by Linnea May
Black curly hair, black dress, black shoes, and olive skin. She stands out against the room like a dot of ink on paper. And once again, she’s bringing a tray with her, hurrying toward the table more than ten feet away from me.
“Hey!” I bring forth, straightening my back as I raise my gaze up to her, but not getting up on my feet.
She stops mid-motion, her fingers tightening around the edges of the tray while she stands still with her back turned to me. It’s just a second, an eerie moment during which she acknowledges my existence.
My lips are moving, trying to find the right words to send to her now that I seem to have her attention. But I’m not fast enough. Before I can find the right words to keep the ball rolling, she’s on the move again, leaving the tray on the table before she turns around—making sure she’s not facing me at any moment—and heads back to the door.
“That soup!” I yell helplessly, my entire body jerking up. “Or stew or whatever it was. It... it was very delicious.”
The girl freezes, her shoulders tensing as her hands curl up into fists while she stands in the middle of the room, far enough to be out of my reach but not too far for me to see every single twitch in reaction to my words. My heart almost stops when she slowly turns her face to look at me, wearing that same sorrowed expression that I saw before, laced with a good chunk of fear. I just can’t tell whether she’s actually afraid of me or... him.
Our eyes lock onto each other, and I think it’s the first time we’ve ever exchanged a look for this long. Hers are round and big, a black abyss, framed with thick lashes and a juvenile flavor to her very grown-up and beautiful expression.
“Thank you,” I say. “For... that. The stew. I don’t know if you made it, but... I loved it. Thank you.”
The girl looks at me, her eyebrows arched in pitiful sorrow while her lower lip begins to tremble. I can tell she wants to say something, that she wants to speak to me, but something—or someone—won’t let her. So, we just stare at each other, holding one another in place while neither one of us dares to talk. I’m afraid of scaring her away if I retreat to asking the same questions I asked when I first saw her, and she’s obviously fighting her own demons.
I cautiously jut my chin up, even afraid to move too much. “Did you... did you make it?”
She nods.
And just like that, she manages to conjure a smile on my face, probably the first smile ever since I woke up in that horrible basement.
“It was a great stew. Thank you,” I repeat, as the smile on my face broadens.
It’s such a small thing, a mere gesture, not even a word. But to me it means the world. Just a simple reciprocation, a sign that she sees me, that she hears me. I thought it was all I needed.
Until she opens her mouth and shakes my hopeful heart in a way I didn’t expect.
She’s smiling softly when she whispers, “You’ve always liked it.”
Chapter 21
J
“What the hell was that?”
An admission of guilt is painted all over Malia’s face as she slips through the door. She evades my gaze, as if that could save her from the lecture she knew she’d receive upon leaving that room.
We have rules, and these rules are set in stone. Malia signed them, as did I.
She is not to speak to Petal. Not during the first few days, at least. Not now. All she is allowed to do is bring her food, and with that, a little comfort. I warned her that she wouldn’t be recognized and that she shouldn’t try to invoke any kind of contact. I knew it would be tough for her, seeing how close she was to Petal almost all her life. I knew it would be a challenge that would strain most people, especially a young woman like her.
Malia knew what she was getting herself into. And she did well so far. I didn’t like the fact that she barely even looked at Petal when she visited her. No one ever told her to act like a frightened deer in front of her former best friend, to ignore her like that and possibly worsen her emotional state instead of stabilizing it as she’s supposed to.
She could look at her. She could smile at her, give her some comfort, a quiet form of consolation that would develop into more over time, into a new form of friendship.
But she could not fucking talk to her.
“We had a deal, Malia.”
She swallows dryly, her hand still resting on the doorknob. Her eyes are still lowered to the floor, still refusing to face her obvious failure. With the way she’s been acting every time I remind her of the set of rules she signed up to, I expect her to frown at me, to object me, to throw a spate of backtalk at me that I’d find hard to tolerate.
She takes a deep breath while she lets go of the doorknob, her hands curled into tight fists as she finally looks up at me, a dark glare flickering across her young face.
Damn. If she raises her voice right here in front of Petal’s door, I will have to forcefully remove her. I’d hate having to do that, but while the door to Petal’s bedroom is soundproof to a degree, it wouldn’t cover a girl’s screams.
I tense up, ready to grab the girl and pull her away from the door, as I wait for what she has to say to me. I’m prepared for a lot, but not for the words Malia chooses when she finally opens her mouth for a response.
“I’m sorry,” she says, the words colliding with the expression on her face. “I couldn’t help it. I know it was wrong but I just...”
Her voice breaks, and her lower lip begins to tremble violently.
“She remembered the stew,” she adds, looking at me as if she’d just discovered a horrible truth. “She remembers.”
I shake my head. “You know I hear every word that’s spoken inside that room, Malia. She thanked you for it, because she liked it. That is all.”
“Why did you ask me to make that for her? Why of all things...”
“Because she needs some comfort,” I explain. “Even if she doesn’t know where it’s coming from or why, it makes her feel better. She needs it. She needs a sense of familiarity, even if the memory is not clear to her.”
Malia closes her eyes as she nods, a set of tears slowly traveling down her olive skin.
“It’s all so easy for you,” she whispers. “You just get to toy with her as you please. Like you always wanted. You don’t know her like I do, you don’t love her—”
“Shut it,” I hiss, closing in on her as I raise a finger in warning. “Stop it right there, Malia. You have no idea what you’re saying.”
“Maybe I don’t,” she utters, lowering her gaze. “I don’t understand this, any of this. I never got it. Why she would—”
“You don’t have to understand it,” I interject. “You just have to remember why we’re doing this, and what your job is. It’s not about being my little helper or my servant, you know that. It’s about—”
“Her,” she adds, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “I know that. It’s just that...”
She looks up at me, more tears dwelling in her black eyes when she says, “Robert called me.”
My heart suspends a set of beats, stopping in shock as I process a statement I wasn’t ready for. I didn’t expect this. Not this early, after just a single day.
This just proves how right we were to do this.
“When?” I want to know.
“While I was out, walking,” Malia says, sniveling. “I had my phone with me, like you said I should. But still... I didn’t... I wasn’t ready for—”
“It’s okay,” I interrupt her, feeling inclined to place my hand on her shoulder to console her. But I retreat mid-motion, knowing that it would only do the opposite with Malia. She and I, we’re not in that place. Physical contact is out of the question, even when it’s nothing but a reassuring gesture of friendship. We’re not friends, and we never will be.
“He didn’t waste any time, did he?” I opt to say instead, hoping it will make her feel less alone. If there’s one thing she and I share, it’s our joint dislike of Robert.
It appears to work, as Malia manag
es to let out a dark chuckle. “Nope, he certainly didn’t.”
“What’d he say?”
She huffs. “What do you think he said? He was worried and angry. He wanted to know if I knew where she was, and when I said no, he...”
Malia pauses, pressing her lips together as if she were afraid to share this crucial piece of information.
“He got really upset.”
“With you?”
She shakes her head. “No... I don’t know. I mean, why would he? He can’t possibly know that...”
“No, he can’t, and he doesn’t. He’s just worried. You know him.”
Malia bites her lower lip as she nods, her thick lashes fluttering nervously.
“He said he’s going to the police if he hasn’t heard from her by tonight.”
“That shouldn’t surprise us.”
“No. But should it worry us?”
Her eyes meet mine, wide with concern and a desperate need for reassurance. We’ve had this conversation before, many times actually. We practiced, we prepared. We knew what would happen once we set things into motion.
But it’s one thing to play out these scenarios in theory. It lacks the imminent threat that reality poses. Malia doesn’t need to hear anything new from me; she just needs to know that everything is going according to plan, that everything will be fine.
She needs to know that she’s safe.
“No. We have nothing to worry about. You know what to say when they call you,” I say.
And so do I.
Chapter 22
Petal
The girl looking back at me is a stranger.
I should have known. If there’s nothing left inside my mind that could help me figure out who I am, a simple look in the mirror won’t help in the least. I could just as well be looking through a window with another person staring back at me.
But still, I can’t stop looking at her, observing, searching, the tips of my fingers absentmindedly traveling across my cheeks, as if I still needed them to gain understanding of my own features. Long ash-blonde hair frames a face that bears the signs of a life I have forgotten. My lips are light-colored, barely standing out against the surrounding skin, and my nose is too small for the rest of my face, especially in comparison to my eyes.
They are green and dark against the skin of my cheeks. Dark shadows blemish the area right beneath my eyes, giving my face a ghostly expression, especially with my eyes wide like this, staring at my own reflection as if I were seeing it for the very first time.
And in a way, I am. I have lived a life before all of this, but I don’t remember a single detail about it. I don’t know the name of the girl looking back at me. I don’t know her story, her memories. But I have a feeling that she hides a dark secret, something that has left a mark on her that’s still visible even now. My cheeks are too hollow and the shadows beneath my eyes have grown over time. They’re remnants of a story that lacks a happy ending.
Something happened to this girl, the stranger who is me.
“Who are you?”
It’s the most wondrous thing to see myself speak. To see those strange lips moving as I hear a voice I’ve reacquainted myself with. Next to my body, it was the only thing I had left, a part of me that needed no mirror to reveal itself.
I take a step back from the mirror, turning away from it with a disappointed frown, as it didn’t hold the answers I was hoping for.
I gasped in pleasant surprise when I first stepped into the bathroom, switching on a light that’s a lot brighter than both the basement light bulb and the one in the bedroom up here.
It was the door right next to the bed that led me here, inside a bathroom that’s almost as big the basement cell, but emitting an entirely different atmosphere. First of all, it’s brighter in every aspect. White, there’s white all over. White tiles on the floor and wall, a white sink and vanity, a white toilet hidden behind a corner to the right and a white tub, big enough for two people if not more. Golden fixtures give the room an elegant finish. The design may be minimalistic at first impression, but it’s apparent that everything in here is of highest quality, speaking of wealth.
He must be rich. I’ve had the feeling from the very first time he stepped into my gray chamber downstairs, only judging from the way he dressed and the way he carried himself. He always dressed to the nines, always looking so sharp and well-kept. His immaculate appearance added to my feeling of inferiority. I’ve always felt small and dirty before him, embarrassed to even be seen by such a beautiful monster. I haven’t had a chance to clean myself, to take care of myself in any way. If anything, I felt like my appearance was slowly adapting to my environment, my skin turning gray, the color of my hair fading just like my hope of ever getting out of here, while everything about me was covered with a thin layer of concrete dust.
This is why—next to the mirror above the sink—the gigantic bathtub has the biggest appeal to me. I move as if in a trance as I approach it, finding my hand on the golden faucet without hesitation. I sit on the edge of the tub, adding some of the bath soap that’s been waiting on a small shelf next to the tub, watching it twirl in the shallow water.
He left me with no instructions, no warning, no ban on anything. There were no words about what I was to do after he left me, and my idle mind is in desperate need for occupation, as I still lack company or any kind of dissipation.
For a moment, I hoped I could get something out of the black-haired girl. I was overcome with unbridled hope when I heard her voice for the first time.
“You’ve always liked it.”
Right after uttering those mysterious words, she hurried out of the room, as if she tried to run away from a horrible mistake. There was no chance for me to follow up on her words, no way to make her stay even a moment longer.
You’ve always liked it.
Her words suggest she knows the person I used to be before waking up in here. Maybe even for a long time. We are about the same age, so it makes sense to assume that we were friends. Maybe we grew up together?
How is it possible that I can’t recall a single thing about her or the relationship we might have, even if I try? I’ve tried so hard, digging deeper and deeper into the farthest corners of my mind, only to face the same wall of resistance that’s been there from the beginning. I can penetrate it as much as I want; it doesn’t budge in the slightest. Instead, I just get dizzy while my stomach turns dangerously, threatening to get rid of the food the girl brought. It was another sandwich, and this time my hunger won over the desire to act up. There’s no point in not eating if it will only bring me back to that horrible basement. Nothing could be worse.
This however, this feels likes heaven.
The hot water prickles on my skin, bordering on pain when I cautiously immerse myself in the midst of steaming comfort. I welcome the heat, sighing as I dive deeper into the tub, almost entirely disappearing beneath cloudy mountains of soap. I haven’t felt this warm and comfortable since I woke up, and only now do I realize how sore my entire body has become from being exposed to the concrete cold downstairs. The prickling is especially intense on my behind, still bearing a reminder to the spanking I received when I was barely awake.
I close my eyes, moving down into the liquid warmth until the water is reaching up to my chin. This must be the first time I’m closing my eyes in relaxation, and not in fear and to shield myself away from something. One by one, my muscles lose all tension, my limbs floating with a lightness I’m not accustomed to. I let it happen, relishing an ease that seemed unattainable just a few minutes ago.
My mind wanders aimlessly for the first time, not trying to understand or make sense of the things that are happening to me, not banging against doors that remain closed no matter what, not asking, not crying, not screaming for help that won’t come. None of that. It’s just a simple stroll through the darkness unburdened by ignorance.
“Petal.”
My eyes fly open in an instant and my heart jumps in shock. He’s sta
nding right next to me, his hands buried in his pants pockets and a benevolent smile gracing his face as he looks down on me with his head slightly tilted to the side. Just like always, there’s a hint of threat in his smile, warning me not to trust it.
“I didn’t hear you come in,” I excuse myself, instinctively crossing my arms in front of my body.
“Obviously,” he says, stepping closer while he grabs a big towel from a stack beneath the vanity. “But that’s no excuse for not welcoming your master as you’re supposed to.”
I can’t suppress a frown at him, feeling more annoyed than frightened by the prospect of another punishment. Just a few more minutes, a little more time in this heaven that gave me more solace than anything else. Is that too much to ask?
He holds the towel up, jutting his chin forward in a commanding gesture. “Get out. We have to talk.”
Chapter 23
J
She tried to fight me when I scooped her up in my arms, but gave up right away when I gave her a warning look. She’s in trouble as it is, and she knows it.
Tightening her grip on the towel that’s wrapped around her naked body, she lets me carry her over to the bedroom, responding with a faint mewl when I throw her on the big canopy bed. Even as she flies through the air, she’s trying to hold on to the towel, eager to protect her pristine body against my curious eyes.
It’s cute, but so futile.
“I think you’re dry enough. Give me the towel,” I order, holding my hand out in a demanding gesture.
She frowns at me, doing the exact opposite as she tightens the towel around her body. Her head moves in a subtle shake, telling me no.
“You don’t have a choice, Petal,” I insist. “You either give it to me voluntarily, or I’ll take it from you with force.”
Her face twitches and she presses her lips together as if to stop herself from speaking. But she doesn’t move, giving no indication that she plans to comply with my order.