“Cal,” I say, shaking my head at her boldness. “Lyla-from-work plans.”
Her passive expression is not the reaction I expect. “Are you guys dating?”
“No.”
She exhales. “Oh.”
“Just fucking.”
When I look back at her, her jaw is working side to side alarmingly fast. “I knew that already, but I thought maybe now . . .”
“You knew? About Lyla?”
She nods. “She told everyone.”
My jaw sets. She looks uncomfortable, so I pull off the dress shirt I just straightened and hand it to her.
She tugs it over her head quickly. “What about me?” she asks as she maneuvers her arms through the sleeves.
“You?”
“You’re, you know, with both of us?”
I can’t suppress the bark of laughter from my mouth. “I’m not fucking you, Cataline. It shouldn’t have even happened once.”
“So you don’t find me attractive,” she says.
I purse my lips and free her mass of hair from the shirt’s collar, letting it fall on her back. “It’s not about that, Sparrow. I’m fucking more women than Lyla, and you should be thankful you’re not them. If you thought I was rough with you, that was child’s play.”
There’s a moment of crackling silence as she stares at me openmouthed. Suddenly she bursts into tears and jumps off the table, pushing me aside as she runs from the room.
I’m left looking after her for a few moments, and all I can think is,What the fuck?
———
Lyla looks dull. Blonde is the wrong color for her—it washes her out, giving her an ashen look of desperation. She’s always looked dull, but it’s particularly obvious tonight as she stares back at me from her pink comforter, spread eagle. I flip the light switch but remain where I am.
“Calvin?”
I turn the lights back on. “I’m not in the mood, Lyla.”
“You’re not?”
“I’ll call you another time.”
“But . . . I can invite Sabrina if you want? You liked that before.”
I snort. “Did I?”
“I can call her right now. Or if not her, I know another girl. Fifteen minutes max.” When I don’t respond, she asks, “Or would you rather just sleep?”
“When have we ever just slept?”
“Well, never—”
“And we never will. If we’re not fucking, we’re not anything.” I nod my chin at her. “Did you tell people at work about us?”
“No . . .”
“No?”
“Not really.”
She closes her knees and blinks. The bedroom looks like it belongs to a teenage girl. Even Cataline is too old for so much pink. I just shake my head and leave.
Cataline. It’s not the first time I’ve thought of her since the dining room earlier. Suddenly nobody sounds good but her. Lyla distracts me, but when she loses that ability, I have no use for her. And right now, it seems there’s no distracting me from my feisty captive. She’s stubborn and mouthy, and it pushes my last button. She writhes underneath me, trying to disguise her pleasure. I’m starting to believe I enjoy making her submit more than her submission itself. None of it makes sense.
Cataline brings out the darkest, sharpest angles of me. The only other people I let see that side of me are criminals. And whores, or girls like Lyla, who take it rough. Sometimes I go too far, but they never stop me. The thought of going too far with Cataline taps into an emotion I rarely, if ever, experience: fear. If I lose control with her, I could hurt her. And it would only take one time to break her.
Some nights when I’m restless, I sleep with my eyes open. I read. My books are dreams I never want to wake up from. I’m in the library, between the pages of Les Misérables, when there’s a noise in the house. I sit up in my oversized chair. Keys jingle, and my palms sweat.
After learning about Lyla two nights earlier, I ran straight to the shower to scrub any trace of Calvin from my body. I scowled into the steam as I rinsed his touch from my hair. He didn’t deserve what he took, but I was lost to him anyway. For him I came in a burst of wild energy, like a wave smashing fast and hard against rocks.
Everything is still a moment and then Calvin’s leaning in the library doorway. His hair is disheveled, and his normally flawless suit is rumpled. “Nobody should have to work this late on a weekend, not even me,” he says as he loosens his tie and unbuttons his collar. “What are you doing up?”
I’m suddenly speechless, so I just lift the book in my lap and show it to him.
“A true bookworm,” he says with a lopsided grin. It’s half-assed, but it’s the first genuine one he’s ever given me. Without my camera on me, I’m mentally memorizing this moment. “That one should keep you occupied for a while.”
“You’ve read it?”
“You look surprised.”
“You don’t seem like the book-reading type.”
He laughs. “I don’t sleep well either.”
“You have demons too.” Even before I finish the sentence, I cover my mouth as though that might bring the words back. “I’m sorry.”
He enters the room slowly with his hands deep in his pockets. My head is vertical when he reaches my chair. I recoil as his fingertips sweep hair from my face. “Do I scare you, Sparrow?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” His fingers graze down the side of my face, and, shamefully, I incline my head into his hand. It’s clear by my heated exhale how badly I want to be touched.
“I’m sorry I’ve never told you,” he says with a pause, “that you’re beautiful.”
My lids are leaden under his adoration. In the wake of his ghostly touch is pebbled skin, a changing of tides, a carnal need born of something different than lust. If he were to hurt me in this second, I would forgive him just for this feeling.
“Beautiful?”
“If I were . . . normal, maybe . . .” His hand is cupping my jaw now.
I want to look into his eyes, but I’m afraid doing so would end this moment. “What are you hiding, Calvin?”
“Nothing, Sparrow. Everything you see is everything I am.”
He’s warning me with what I know is truth. His hand withdraws, leaving me bereft, so I let myself look. I didn’t notice before that he’s wearing his glasses. There’s no emotion in his eyes.
“I should get to bed,” I say before I can find out if I’ve done something to upset him. When I stand, he doesn’t move. We’re so close, our distance can only be measured by heat. I keep my eyes fixed on the floor and swallow so loudly it makes me blush. I don’t know why I’m suddenly in trouble, but I know where it will lead. “I mean, if I’m allowed.”
“Are you asking my permission?”
I nod down. His hand contracts into a fist, and I brace myself for ripped clothing, or some variation of the other night’s performance. The surface of my skin burns in a way that I’m certain I’m turned inside out, and I don’t know if I’ll scream or melt when he touches me.
“I like you like this,” he says.
It’s not until he steps back that I exhale the breath I didn’t know I’d seized. “That’s it?” I ask.
“Obedience will get you far, Cataline. It’s what I’ve been trying to teach you.” He turns around to exit the library but stops and looks back. “That is, unless you were hoping for something else? It’s late, but I’m always up for an impromptu lesson.”
“No,” I choke out, shaking my head.
He answers with an exaggerated smirk. “Okay, then. Goodnight.”
In bed, I can’t keep my fingers out of my underwear. When I pull them out and smell them, I smell him. I taste myself for him, gliding my fingertips from the back of my tongue to the tip. The night he took me from the street, I turned from person to possession. Now I worry that when he entered my body and stole what I wouldn’t give him, I became his possession from the inside. I pretend my hands are Calvin’s and let them take me somewhere I
want to be—even if it’s only in my mind, even if I would never admit it: with him.
Birds sing outside my window for the first time. The room is as bright as a spring day. Despite my late night conversation with Calvin in the library, I feel rested. Instead of sitting on my sill and daydreaming from behind glass, I go downstairs for a late breakfast.
I’m finishing a stack of homemade pancakes when Calvin walks in.
“Cataline,” he greets with a smile, wiping a gloss of sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. “Sleep well?”
My eyes scan over his outfit, narrowing as I chew. “You’ve been horseback riding?”
“It’s beautiful outside. Nothing better than a crisp fall day.”
I look down at my fork as it zigzags through maple syrup. It does look beautiful outside, the sun brightening the woods’ brown-orange trees. I fight the question coming, but it’s barely a struggle. “Can I go?”
“No.”
“With you?” I ask, glancing up. “I promise to behave. I haven’t been outside in months. And I’ve never been horseback riding.”
“Never?”
I shake my head hard.
He shifts from one foot to the other. “In exchange for your best behavior, I’ll consider it.”
“Okay,” I say, unable to suppress a small smile. “I’d like that.”
Norman brings coffee for us, setting both mugs at my end of the table. Instead of his usual spot, Calvin takes the chair next to me. “I have no impending business, so I’ll be around today.”
I examine my plate, watching brown syrup suck crumbs under like quicksand. “Is that a warning?”
He laughs. “That’s up to you, I suppose.”
“What do you do? Like, when you have free time?”
“I rarely have free time. There’s always something to be done. I’ll hit the gym at some point today, though. Have you been in there?”
“The gym? No. I don’t run indoors. I feel trapped.”
“You should try it. Come with me. Some exercise will be good for you.”
I drop my fork with a clatter and look up at him. “Are you saying I’m fat?”
He laughs again, and I mentally begin tracking the times I’ve seen him smile. “No matter the situation, women all have the same concerns. No, Sparrow, I don’t think you’re fat. You’ve lost a little weight since your arrival.”
I nod. “I know. I can tell by the fit of my clothing.”
“Do you need new things?”
“No,” I say, my eyes widening. “I have more than enough.”
“All right, then. So will you join me?”
I search his face, and he lets me. “Really?” I ask after a moment. “I can come with you?”
His head tilts forward. “You can come.”
“Okay. Yes. Thank you.”
“Finish up, and meet me there in an hour.”
I’m left at the table with my empty plate, wondering if I’ve just walked into a trap. On the way to my room, though, I’m as giddy as if I’ve won something. I wonder if we’ll talk, or if he prefers silence when he’s exercising. I don’t think I mind either way. Predictability makes up my days except when Calvin is involved. Sometimes I believe even when that means something awful, it’s better than day-to-day nothingness.
Fortunately, my closet is stocked with untouched workout gear. I’m outside the gym in forty-five minutes. The door is unlocked, but I seat myself in the hallway to stretch.
I’m reaching over my right leg, my hand hooked over the toe of my shoe when Calvin appears. “Ready?” he asks. Without his glasses, nothing obstructs my view of his angular, handsome face.
“Don’t you need to stretch?”
He gives me a look and disappears into the room. I hop up and follow him through the doorway, where I’m hit with the smells of rubber and stale sweat. A seamless mirror makes up one wall of the equipment-filled room. There are TVs, free weights, and even a bookshelf with volumes on the human body and nutrition. Calvin is hunched over with his back to me as I wring my hands. “What should I do?” I ask him.
He looks over his shoulder. “Whatever you want, Cataline.”
I head away from him for the treadmill. “Can I use this? Or do you need it?”
He holds up his right hand, which is partially taped. “Want to hold it for me?” he asks, nodding his head at the punching bag. I blink between it and him until he laughs. “I’m joking.”
I exhale and nod. “Oh.”
The treadmill is top of the line, and it takes me a few moments to figure out how to set up my run. I’m trying to focus, but I can’t help watching as Calvin pushes hair from his face with his forearms. I hit “Start” just as he peels off his t-shirt and tosses it over a dumbbell rack. There’s nothing bulky about Calvin, but his strength is undeniable. There’s not a hint of fat on his immense frame. His muscles bulge and curve in the right places, and when he flexes, his six-pack becomes an eight-pack.
He is a work of art, each muscle sculpted by its owner. I get the feeling when he launches his fist into the bag, he isn’t even using all of his strength. I’m settled into my jog now, and my gaze drifts between my reflection and him. I wish somehow that I could see myself standing next to him. I want to know how he makes me look, how we fit together. We both have light eyes and brown hair, though mine is darker than his. Except for the age gap, we could be mistaken for brother and sister. We could be mistaken for a lot of things: friends, lovers, enemies.
His blows get faster, more aggressive. His body shines in the flood of harsh white light, and his hair looks damp and sticky. The heavy bag takes each thud with a dull vibration. It’s patient and obedient, accepting of Calvin’s violent fury. When I look down at the screen, I’ve been running for fifteen minutes, and my breathing is labored. What used to be just a warm-up is wearing me out too quickly. I drag the back of my hand across my forehead and distract myself by watching him. After some time, he pauses, his hands on his hips, his chest heaving. His shorts sag low enough to stir things in me I wish would stay dormant.
He doesn’t seem to remember I’m even here, so I let myself stare as he steps over to the bookshelf. He opens a book, sits on a bench with his back against the mirror, and begins reading. There’s a slight rattle in my chest, but I refuse to quit at anything less than three miles, which was only half my previous route. Calvin glances up after a few minutes and I avert my eyes, but not before he catches me. He nods in my direction. “You all right?”
I nod.
He tosses the book on the bench and stands. “I can hear you wheezing from here, and you’re beet red. I think it’s time to call it.”
“I’m fine.”
He walks over, yanks out the emergency stop and pulls me over his shoulder before I go flying backwards off the belt.
“Hey,” I squeal. “I’m not done.”
He sets me on my feet. “You’re done,” he states as we wipe each other’s sweat from our bodies. “Ease back into it, or you could hurt yourself.”
I cross my arms and glimpse myself in the mirror. My face is flushed, my ponytail sagging. I turn my back to Calvin when I fix it. I slide out the ponytail holder and gather my hair again but pause when his finger runs along the back of my slick neck. He takes the rubber band from my fingers. “Leave it down.”
“I’m sweaty.”
“Then we’ll get in the pool.”
“The pool?” I ask, confused. “What pool? You have a pool? And I can go outside?”
“Slow down,” he says with a small smile. “It’s an indoor pool, and it’s heated. Perfect after a workout.”
“I don’t have a swimsuit.”
With a blink, his gaze falls to my neck and travels slowly down the length of my body. His eyes seem to make contact with my skin, pebbling it with just a look. My pulse is pounding at the base of my neck despite my efforts to calm it. He won’t care that I don’t have a swimsuit. Do I? He’s seen me nude. More than anyone else, in fact. Skinny dipping in a warm pool
with him doesn’t repel me like it should. His tongue runs along the underside of his upper lip. “Back of the bottom drawer.”
My throat is dry from forgetting to swallow. “Hmm?”
His eyes jump back to mine. “Swimsuit. Bottom drawer. In the back.”
I stare at him. I haven’t opened that drawer since the day I arrived and found it filled with expensive lingerie. I wonder how he knows, why he would even care, what’s in my closet. “Right. I’ll, uh, go change.”
On our way out, he opens a door by the exit and hands me a white, oversized robe. “You’ll need this.” I accept it from him, folding my arms over its inviting softness. “Wait for me in your room. I’ll come get you.”
I have three variations of the same black bikini to choose from: one with a revealing but simple triangle top, one strapless, shoulder-bearing bandeau, and one banded halter that augments my cleavage. I try them each on and decide the triangle top is most flattering. My skin is still warm and sensitive from my workout, but it’s comforted when I enfold myself in the cotton ball robe.
After reading some pages from my book, I’m bored and decide to get a snack. When I’m almost at the kitchen, I overhear voices coming from the same room that I was caught sneaking around last time, when I was exiled to the basement. I will myself to ignore it, but my feet stop.
My fear of losing companionship, of going back to the cell, of missing my chance to go outside is strong. But there’s only one thing that trumps it all: my need for information. For answers. I pull my robe tightly around me, rise onto the balls of my bare feet and continue toward the cracked door. I tune to Calvin’s voice as I peer into the room and see him shirtless in only his swim trunks, facing Norman.
“. . . it’s been a week, and I can feel the difference. It has to be now.”
“I understand, sir. All I’m saying is perhaps you could take the night off. It is Sunday after all. Give yourself a break. We can do it in the morning, and—”
“I don’t get a break,” Calvin says, his jaw more defined than usual. “I have to be ready in an instant, and a week is too long to go without it. What if there’s an emergency, and I have to stop for an injection? A few minutes can mean all the difference.”
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