by Lana Hartley
There’s a true wickedness in her with such a purity that it could bring me to my knees. More than anything, I ache for her to truly belong to me. I know that she could cast me out, flee from me, destroy me, and I’d sooner accept that fate than not have her. How I fell with her was to be determined, but that fall is as inevitable as the demise of those who wronged her.
Finally, her perfect lips part to taunt me no longer in silence. “No one has ever bathed me, not since I was a child.” Carrie nods. “I think that would feel very calming. I’d like that.”
A gentleman would accept this gift. I, however, want to beg for any scrap of knowledge about her that I can hold close in my heart. To know her more feels like to know myself, my obsession with her runs so deep. “I know I’ll enjoy it,” I say in a hushed tone, urging myself to relax my interrogative urges to keep the tranquility of the moment. But everything about Carrie challenges my self-control.
“What?” Carrie asks with a laugh. “I don’t believe you’ve never washed a woman. I’m sure people do it with those they didn’t whisk off to their dark, secret mansions.” She bites her lip and looks down. Something about my discomfort gave her a footing, and I want to explore this.
I touch my hand to Carrie’s upper arm, careful not to squeeze her as hard as I’d like to. “I actually haven’t before. I’ve never wanted to,” I tell her. “Who bathed you as a child, your parents or your staff?”
I almost don’t recognize my voice. I’m bringing up thoughts of my own childhood, an area of my life that I rarely dwell on. Perhaps if I’d sought a therapist over these things, I wouldn’t be a murderer. But it is the knife that brought Carrie and I together…
Carrie’s mouth tenses. “Only my nanny, who deeply resented my existence. I wanted to be closer to her, more than my cold mother, but I can’t say I blame Zella for how she felt about my family.” Carrie shakes her head. “Tell me what happened to your family.”
I haven’t told Carrie that something did happen to my family. I have used this technique before — you ask a leading question to confirm something that you don’t already know. Yet, the way she leans closer to me and touches my face now…I don’t believe this tactic is ill-willed.
“Family is supposed to make you better.” I grab a bath sponge and body gel made of ivory shimmer that I bought, imagining it glistening on Carrie’s wet skin like it will now. I dip the sponge in the water and then wet it, and bring it up to her chest, washing off the remnants of our lust. “My family did not, however. That’s why I don’t see them as my family. They’re gone…” Fuck, I’m evading the question and I don’t mean to. “Carrie, I want to tell you. But I have to ask, do you really want to know?”
Her hand on my face drops to my hand holding the sponge. Carrie squeezes my hand. “Yes, I do want to know. I didn’t want to talk about my parents, but I did. So now it’s your turn. That’s fair, right?” Her voice goes soft and I know that neither of us truly want to talk about our families. Yet, the gap between captive and partner can’t be bridged with rainbows and sunshine. We’re more nightmares, secrets, uncomfortable truths.
“My father killed my mother, and then himself. They were never like me, they didn’t care much for me, and my father planned to kill me too. But Carter’s stepmother had betrayed him, so my father killed himself before bothering to finish me off. I was about your age then, and Carter was my only friend. I considered him family.”
I’m telling her more than I planned to. Her hand squeezes mine, harder. Carrie’s touch weakens my resolve. How could I hold back? When Carrie would have everything I offer, how do I not pour everything out for her? “I had hoped you would meet Carter soon, if you decide to stay,” I growl the words, my aching need to have Carrie biting back against my resolve to be calm.
I expect her to pull back at the intense thrust in my voice, the beast refusing to be kept at bay. She doesn’t, but I feel I have to salve an unseen wound. “Carrie, I truly would never hurt you,” I tell her.
“The sponge is cold,” Carrie whispers.
It takes me a second to realize what she’s saying. I dip it back in the warm water.
Carrie turns around and pulls back her hair. “Wash my back, please.”
I work small circles around her skin. I would never mar this skin, never bite deeper than either of us can take, metaphorically or otherwise. Crimes against Carrie, capturing her, are the first I’ve ever regretted. In some ways, I wish that I could undo this whole mess. In other ways, I know that I want to be able to drag her down to where I am. So what if I recognized something in her that lives in me, too? Why did I have to take her this way?
“That feels really good,” Carrie says.
I lean forward and see her lip captured between her teeth, her eyes closed. I watch her eyes and bring the sponge around to the top of her chest again, squeezing so soapy tendrils dive down the valley between her breasts.
Carrie’s eyes flutter open, a flicker of lust blazing through her when her eyes capture mine. She looks at my lips, and I stop breathing. I watch her lean closer, closing her eyes again, parting her lips.
Carrie is going to kiss me. I am shaken and needy, my lips trembling when hers wisp across mine, her tongue entering my mouth. She pulls back and breaks the kiss.
“You won’t lie to me?” she asks.
“No,” I breathe, my chest expanding so much that my heated skin touches hers, slicked with soap.
“You never have?” Carrie’s voice is raw, her throat sounding scratchy with the question.
I drop the sponge and pull her around so that she’s on my lap. “No.”
Carrie’s legs wrap around me and her hands cradle the back of my head, fingers tangling in my hair. She pulls closer to me and I cannot restrain myself any longer. I squeeze her tight against me until neither of us has air in our lungs, my actions matching my need.
“I shouldn’t stay,” says Carrie, but her eyes are blazing.
I want to bite her lip, but I want to listen more. My fingers trail down to the small of her back and my thumb draws a circle in the dimple just above her ass.
“I don’t think I want to leave,” Carrie says, and she sound crestfallen. Her forehead presses against mine. I close my eyes and feel her, feel her breathing, feel her lips ghost over mine and her little nose pressing into my own. “I’m afraid I’ll never feel as free as I do when you have me.”
Carrie’s words scorch through me. My heart could stop now, beat itself to death, with how intense I feel about what she’s just said.
Her lips crash over mine, hips rolling. The kiss is fierce with a passion that I knew lived inside her. I know she’s tired, and I wonder what brings out this surge of energy in her. When she finally breaks our kiss, gasping, she lays her head against my shoulder and looks up at me.
“I think I need to sleep for a thousand years.” She sighs.
“Let me finish washing you, and then you can slumber till you want to wake up,” I reply hoarsely. I mean every word. I don’t want to give her up. I won’t ask her to come to my bed. Not after how little control I had, how I let myself touch her so soon after I took her, after everything she’s been through. I’m a fucking monster, and I’ve never cared about that until I realized I wanted to mold someone else into a monster, too.
I bring the sponge back to the rest of her body parts until she’s sudsy, and she slips under the water to rinse herself. I watch her as she rises, a lightness to her mood that I’ve never seen in anyone. When she opens her eyes, she smiles.
I’ll never be as good as Carrie. I pray she’ll never be as dark as me. But if our fates weren’t already locked together, I sealed that when I took her. Touched her.
“Do my hair tomorrow, please.” Carrie yawns and stretches out her arms. She stands and steps out of the tub, and I pull the bath plug and start to drain the water.
I watch her grab one of the towels from the steel shelves beside the tub. I want to towel off Carrie’s wet body and scoop her back up in my arms, dra
g her to my bed, wrap my arms around her and fall asleep with my face buried in her neck.
“I don’t want to sleep alone.” Carrie looks down, as if she feels guilty. “Are you comfortable with…cuddling?” She says the word like it’s foreign.
If only I could lie to her, separate the tethers she has on my soul. That’s not what could save me.
I need someone to love me when I’ve never loved anything my whole life.
“I’ve actually never done that, either,” I tell her. I stand from the tub. She turns and hands me a towel. “I would like to.” I hold out my hand to touch her face.
“I’m tired. I’m tired of being alone, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to stay.” Carrie says, and her hand closes over my extended one, pulling it down and holding it as she leads me out of the bathroom. I drop both of our towels into the hamper next to the sinks, careful not to use the opportunity of her baring her body to be a lecherous monster.
I swallow when we’re in front of my four poster cherry wood bed, and watch her climb in. I go to the other side of the bed and slide under the covers, pulling the duvet and sheets over her as well. Carrie grabs my hand as I finish. I slide my body close to hers, giving in and fully holding her against me where she’s captured my arm. Pressed against me like she is, I hear her breathing slow. I dare to bring my face to her neck, pressing my lips there and feeling her pulse. I close my eyes. I know she’s falling asleep. I am, too.
Carrie
I wake up in Jeremy's large four-poster bed and I am moved to tears to know what I have just been through on account of him. Last night was intense and amazing but the way I've gotten to this point is troubling. He's essentially my captor and he's murdered so many people right in front of me...how can I possibly stay? Visions sweep my mind of the classmates who used to taunt me but are now dead.
"You're so weird. God, Carrie, get a life!"
"Oh, her parents are social climbers, she's not that rich."
"This girl is always hanging around us, it's creepy."
"Look what she's wearing! Hahaha, hahaha."
The cackles of laughter descend in my memory as I'm reminded of all the hardship and torture those classmates put me through. I was constantly bullied by them, but does that give Jeremy the right to have killed them? Does he somehow think that's what I would have wanted?
For a moment or two, I consider crawling out the window, down the branches of ivy that cover the outside stone, and I think about running for my life. Is my life even at stake? I innately want to trust Jeremy, but maybe that is my lust for him talking. I mean, how can you trust a murderer? What if this is all part of some sick plan and he wants to fuck me into eternity before expunging me from the planet? I think he would never hurt me but I can't be sure. At the same time, every part of me is saying to stay, at least a little longer.
So, I pull myself out of his plush, comfy bed. I rise and meet the sun, wondering what the day will hold. And then I tiptoe down the hall to the room he's assigned to me. I graze my fingers over the soft, opulent clothes. Hmmm, Gucci, Valentino, Hermes...fuck, what do I wear for him? Despite all my misgivings, my soul is still pining for him and I want to look perfect. In the end, I just pull on a pair of jeans and some cashmere t-shirt. I walk barefoot downstairs and search for him. In the light of day, this place is more ethereal than I remember. There's decadence everywhere, layers upon layers of rich red and black and purple curtains, soft rugs, ancient antiques and I feel like I'm in a castle. In fact, it's a little like Beauty and the Beast, only my beast is much, much darker.
I find the kitchen, needing some coffee or something, and guess who's standing there but my very own tormentor. He's cooking something fabulous, and I can see his muscles outlined under his thin white t-shirt.
"Hi," I almost whisper not knowing where we stand this morning.
He whips around immediately and plants a kiss on my cheek before escorting me to a fully decked out table. It's a kind of breakfast nook, but lavishly spread with fine china and crystal and a large arrangement of assorted roses in the center. Does he dine like this every day? The table is impeccably set for four people. I take a seat and look out the iron-plated windows onto a countryside so vast that I feel at peace, for the first time in days. There are sheep grazing in the fields and a distant forest that is calling my name for a stroll. His palace is truly amazing and I feel gifted to be here, but there is also this deep pull in my tummy of an unsatisfied future. I have no idea what to do here or how long I will stay.
He's looking at me intently and I wonder if he's reading my thoughts of escaping, or staying.
"Mimosa?" He comes over to me and pours the finest champagne in my crystal flute and tops it off with orange juice.
"Yum," I say. "A girl could get used to this."
He looks at me with a hard gaze in his eyes, "Well, I hope you do...get used to it."
He wants me to stay. Hell, maybe he will make me stay. I don't know. In the background I see the news playing on a small flat screen he has in the kitchen. My parents flash across the screen and I ask him to turn it up. He does so before plating my gourmet breakfast and bringing it with his to come join me. We sit and listen as my parents deflect all truth from the media.
"She's had a breakdown," my mother is saying all dramatically to some reporter. Tears now run down her face and I wonder how she can manage to cry on cue like that.
"Our daughter is in a mental institution now," my father lies. "She's traumatized. She couldn't handle the death of her friends and that's the best place for her at this moment."
My mother is sure to add, "She is writing a book about her grief as it helps her therapeutically."
I am enraged. I look at Jeremy.
"They're just lying to save face. You know they're not even looking for me." My heart sinks as this evidence sets in. I am yet again disappointed by my parents. Why would I think they'd start to love me now?
Jeremy puts his hand over mine and it sends a thrill down my spine but I suppress that desire. He is quick to comfort me and he says, "That's not exactly true. They have hired a private investigator to find you, because the police said that since you're legally an adult their hands are tied. So they are looking."
"Yeah because they need my face on this to make a living."
I find comfort in his eyes that are imploring me to stay with him.
"Why don't the police have more questions for me?" I wonder aloud. "I am their star witness."
"That's the thing," Jeremy says. "They've pegged it on someone else. He was a student, prone to violent outbursts and he has no alibi. That's who they think did it."
A subtle smile reveals that Jeremy is happy to have gotten away with the crime.
"Here," he says handing me the phone. "You can call whoever you want, your parents, the police...the choice is yours."
"No." I take a long sip of my mimosa. "There's no one to call."
His eyes light up with possessiveness and I can see I've made Jeremy extremely happy by choosing to stay...for now.
Jeremy
Carrie and I have spent a relaxing day together. Though the morning's news rattled her a bit, she seems calmer now and more content. She is wise for her age and she seems like an old soul, able to take life’s grievances in her stride. When I tell her this I can see that she recognizes in my eyes the pride I feel for her and that it makes her happy. She is extremely intelligent and that makes her more becoming to me.
I took her for a walk around the grounds and she's sleeping now. My poor darling has had the weight of the world on her shoulders and I want to unburden her. If I could take away all the pain and stress she's endured then I would be happy. But I can only take as much as she will give and for now, though I know she is fascinated by me, I also know that she doesn't quite trust me yet. That's why I've planned a special evening to give her something new to focus on.
As it is, I've spent the day just watching Carrie. Her every movement makes me stare in wonderment, and in awe, of this be
ing I've managed to capture. Like a butterfly too beautiful to set free, she must be caged and caught so that someone like me can witness her beauty unfettered. I am so in love, or lust, or in adoration of her that it surprises even me. She's been a champ at handling this break from everything she knew. It's not like she was happy in the life I stole her from, but it was at least hers. Here, in my palatial estate, it really does feel like she's my prisoner. Despite my attempts to let her know that she has choices and she can roam free, I think she and I both know that I will never fully let her go. I will always be there in the shadows, watching her, making sure she's alright. She is like magic and there's only so much willpower I have over that. At this point, I will take Carrie however I can get her. Though I am the one in control here, she has me basically on my knees, begging for her to stay. I would of course never reveal this to her but I'm getting in deep, I'm falling in love, and if she left me now I'd be devastated. I want her. I only want her.
My love and this exciting time in my life seem worth sharing, and there's only one person I can trust with a secret this delicious- Carter. He's the closest thing I have to a brother and I know he'll be interested in news like this. I am never absorbed in a girl for longer than one night, so he'll be keen to see the one who's grabbed my attention. Carter has a way about him that might charm Carrie and help her to feel more comfortable in her new surroundings. At least that is my hope.
There is a sense of disquiet within me however, an unease at the thought of them meeting. I cannot ignore the anxious feelings that arise with the thought of having Carter over. He can be intimidating and I don't want him to scare her off. I hope she sees in him a brother figure that is part of this life and in whom she can trust. I'd like us all to be a family. This is my first and only shot at having something resembling a normal life. Sometimes I feel isolated in my rare corner of the world and though I can have any extravagance, nothing can compare to the feeling of creating a true dynasty with the people I love.