by K. Webster
“God, I wish I could fuck you.”
His words confound me, and for a moment, I halt in my struggles.
“You’ll never touch me,” I snap and then spit in his face.
When I wiggle again, his hand finds my throat and he squeezes enough to make me see stars. I grip his wrist, but he’s too strong. After dipping his nose close to me, he drags his lips over mine.
“They’ll wish they never ruined my life,” he threatens cryptically.
I can’t breathe, and for a brief time, I relax. Giving in to my imminent death, I close my eyes. Though he relaxes his grip, I’m too weak to fight him off. His palm finally releases me, sliding over the thin fabric of my dressing gown. His painful grip on my breast pulls me out of my weakened state.
“There, there, sweet girl. Don’t go dying on me. You’ll be worth nothing as a dead virgin. Mr. Caulder wants you in perfect condition. If he weren’t paying me a huge sum of money for this, I’d fuck your tight cunt right now and slit your throat afterwards,” he growls as he squeezes my breast again. “I wonder if the blood from your neck will splatter all over me as your father’s did. Fucking bastard.”
He sits up and glares down at me. The sight of him blurs as I hear his confession—that he murdered my father.
“You’re nothing but a sick, demented pig. I will find a way to kill you, William. Mark my words—” I’m interrupted when he backhands me across the temple.
Pain and then darkness.
My life is over.
So much for the happy ending.
But at least I’m finally flying . . .
MY HEAD IS POUNDING, and I feel nauseated. Today seems like a perfect day to sleep in and nurse my headache, but my sense of responsibility takes over. Father will need to be fed some broth because . . .
Something isn’t right.
I struggle to open my heavy lids—to make sense of what is wrong. My skin is cold. Sore. Bruised. In fact, I feel as if maybe I’m bleeding.
Open your eyes, Ella!
I manage to crack one eye open and find that I’m lying on a cold slab of cement in what appears to be a cellar. Fear surges through me as my memories of William killing my father resurface. He killed him and now he’s trapped me here!
“Help,” I choke out, my voice raspy and soft. I try to swallow, but my throat is too dry. Upon sliding a hand up my neck, I tenderly touch the bruises William inflicted upon me.
I will kill that bastard.
“Help!” I hiss out once more.
I need to free myself from this place and locate the authorities—there is no way he’ll go unpunished for what he has done to my family. Dragging myself into a sitting position, I blink away the rest of my unconsciousness and hunt for a way out. The only light comes from a tiny window near the ceiling and also under the crack of what must be the door that leads out of here.
I begin crawling toward the door, but before I have hardly moved, something cold grips my ankle. Tears spill out when I realize I’ve been shackled by a chain around my foot. Furiously, I attempt to free myself, but the chain is unrelenting.
“Help me! Someone!” I cry out, my voice louder than the last time I spoke.
The scrape of a chair across wood and then heavy footsteps over me sets my nerves on edge. The door abruptly flings open, causing me to jump, and light spills across the floor just out of my reach. When a hulking figure looms in the doorway, I shrink away.
“Please, just let me go. I won’t tell anyone, William. I swear,” I sob as he prowls toward me. I scramble away until my back connects with a cold wall, ending my retreat.
His hand seizes my arm and he lifts me effortlessly to my feet. I can’t see his face, but I can smell him. The scent of bourbon is gone, and the familiar lemony mint odor is back. Tears gush down my cheeks as I cry.
“Don’t hurt me, William. This isn’t you.”
The grip on my arm relaxes, and I cry out when his arm slides around my back and he pulls me against his chest.
“I’m so sorry, Ella,” he murmurs into my hair.
I want to scream and shout at him that sorry can’t bring my father back to life, but instead, I whimper while he holds me. “Just let me go, William. Please.”
He stiffens and leans away. His palm slides over my cheek, and he uses his thumb to swipe away a tear. “My dear, I cannot let you go. I have a deal with Mr. Caulder. When he returns from France, I will turn you over to him to do as he wishes. He and I share a mutual hate for Jasper. It was his desire to use you to blackmail that fucker. I’m promised a great sum of money for my part in this. Little does he know, I would have done it without payment. My hate for your family is deeply embedded into my soul. Killing your father and turning you over to that worm of a man is a means to exact revenge on both Lissa and Jasper for ruining my life.”
My tears won’t stop as I realize I’m only a pawn in his scheme to get back at them. “William, this is ridiculous. I have done nothing. What will this Mr. Caulder do once he has me?”
I’m terrified of William, but I’m even more afraid from the mysterious man he claims to be partnered up with. Before I can ponder the other man too long and his intentions, William drops his hand from my cheek and storms away from me.
“Wait! Don’t leave me!” I shriek, finally finding the full capacity of my voice.
He pauses and grumbles out his response to my previous question. “Dear Ella, I’m sure his plans are evil and deviant. He wanted to be absolutely certain you were a virgin. What he plans on doing with said virgin is of his concern, not mine. You’ll stay here until he collects you in a fortnight.”
I silently process his words as he slams the door behind him.
It would seem I have a fortnight to convince William to let me go.
The urge to urinate is overwhelming, but I am confused and dazed in the cold, dark cellar in which he has imprisoned me. He won’t answer my screams as I plead for him to let me go, feed me, or offer me something to drink. I feel so abandoned.
And Father—my heart aches at the loss.
But my bladder, at the moment, aches more.
I run my hands along the rough wall and attempt to find a place where I can relieve myself. Once the length of my chain yanks at my ankle, indicating the end of the line, I push my knickers down and lift my dress. The moment I get in a safe position, I relax and finally urinate, nearly crying at the sensation of being able to find release. And when the warmth pools around my feet, I try not to gag. The truth is, though, I like the fact that it warms my icy toes.
Damn you, William!
Carefully, I attempt to stand and keep my dress from dragging through the urine. But the moment I stand, a wave of dizziness washes over me at having not eaten in who knows how long.
Blackness.
I blink open my eyes to a pounding in my head. A sob rips from my throat upon the realization that I fainted. Urine and dirt from the cellar floor have saturated the entire back of my dress.
“No! No! No!” I squawk as I scramble away from the disgusting area.
Tears roll down my dirty cheeks as I frantically work to remove the gown. The moment I rid myself of it, I kick it out of the way. My goodness, I stink something awful!
“I hate you, William!”
My screams are in vain, because I don’t even hear a sound from above. Curling into a ball, I wrap my quivering arms around myself and attempt to warm up.
I must have fallen asleep for some time, and I wake at the moment footsteps sound above me. My flesh is cold, and I’m shaking uncontrollably. The stupid gown is within my reach, but I refuse to redress in it. However, as the night progresses, I realize I will die without its warmth.
With shaky fingers, I clutch the fabric and tug it toward me. Once it is in my hands, I discover that it is mostly dry. As I put the filthy thing back on, I weep.
Somebody, please help me!
“Food,” William barks out from the doorway to the cellar.
I snap my head toward him and s
quint at the light spilling from it. “William, please,” I beg. How long have I been here? Two days? Three?
He silences me when he storms over to me and drops the bowl of food in front of me. “What in God’s name is that smell?”
“Th-there’s nowhere for me to relieve myself,” I stammer through my tears.
“This is some sickening shit, Ella. Are you a damn animal?” he spits out as he stalks over to corner of the cellar, out of my reach. He retrieves something and heads toward me.
If only I could get close enough to grab him . . .
Apparently, he can see right into my head, because he flings a bucket at me. It whacks me across the face and scuttles to the floor. With my cheek smarting in pain, I blink the stars away. Before I can yet again ask him to free me, though, the door to the cellar slams closed.
Defeated, I collapse to the floor and clutch my bruised cheek. But soon, the smell of the food makes its way to me and my stomach grumbles violently. While crawling toward the bowl like the animal he claims I am, I try to convince myself I am surviving.
The moment my fingers make purchase on the food, I dig my dirty hands into it and eat ravenously. I don’t even care that what he has given me is nothing but scraps leftover from his own dinner. It is delicious and still warm. And I eat until it is gone, licking the bowl clean afterward.
Five days.
I think.
I’m becoming delusional.
William only comes into the cellar once a day to replace the bucket I use to relieve myself or deliver a meal. I feel as if I’ve become some unwanted, caged animal. Every time he enters, I beg for him to release me. He’s resorted to not talking to me. Each time he comes down here, he ignores my pleas.
It’s making me lose my mind.
And I’m horrified at the smells that permeate the small space—smells that undoubtedly come from me. I just want to be free. To see my sisters again. To breathe air that doesn’t reek of urine and feces.
I have been sitting against the cold wall that no longer chills my forever-numb flesh and rocking myself back and forth for hours. After my first or second day, I tried singing Bible hymns to subdue the terror in my veins. But once I realized God wasn’t coming to save me, I refused to sing another word.
Only I can save me now.
When the door swings open, I immediately rise to my feet. Previously, when he would come down here, I would beg until I was hysterical. I’m tired of begging. Now, I am desperate to try anything.
“William. I want a bath,” I tell him firmly.
Ignoring me, he strides over toward my bucket, which is within my reach. The moment he has it in his hands, I grab one side of it and pull it toward me.
“What the fu—” he starts as we wrestle over the bucket containing my waste.
He yanks at it hard, and I quickly release it. I giggle like a maniac when he stumbles and falls on his arse, spilling the contents all over him in the process.
“You disgusting witch!” he roars as he climbs to his feet and charges me.
Instead of shrinking away from him when he is close, I throw my arms around his neck. He stinks worse than I do now, and that causes me to cackle even more.
“You have lost your goddamned mind!” He is no longer trying to get at me. Instead, he’s attempting to rush away from me.
I grip him tight around his neck as his fingers bite into my ribs in an attempt to pull me off. When he manages to rip himself away, he hastily stumbles back until he’s out of my reach. I expect him to yell or hurt me, but he turns and stalks up the steps.
The sound of commotion comes from upstairs as he no doubt hurries to clean himself. A satisfied smile tugs at my lips. It serves him right for what he’s done to me. I must sit for another twenty minutes giggling to myself as I imagine the horrible man attempting to clean my waste off himself.
As he reenters the cellar, I’m suddenly blinded by the light of a lamp. It’s the first time in several days I have seen any light. The glow indicates that he’s removed his shirt, and my eyes skitter over his smooth chest. If only I could get him to remove this chain. I’m certain I could seduce him into releasing me.
“Ever made love to a virgin?” I purr as he nears.
He growls as he sets the lamp down on a shelf. “I have not.”
I’m surprised he even answered my question. “Want to?” I taunt.
“Shut your mouth, woman,” he snaps as he produces a key from his pocket.
My eyes widen as I allow hope to seize me for a moment. Will he finally release me?
“You smell like a fucking pig and I’m tired of it.” He kneels before me and sets to removing the chain from my ankle.
Before I have an opportunity to run, he rises and grabs my wrist. I’m weak, so he effortlessly drags me behind him up the stairs and out of the cellar. The air is fresh up here, but the lights from the candles hurt my eyes and I squint to shield my gaze from them.
We take another flight of stairs until we reach our destination. I feel warmth from the steam of the bath the moment we enter the washroom. And as the scent of soap permeates my senses, I choke back a sob. Who knew the prospect of a bath would seem more alluring than my own freedom?
“Take off your gown,” he demands, staring at the floor as if he’s afraid to face the horrors he created.
I take a moment to look him over and find that the man I once adored is nothing more than a monster. A handsome monster with feces on his arms.
I laugh maniacally again upon seeing what I did to him.
“Ella,” he warns, his blue eyes finally rising to meet mine.
Upon hearing my name, some of the inner crazy dims. “Say it again,” I whisper. The sound of my name sobers me, and I can’t believe how it soothes me.
His lips purse into a firm line. “Ella, get into the tub.”
I close my eyes and peel the soiled gown from my body. When a rush of breath escapes him, I pop my eyes back open to see him hungrily devouring my bare breasts. Then an idea forms in my head, and I quickly work out my next plan of action. Upon hooking my thumbs into my knickers, I push them down to my ankles. After I step out of them, I shyly lift my eyes to him.
“Are you going to bathe with me?” I question. “You’re dirty too.”
He groans, which causes my eyes to flicker down to the bulge in his trousers. A satisfied smile tugs at my lips, and I stare him down as I climb into the nearly scalding water. It feels heavenly and immediately begins to thaw my body. Once I’ve sunk into the water, I almost moan in delight.
“You’re so different than they are,” he mutters aloud. His eyes skim over my naked flesh as I lather up with the soap.
“Them?”
“Edith and Lissa.”
I smile even though it isn’t genuine. “I’m very different. You’re still dirty,” I purr.
“If I get into that tub . . .” he trails off with a sigh.
“What?” I question, feigning innocence.
“I may not be able to control myself.”
I swallow the fear of his words and pin him with a knowing glare. “Maybe I don’t want you to control yourself.”
He swears, and I bite down on my lip to keep from laughing like a maniac once again. “Ella, I have to control myself. If I had my way, you’d no longer be a virgin the moment I entered that tub. But I am to preserve you for him.”
Though his words terrify me, I let them roll off as if they don’t affect me. Then I hold my breath and dip under the water. The burn of the water envelops me, and for a brief moment, I wonder if I should gulp in as much water as I can. They can’t take the virginity of a corpse.
My lungs burn from remaining under the water with my breath held, and I’m about to give up on life when firm hands grip my shoulders and lift me out of the water.
“What are you doing?” he snarls. He’s bent over the tub, and I use his position against him.
Latching on to his neck, I pull him into the tub with me. He roars furiously as water spills
out over the side. Before he regains his bearings, I’m able to dunk him under the water for a moment. We’re a tangled mess of limbs in the tub, and I lose myself to hysterical, crazy laughter.
When he grasps on to my neck and glares hatefully at me, I yelp.
“You’re insane. I went and kidnapped a damn lunatic!”
“You made me this way when you killed my father and caged me like an animal!” I throw at him, not backing away from his menacing stare.
I thread my fingers into his hair and attempt to force him back under the water. He’s much stronger than I am in my weakened state, easily subduing me. Since I can’t kill him, I’ll enact my backup plan. I slip my legs around him, hooking his waist.
“Kiss me, William,” I challenge.
He settles himself against me and glares at me, inches from my face. Between my legs, he’s as hard as the cement floor in the cellar. Even in my disgusting state, I turn him on.
“It could be you, William. I could be yours. I could become Mrs. Benedict and we could run away. Away from all of this. Just you and me,” I say in a soft tone that I hope convinces him.
For a moment, I see hesitation in his eyes, so I pounce. This time, instead of trying to dunk him, I pull him to my lips. His lips stay pursed, but the second his mouth grazes mine, he loses control.
“My God, I want you,” he grumbles before seizing my mouth with force.
I throw myself into the kiss and allow him access into my mouth. When he dives his tongue inside, I nearly choke on it. This is the man who killed my father. He deserves worse than the same death, but I need him.
I need him to let me go.
“I want you too, William. Since I was a girl. It could be you instead of him. Make love to me,” I beg.
My voice doesn’t feel like that of my own. It feels far more grown and seductive than it has ever been. Maybe when I free myself of this hell, I’ll run away and become an actress.
“But . . .” he trails off as he grinds himself between my legs hard enough to bruise me.
“But nothing. All that matters is us,” I whimper, “Just do it. I want you inside my body.”