by Linnea May
I will, however, let him think he’s getting what he wants. That will be my strength, my secret.
I have been staring at the new tray ever since the girl left the room, pondering what to do. My previous form of rebellion achieved what I’d hoped for. It called him back into the room, and while he still refused to answer any of my questions, he was willing to talk to me and bring up a deal that could get me out of here. I wonder if any of that would’ve happened if I hadn’t used the sandwich to spell out my demands instead of just gulping it down like he intended.
It makes me wonder whether I should do it again, whether I should also use this second meal as a chance to get my will heard. But when I finally lift the lid to see what’s hidden underneath, I’m faced with a bowl of hot soup instead of a sandwich that can be torn to pieces. It’s more of a stew, really, loaded with vegetables and ground beef, curling with savory taste and promising warmth. A single stick of rosemary is resting on a pile of potatoes at the edge of the bowl.
I can name all of these things. I know this is a hearty beef stew. I know what it is made of; I have an idea of what it will taste like.
Why do I know all these things, but can’t even remember my own name? How is it possible to be this detached from my own reality while still having a pretty clear understanding of everything else around me?
My stomach growls at the sight of the stew, and I cast away any thought of using this food to bring across a message toward him. The thought of pouring this stew out on the floor makes me sick, and my stomach’s growling drowns out the voices of my rebellious mind with such vigor that I decide to stop fighting, just for now.
In any case, I will need my strength if I want to get out of this.
I turn around, straddling the bench so that the bowl is in front of me as I reach for the spoon that’s been placed next to it. Taking in the delicious smell with a deep inhale, I prepare myself for something I never thought I’d do down here: Enjoy a meal.
A good meal. It tastes sublime, and once I’ve taken that careful first spoon, I forget all inhibitions that may have slowed me down before. I am starving, and this stew is the best thing that has happened to me ever since I woke up.
It satiates me, it warms me. It feels like a comforting hug, temporarily saving me from this horrendous situation. I even manage a smile as I devour it, and as I keep eating, I feel something else washing over me, a rare feeling that’s been painfully lacking most of my waking time.
Familiarity.
I’ve had this stew before. This particular stew. It tastes like home, like something that has been with me for a very long time.
I pause with my eyes glued to the food as I try to come up with an explanation.
Who made this stew? Was it him? Was it the girl? Was it someone else? Is it someone I know? Someone who knows me?
I furrow my eyebrows as anger mixes with my pointless contemplating. I will never know, will I? I can keep asking these questions inside my head all day long, but he will never deign me with an answer to any of them.
Unless I comply. Unless I do what he asks of me. Maybe then I’d have a chance.
He said he’d let me out of here if I come for him. As encroaching and humiliating as that idea appears, I know I may have to say yes to his demand, even if it doesn’t mean that I will actually go along with it.
He must be crazy to think that I could enjoy an orgasm in this scenario. But if that is all he wants to see, if that’s what will bring me one step closer to the answers I need, then what’s stopping me from obliging with his impertinent wish?
After all, I could always fake it, couldn’t I?
Chapter 14
J
“It’s been more than twenty-four hours.”
I don’t like the tone in her voice, nor do I like the way Malia is looking at me right now. It’s early in the morning, not even 6 a.m. She just came down from her room, still in the process of fixing the stiff sleeves of her black dress in an open display of discomfort as she joins me in the kitchen. A crease is drawn right through the middle between her thick brows and her black eyes are narrowed as she looks up at me.
“You said she’d only have to be in that basement for a few hours in the beginning,” she adds. “And maybe for... punishments, later.”
She bites her lower lip, looking disgusted.
I ignore her dismay for now and fetch the glass carafe from the coffeemaker, holding it up as I cast her a polite but distant smile.
“Coffee?”
The expression on her face darkens. “Will she get any?”
I shake my head. “She will. Once she deserves it.”
An exasperated sigh flees her lips, and despite never giving an answer to my question, she gladly accepts the mug filled with freshly brewed coffee when I hand it to her. She’s unable to muster more than a quick glance as a thank you, turning her back to me as she walks over to the dining table. We’ve never shared a meal at this table, and I doubt we ever will. Malia is here under contract and not because we’re bonded by some kind of relationship, or even a friendship. From the moment she stepped inside this mansion, she has been on guard, her stance tense and the expression on her face either sad or hardened.
I can’t blame her. I know how difficult this must be for her, but I hope for her sake that she will get her shit together. Because I need her.
Petal needs her.
I follow Malia to the dining table, my eyes scanning the wide and airy living room that connects to the open kitchen. French doors on two sides of the big room lead out to the terrace, with a view of the sea and the popular cliff walk, but the curtains are still closed, shielding us from the sun outside that only peeks through the small gaps in between.
“You should take a walk,” I suggest. “I hear the weather is supposed to be nice today. Sunny, but not as hot.”
I’m standing next to the table, sipping on my own coffee while I see her turning to me from my peripheral vision. I don’t have to see her face to imagine the expression she’s throwing at me right now.
“I’m not in the mood for jokes, Jay,” she hisses. “And I’m not leaving her alone with you. You know I won’t.”
I sigh, not surprised at her response.
“You have to trust me,” I say, facing her indignant look. “Otherwise, this can’t work.”
She huffs. “How am I supposed to trust you? You’re already going against your word by keeping her down there for this long!”
“Trust me, she will get out of that basement today,” I say, adding in a lower tone, “I’d be surprised if she didn’t.”
Malia regards me with a skeptical look, her eyebrows arched and her head slightly tilted to the side.
“So it will depend on something she does?”
“You know I can’t share those details with you.”
“Can’t or won’t?” she asks. “It’s not that l have no imagination, Jay. If you don’t tell me, I’ll just imagine the worst.”
“Fine with me.”
She rolls her eyes, sighing heavily.
“I’m not sending you away from here so I can mistreat her,” I assure her. “I just think a walk would be good for you. Get some fresh air, clear your head. But don’t talk to anybody.”
Malia frowns at me. “Of course I wouldn’t.”
She brings the mug up to her mouth again, taking big swigs of her coffee that suggest she didn’t sleep much either. I know I haven’t, and neither has Petal.
I’ve been watching her most of the night, worried that she might do something stupid. It’s never out of the question that the subject hurts themselves. I’ve seen it before, and I would hate to see it with her.
Malia was instructed to fetch the tray from her room as soon as Petal had finished eating, making sure she took every single item with her. Petal shouldn’t be left alone with anything but herself, having nothing but the thin piece of fabric draped around her pretty body. She couldn’t possibly do any harm to herself with just that, unless she gets rea
lly creative and finds a way to use that gown to harm herself that even I haven’t considered.
And I have considered a lot of possibilities. I have seen a lot. I have seen what people are willing to do to get out of their misery.
I know what desperation and loneliness can make people do.
That’s why my eyes remain glued to one of the many screens throughout the mansion that show what the camera is catching in Petal’s room most of the time. Malia doesn’t have access to these screens. She doesn’t know where they are, nor how to look at them. While she needs to be informed about Petal’s current status and well-being, there’s no way I’d let her—or anyone else—see what happens between Petal and me when we’re alone.
Especially today.
It’s true that I don’t want to send Malia out of the house because I intend to hurt Petal. And it’s also true that I believe she needs a little break from this house and the things that are happening here.
But I also want to be alone with Petal today. Completely alone, even if it’s just for a couple of hours.
“Consider that walk, Malia. I promise, she will still be in one piece when you return. If you remember to bring her breakfast, that is.”
The expression on Malia’s face softens a little. “She can have breakfast?”
“Two slices of toast and some water, yes.”
The hint of a smile that was playing on Malia’s face a moment ago is cast away as soon as I finish speaking, but I didn’t expect anything else.
“You know, Robert is going to contact me soon,” she says out of the blue, maybe in an attempt to worry me. If that’s the case, she’s unsuccessful.
“Yes, he will,” I agree. “We both knew it will happen—and we both know how to handle it. Isn’t that correct?”
She nods quietly, emptying her coffee and refusing to look at me.
“Yes, sure,” she whispers, not sounding convinced.
“Don’t fuck this up, Malia,” I warn her. “You need to remember the rules. For her.”
“Yes, yes, I know, and I will,” she snarls back at me, waving me off. “I will take that fucking walk. And I won’t forget the rules.”
Fiery rage flickers inside my chest at her dismissive behavior. Normally, I wouldn’t let anyone talk to me like this. No one.
But I’ll let it pass with her. For now. Malia doesn’t fall under any of my normal regulations, and she knows that. She may be taking advantage of it, too, but if this is what she needs to cope with all of this, so be it.
I can’t let her ruin this.
Especially not now, when things are just about to get interesting.
Chapter 15
Petal
On my knees, head down, with my hands on my thighs, palms up.
That’s what he said, right?
There’s not much time to ponder these questions between the first sound of the lock and the moment someone steps through the door. Only seconds for me to decide what position I should take to welcome him. I’m uncertain, even though he has told me twice, reminding me once again before he left the last time I saw him.
When was that? Hours ago? A day ago? It’s hard to tell. I fell asleep in between, unable to keep myself awake any longer and curling up on the bench as comfortably as possible. There was a point where the light was dimmed down in my cell, either meaning that it was indeed nighttime or that he wanted me to be more comfortable as I showed signs of exhaustion. My entire body was yearning for rest, suggesting I’ve either been up for almost an entire day or I’m still feeling the aftereffect of whatever drug I’ve been given to make me pass out when I was brought here.
My gaze is lowered to the floor, so I don’t realize who is coming into the room until I see the person’s hands appear right in front of me. It’s not him, but the girl with the black curls, once again bringing a tray with her that she places on the cement floor right in front of me. I only realize it’s her in that very moment, tilting my head up just in time to catch a glimpse of her face before she turns away from me. Again, she doesn’t say a word, nor does she look at me or linger in the room for even a moment.
She’s out the door before I find it within myself to say something that could draw her attention back to me. I curse myself for that.
Talk, goddammit. You must at least try!
I promise myself to be prepared next time. To lay out the words beforehand, if I must. I won’t tolerate being treated like this any longer. Despite the sad look on her face and her apparent discomfort, I’m beginning to grow angry at the girl as well. We’re alone every time she visits my room. There are so many ways for her to communicate with me without him knowing.
What is she so afraid of? What has he done to her that makes her act like a frightened sheep around me?
I empty half the bottle of water in one swig before I start nibbling on the buttered slices of toast she brought me, tearing off small pieces to make the meal last longer. If nothing else, it’s something to do, something to occupy my underactive mind.
Boredom and loneliness are poison for the mind. It would drive any person mad. And I don’t even have memories to live in, anything to divert my attention away from this dark, gray cell that holds nothing but desperation for me. Every time I try to access the deepest corners of my mind, I become dizzy and nauseous, as if I were injected with sickening venom every time I came too close, stopping me from getting a hold of the things that have been taken from me.
The only thing I have in excess is time. Alone. So much time that’s spent all by myself, thinking, contemplating, walking up and down along the walls, because I don’t want to believe that there really is no way out for me. I keep searching for a secret, a loophole, a crack in the wall. Anything that would give me a tiny bit of hope to latch on to.
But of course, that never happened. I move in circles, turning my attention to external features in search for a way out, until I regain understanding of my hopeless situation. Then my focus is redirected, observing internal reactions and thoughts, while I reacquaint myself with the body that felt so foreign when I first woke up. It’s all I have right now, the only clue to answer my many questions.
I keep hugging myself, stroking along my own skin, feeling out every inch of it, providing comfort to myself while I learn this body that I’ve lived in without remembering. I’ve searched for wounds and scars, wondering whether I put up a fight when I was taken. But nothing on the visibly accessible areas of my body would suggest such a thing. There’s also no pain except for the area on my behind where he spanked me not too long ago.
My face remains a mystery to me. I’ve been caressing every inch of it multiple times, letting the tips of my fingers follow the outlines of my jaw, my lips, my nose, my cheekbones, my eyebrows, my forehead. Yet I probably wouldn’t recognize myself if someone were to give me a mirror.
Or would I?
Would seeing myself do the trick?
My heart skips when I hear the lock again, and I hurry to take position, quickly swallowing the very last piece of toast before the door is opened.
It’s him this time. I know right away.
His steps are heavier, calmer, more confident and assured. He steps inside, closing the door behind him and pausing for a moment before he takes two more steps to approach me. My eyes fall on his shining black dress shoes, and I tense up when he bends down to pick up the tray that’s separating us. I don’t move an inch while he puts it aside, waiting seemingly calmly while my heart feels like it’s about to jump out of my chest.
“Look at me.”
His voice is firm, allowing no backtalk as he awaits my obedience.
And I comply. I tilt my head back, meeting his dark gaze far above me. He’s wearing all black again, a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up, black suit pants, black shoes. His hair is immaculate as always, gelled to the side, with not a single strand of his short cut out of place. He’s smiling, but it’s not a friendly smile. An ominous threat is lacing his expression, warning me not to feel too sec
ure.
“Are you ready to get out of here, Petal?” he asks. “Are you ready to do what I ask of you?”
I press my lips together, suppressing the urge to rebel, to tell him to fuck off and just let me go without humiliating me like this.
But I know better now. I know it won’t get me anywhere. It will end in punishment. A punishment that might be worse than any other I’ve received so far. I don’t even fear being beaten by him; I don’t fear the pain he could evoke. No, what I fear the most is being left alone again.
What I fear most is the torment of idle loneliness.
And I’m sure he knows that. If I tell him to fuck off, that’s exactly what he’d do. He’d leave the room and subject me to an even longer period of dark seclusion, watching as I slowly lose what remains of my sanity.
I won’t let that happen.
I’m not submitting to him. I’m not doing what he wants me to do.
I’m doing what I need to do to get out of here.
“Yes, master.”
The words leave my mouth with surprising ease. But they weigh heavily on my chest.
He, on the other hand, looks more pleased than he ever has before. The smile on his face widens, never losing its ominous foreboding as he goes down on his knees right before me, joining me on eye level.
The dim light casts subtle shadows on his cleanly shaved face, emphasizing his out-of-this-world handsomeness. Right in this moment, as he leans forward, caressing my cheek while assessing me with that contented smile on his face, it’s hard to remember the monster that hides behind this facade.
But I know it’s there. I know I will see nothing but that cruel creature in just a few moments, when he will go on to rape me.
Because that’s what’s going to happen, right? He says he wants to see me climax, and I’d be stupid to think that doesn’t mean he’s going to fuck me against my will.
I swallow dryly, suppressing the wave of disgust and sorrow that surfaces beneath the determination I took such pride in just a moment ago.