by Linnea May
And she just stands there, staring back at me with that same horrified expression she’s carried ever since she stepped inside. It almost seems like she’s more afraid of me than I’m of her.
That doesn’t make any sense.
“Who are you?” I repeat my earlier question. “Is he keeping you captive, too? Why won’t you talk to—”
My voice breaks and I’m interrupted by a sudden coughing fit, bringing tears to my eyes as the pain in my throat is almost unbearable.
The girl reacts by reaching for the water bottle on the tray and hurrying over to me, kneeling as she hands out the bottle toward me. We’re almost on eye level, and despite the friendly smile that now graces her face, I still don’t dare trust her. I reach forward, my hand stopping midair as I cast her a wary look.
She nods encouragingly, jutting the bottle closer to me. While my overly cautious behavior toward her feels somewhat silly, I still deem it right to be on alert, ripping the bottle out of her hand in one swift move and distancing myself as much as I can before I remove the cap and take a big swig from it, my eyes never leaving her.
The water is cold, but not too cold, soothing my tortured throat without sending shivers through my body. I empty half of it in one pull before I come back for air.
“Thank you.”
A little water, that was all it needed for my voice to return to its normal strength. If only it were that easy with everything else.
I startle at her movement when she gets back up on her feet, again towering above me, despite her short frame. There’s still a hint of a smile on her face, but it’s overshadowed by tense worry as she looks down on me. She sighs, closing her dark eyes seemingly in defeat, before she turns on her heels, her back facing me as she makes her way to the door.
“No!” I call after her, hastily gathering myself back up on my feet. “Please, talk to me! Tell me who you are!”
Her hand is already resting on the doorknob when she freezes mid-motion, still with her back turned to me. Her shoulders sink as she lets out a faint sigh.
I should go after her. She’s so much smaller than me; what harm could she do? I shouldn’t let her get away like this. I need to say something, do something to stop her.
It should be so easy.
But for some reason, it isn’t. Something is stopping me, gluing me to the concrete wall, forcing me to watch passively as the girl takes an audible breath, turns the doorknob, and quickly scurries through the door without another glance at me.
However, I’m sure I heard something before the lock closed from the outside.
She didn’t look back, she didn’t say a word.
But the girl was sobbing when she fled my cell.
Chapter 8
J
“You did well.”
She glares at me, her black eyes flickering with disgust. I was always worried about Malia, and I still am. She’s a weak link in all of this, and the only part in this project that I have little control over. Once she steps inside that room, she’s alone with Petal, and I have no way of knowing what she will do. I can only watch from the outside, and interfere if necessary. It has to be this way, we both know that.
Malia has clear instructions, but I can never be sure that she will stick to them once she’s alone with Petal. After all, this is a lot harder for her than it is for me.
“I know this is hard for you,” I add, stepping closer. She sways away from me.
We’re standing in the hallway right outside the door to Petal. It’s soundproof, so I know she won’t hear us talking, and I couldn’t wait for Malia to come upstairs. I wanted to fetch her right after she got out of the cell.
A single tear is running down her cheek, and when she sees me noticing, she quickly wipes it away, her black locks bobbing due to the hasty motion.
“Fuck,” she hisses. “This is harder than I thought it’d be. I mean she’s...”
Malia bites her trembling lips, a crease appearing between her eyebrows as she stops another swell of tears from overcoming her.
“She’s so... different,” she concludes. “And yet, so much the same.”
I nod, burying my hands inside my pants pockets to stop myself from any unsolicited gestures of consolation. I know Malia neither appreciates nor wants them. She’s never liked me, and that’s fine. But I need her to trust me, and for that, I need to keep the distance she clearly demands.
“I know,” I respond, catching Malia’s black gaze. “I told you, the first day will be the hardest. She’s destabilized.”
The expression on her face darkens. “You did this to her. Don’t talk as if it were some accident that couldn’t be helped. You did this, and you—”
“Malia,” I cut her off, locking her down with a warning look. “Don’t forget your promise. She needs you. And for this to work, I need to be able to trust you.”
I pause for a moment, letting the words sink in before I add, “And I need you to trust me.”
She bites her lips again, catching her breath before she nods solemnly. “Don’t worry, I won’t fuck this up.”
A sigh escapes her lips and her eyes trail back over her shoulder, resting on the closed, sturdy door before she whispers, “But don’t blame me if I struggle from time to time. This is fucking insane.”
“It is,” I agree. “And you’re allowed to struggle—as long as you comply and stick to protocol.”
She turns around, casting me an exasperated glare. “Can I go upstairs?”
I nod, stepping aside and gesturing for her to pass. “Sure.”
She lowers her eyes but straightens her shoulders and passes me in wide and angry steps, heading toward the stairs that lead upstairs to the main part of the mansion. I let her walk away, my eyes resting on the black dress I told her to wear whenever she’s with Petal. I know she will get out of it as quickly as possible once she’s inside her room upstairs. She hates it and only wears it because it’s part of the contract I made her sign. It’s a uniform, dark, bland and practical, but not comfortable. It sets her in the right mindset: Work and duty. She’s here on a special mission, and I need her to remember that. The dress helps.
That and her sense of obligation toward Petal.
Her steps are heavy and Malia doesn’t even try to hide her agitated state when she closes the door at the top of the stairs. It snaps shut with such a loud noise that it makes me flinch. I shake my head, but leave her be. She did everything I asked her to. That’s all I need for now. If this is her way of handling the situation, fine. She can have her little outlets, as long as they don’t interfere.
I turn, my eyes resting on the door that seals away my most precious possession. Despite being so close to her, I have no way of knowing what’s going on behind that door from where I’m standing right now. There’s a panel with a small display on the wall behind my back, displaying what the camera inside Petal’s room catches, but I haven’t looked at it ever since Malia stepped outside.
It’s only been a few minutes, but it feels like an eternity.
I take a deep breath, preparing myself, before I turn around facing the display behind my back.
I’m on guard. I have been ever since this little project started, always bracing myself for the unforeseeable. Because you can never know. Petal is lost, confused, and completely unpredictable in her current state. It’s exactly what I like about this very unique predicament.
I need to be ready for anything. Always.
Still, I wasn’t ready for what I’m seeing on the display now.
What the hell is she doing?
Chapter 9
Petal
A sandwich. It’s a fucking sandwich.
I stayed on my corner for a few more minutes after the mysterious girl left the room, paralyzed by my own fear and confusion, before I brought the bottle back up to my lips, taking another swig from it. It’s a small bottle and I finished half of it with my first greedy pulls, but forced myself to stop after that last. I don’t know if and when I’ll be g
iven more, so rationing what I have seems to be the smart choice.
Besides, I’d like to avoid having to use that awful prison toilet for as long as possible.
I approached the tray she left behind with caution, slowly moving toward it while eyeing it suspiciously, as if I were expecting a bomb to be hiding underneath the lid. My heart was hammering with fearful suspense when I reached for the lid, my hand resting on it for a few seconds before I dared to lift it up.
Just to find nothing but a sandwich in front of me. Wheat bread, lettuce, cheese, ham, and some tomato.
I feel appalled at the sight.
It feels like a slap in the face. As if I’m some kind of animal, kept in a cage, fed with just enough to keep her alive for someone else’s amusement.
For his amusement. He wasn’t the one who brought it, but I’m sure the sad-looking girl who carried this tray is just another one of his captives. She was ordered to do this, just like I was ordered to kneel in front of him. Maybe he even promised her something in return if she did what he told her to. Or maybe he threatened her with punishment if she didn’t comply.
He probably forbade her to speak with me, too. All she was to do was bring me something to drink and to eat.
A sandwich.
How dare he.
I don’t want his fucking sandwich. I feel sick to my stomach just looking at it.
Yet, I reach for it, weighing the outrageous thing in my hand while I try to make sense of the anger that’s taken ahold of me. My first instinct tells me to throw the damn thing against the wall, followed by wild curses that let him know how ridiculous it is of him to think I would eat this.
But where would that get me? What kind of reaction would I possibly draw from him? It would make a statement, but a weak one. It would tell him I refuse to be fed like a zoo animal. It would show him that I’m stubborn and strong.
But it wouldn’t leave any impact beyond that. It wouldn’t send a message and it wouldn’t help me phrase a demand of my own.
He’d most likely storm inside the room, pull up my gown and beat me like he did before. He’d make me cry out in pain. Maybe he’d even relish the sound and seeing me in anguish due to his harsh treatment.
He probably does. He must love it. That sick bastard.
I won’t eat this damn sandwich, which means I will be punished anyway, no doubt. I might as well send a message and give him something to think about.
My eyes wander the room, checking it for the umpteenth time. There must be a camera in here somewhere. It’s no coincidence that he showed up shortly after I woke from my eerie slumber. He must have been watching me from somewhere.
But no matter how intensely I search, no matter how often my eyes wander to each and every corner, up and down, along the sides of the door, above the door, along the edges of the ceiling—I can’t find anything but solid concrete. There’s nothing in here except for the steely toilet seat and the light bulb above my head.
The light bulb.
The sound of my sharp inhale echoes through the room while I tilt my head back. Squinting at the bright light above, I try to find anything that could pass as a camera. They can build them small these days, really small. So I could be looking for something the size of a pencil point.
Still holding the sandwich in my hand, I climb on top of the bench that’s placed right beneath the light bulb, but just as expected, I’m still not able to reach it. The ceiling is too high, the bench too low, and I’m too short, despite being anything but that. Frustrated, I step back on the ground and walk in circles beneath the light bulb, assessing it from every angle without finding anything. Still, it remains my main suspect in this matter. If I want to tell him something, I should probably aim it at the light above. As if I were praying to God.
I bet he’d love that unmerited comparison.
Pushing the bench aside, I make room beneath the light, energized by the rage his audacious food offering has sparked within me.
A sandwich, after what he’s done to me.
He thinks he can order me around with one-word commands. Well, who says I can’t do the same?
I’m smiling as I start picking the sandwich apart, dissecting the bread into small pieces while my heart starts beating with a thrill of anticipation. I carefully place each crumbled-up piece on the concrete ground, taking my time and relishing the idea that he might be watching me right now, wondering what the hell I’m doing with the precious food he so generously offered.
He’ll be mad. Oh yes, he’ll be mad at me.
I will get punished.
But unlike the first time, it will be worth it.
Chapter 10
J
TALK.
She moved the bench aside and spelled the word out on the floor, using the food I had sent to her. Right beneath the light bulb, just big enough for the camera to depict every single letter.
The word is laid out before her feet, a bit tilted but perfectly readable. She’s standing tall, her slim arms resting at the side of her body—and her eyes raised up to the light bulb. She’s squinting, because the light blinds her, and her focus isn’t directly on the camera but slightly to the side, so that she’s not looking at me directly.
But she might as well.
Cold tension causes me to freeze, my eyes locked on the screen, on her.
What the fuck is this? Has she lost her mind? Did I go too far? Have I lost her before we even started?
No. The way she’s standing there, the way she looks up at me, determination lacing her beautiful features while her small hands are curled up in fists—that’s not the look of a crazy person. If anything, her stance is oddly intimidating.
TALK.
What is this? Is she trying to order me around? Or is she simply stating what she wants to do?
I furrow my eyebrows, unable to suppress a frustrated growl as I contemplate what to do. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She hasn’t eaten in a day. She must be starving. I have no intention of watching her starve to death; that’s not part of the deal. She’s supposed to eat when she needs to, and not use the much-needed nutrition to fuck with me.
The plan was to leave her alone for a while, to let her eat and drink and process our first encounter. She needs to regain her physical strength before we can go any further.
I can’t go back inside. Because if I do, that means she won. She’s obviously trying to lure me.
But I also can’t let her act up like this.
She needs to be punished. And the harder the punishment, the faster she’ll learn.
An angry sigh escapes me and I hesitate a moment before placing my finger on the scanner to open the door.
I can see her flinch when the door first opens, but she doesn’t move away from me, despite my resolute entrance.
“What the fuck is this?” I point at the sprawled-out food on the floor as I come to a halt right in front of it. “Is that how you thank me for giving you something to eat?”
“Talk to me!” she barks back at me, now crossing her arms in front of her chest. “I won’t eat before you tell me what this is all about.”
“Oh, no, no,” I retort, shaking my head as I lift my finger in front of her face. “You’re not in the position to make any deals with me, Petal. You listen, you obey. And if you don’t—”
“I get punished,” she finishes my sentence. She glares at me, her anger hiding the fear that must still possess her. “Fine. Punish me. Punish me all you want. I won’t give you what you want unless you give me what I want.”
Where the fuck is that sass coming from? It’s hard to imagine she’s ever spoken like this to anyone, ever. Who knew what a blank slate and fear for her life could do to a girl like Petal.
It’s a surprise, to say the least. But I think I might like it.
I step closer, reciprocating her intense stare without saying a word. Her little artwork gets ruined by my feet as I approach, coming so close that our bodies are almost touching by the time I come to a halt. She�
��s not swaying away this time, but every part of her is trembling as she tries to keep it together. Her eyelashes flutter in frightened haste, her arms twitch, and her breathing turns into swift heaves.
Yet she manages to stay, standing tall while still maintaining eye contact.
Good for her. But I know it won’t last.
“I will warn you one last time, Petal—”
“Stop calling me that!”
She winces when I lift my hand, placing a finger on her trembling lips. It silences her, but it doesn’t make her jump away as I thought it would.
“You are not in the position to make any deals with me,” I repeat. “You will do what I tell you. No ifs, ands, or buts. No questions asked.”
The expression on her face darkens as deep creases appear between her eyebrows. “No.”
Okay, that’s it.
A frightened mewl echoes through the room when I grab her, my fingers closing around her upper arm with such ferocity that I wouldn’t be surprised if it left a bruise on her immaculate skin. She grimaces in pain, squirming as she tries to break out of my grip without success.
It’s beautiful to watch, but not as beautiful as seeing her back on her knees will be.
But once again, Petal finds a way to interfere with my plans.
“So, what now,” she hisses, glaring at me through flickering green eyes. “Is that all you have? Violence? You can beat me all you want. I won’t—”
“Yes, you will,” I cut her off, pulling her closer. Her lithe body is pressed against mine with nothing but the thin fabric of her see-through gown protecting her from my hungry gaze.
She’s killing me. It’s one thing to see her like this, to take in that hauntingly beautiful body topped with that divine expression of strength and determination. It’s mesmerizing, taunting me like no other. But feeling her pressed against me, struggling as I keep her in place, with her soft breasts spilling out at the top of her gown and knowing that her naked sex is only inches away, within reach if I let myself do it...