, he was already backing away from me. I watched him leave the room, his sole attention drawn completely elsewhere. He didn’t even look back once before he shut the door. I didn’t matter at all. He had come in here, forced my dress off with a knife, wrapped a blanket around me, and walked off like it was nothing. Nothing at all.
I wanted to scream. Back to the isolation, to the faint sounds of laughter and music. I felt like a prisoner inside my own skin.
The anger that his touch evoked in me still burned like lava. I felt disgusted with myself. I had imagined his mouth on mine! I didn’t put up a better fight. I just...laid there. Like a piece of furniture! I let him get close to me! I dared him to with my own eyes! And he still hadn’t. He didn’t even want to, did he? I had opened myself, let the walls down for a moment, and nothing even happened as a result.
What is wrong with you?
Without thinking, I got off the bed, grabbed the shirt and stuck my foot against the hem of the neck hole and stretched it until it ripped. I did the same with the pants. They were a thin material and stretched easily with a little bit of strength. There, I couldn’t wear them now. And there, a piece of my rebellion returned.
This defiance made me feel like I was back in control. It made the imaginary shackles he put around my arms and legs loose. They weren’t gone, but goddamn, I was going to put up a fight. The growing curiosity I had for him needed to be silenced. That wall of mine needed to be fortified because, goddammit, it went down just like that after years of keeping everyone out! It had never been strong in the first place then, had it?
When I finished, I crawled back into the bed and waited for morning to come. As I did, I looked down at my arm, remembering his finger tracing along it softly. I realized it was over the faded eternity symbol I’d drawn on the day of my wedding.
It seemed, perhaps, he was curious of me too.
Twelve
Liv
Reaper returned early the next morning with Christy. I was sitting on the bed, back against the wall and next to the torn clothes. I was sure I had an “I do not give a fuck” look on my face when Christy’s eyes went from me to the ripped clothing. She looked at Reaper for his reaction, but he gave nothing away. Instead, he said something as he stared right at me with a steely expression.
At this point, I didn’t bother acknowledging Christy. I kept my attention on Reaper solely. Her presence was barely felt when all we did was stare each other in the eyes, the challenge present in both of us.
“A deal is a deal,” he said through her. “You should know that by now.” Oh, I knew that alright. “Agree to it, and this will all be over.”
What would be over exactly? My imprisonment in this shithole? Did he really think I was some princess who would break because I had to squat on a broken toilet seat and sleep on a rickety bed? I couldn’t let him see the isolation was getting to me, but if push came to shove, I would keep going along with it. I would do it just to prove a point to him, that I could live like this for however long he wanted, and I wouldn’t change my mind. Easier said than done, Liv.
“I’m not marrying you,” I replied evenly.
“Since when was marriage ever a choice to you?”
I gritted my teeth and leaned forward, smirking darkly. “Since you imprisoned me here. I’ve had a lot to think about since.”
“You’re not a prisoner here.”
“Yet I’m locked in this extremely hygienic room.”
“You have conveniences.”
“Like Hepatitis?” I raised a brow, dubiously. I just about lost my shit. “Or the bucket you want me to wash myself with? How about the bar of ancient soap? Or are you talking about the yellow friend I made yesterday that likes to climb the walls? He too thinks you’re an asshole. But this room is definitely the Ritz-Carlton of the jungle, so thank you for the conveniences you’re offering your supposed wife-to-be. All I need now is a long bit of rope to hang myself with. Maybe my corpse will be more obliging!” I was huffing for breath, turning red, feeling the veins protrude as I vented. “Once again, if you haven’t caught the fucking memo, I’m. Not. Marrying. You.”
Like he did last night, he dragged his teeth over his bottom lip, considering my words as Christy shakily translated them. What was I doing? Why was I saying what I was saying when every part of me warned against the words?
He looked at me, then at the mess of clothes again, and his eyes grew darker. I raised my brows, challenging him, and his jaw clenched in response. He moved quickly, and my body stilled. The same adrenaline kicked into overdrive, but I kept my chin up, defiant. I expected him to manhandle me again or take my bodice off with that blade hanging from his hip, the anticipation breathing life into my bones. But he walked right past the bed and to the bathroom. The door shut a bit and the water went on. I sat there, partly afraid, partly curious. Even Christy looked uncertain.
Reaper stepped back out, and I was caught off guard by how menacing he looked in the light. Most of his black shirt was soaked, his arms were corded in veins as he carried the large bucket that had been sitting on the bathroom floor. I was just beginning to wonder what he was going to do when he effortlessly tipped it over my head, dumping me in cold water from head to toe, saying something. The cold chill ran down my spine, jolting me.
“That’s for not cleaning yourself,” Christy translated, less menacing than he sounded.
My head jerked to the side, my hands flew to my hair plastered to the side of my face. I wiped it from my eyes, angrily growling like a madwoman. He grabbed the t
orn shirt off the ground and threw it at me. “Clean yourself. I’m not marrying an animal.”
Animal?
This fucking asshole.
Soaked and pissed, I threw the shirt back to the ground, glaring at him. He stepped toward me, his fists clenching, that determination returning. I knew what was about to happen. He was going to grab me again. I hurried to move when his hand grabbed at my bare thigh, forcing me in place.
“Let go of me!” I seethed.
Kneeling, he grabbed the torn shirt back off the ground and roughly wiped at my legs where the dried mud – now fresh – was. I made to kick, but he grabbed my other leg with his other hand. I raised my hand to hit him but stopped when I saw the dark expression taking over his face. He challenged me to. Dared me to with those angry eyes. I’d be truly doomed if I struck him.
So why was I still thinking about it?
For a moment, we just stared at each other like that, my hand raised, his dark stare pushing me to do it. He was provoking me. He wanted to punish me. I didn’t mind it, either. Which…surprised me a little. Weird conflicting urges soared through me. I wanted to hurt him. I liked to press his buttons. I liked to rebel. It felt good to be this… feral again. But…where was it going to get me?
Nowhere. It was going to get me nowhere.
To his surprise, I lowered my hand. It took everything inside me to do it. I was stronger than I thought, but there was no point in fighting. The cocky bastard would win either way.
His eyes lit up in that way again, the corners of his mouth forming the faintest smirk. Another victory. What had my life become being made to converse through looks and vague lip movements?
He made quick work of cleaning me, and I felt hyper aware of his every touch. He was rough on my shin, but soft around the heel of my foot. He dragged the shirt up and around my inner thigh, smearing the mud more than he was cleaning it off me. It felt good, to my surprise. I was so sore, and every bit of pressure he was using against my skin felt like a massage. There was also something about knowing he wasn’t going to hurt me that made me relax. A kind of get out of jail free card I could take advantage of.