by Fawn Bailey
“It’s okay,” I said in what I hoped was a placating manner. “Just tell me what happened, okay? So I can help you.”
“I’m, I’m…” she looked me in the eyes, and I saw sheer panic in her gaze. “I’m pregnant.”
It was a shameful confession, not like the announcement should have been made. She wasn’t pleased by this information, and as for me, knowing what it meant for her dancing career, it made me gasp and place a hand over my mouth.
“Oh, Carina,” I muttered. “How could this happen?”
She looked at me like I was stupid and we both giggled, a moment of silliness in such a serious situation. Right after, our expressions soured again, and we stared at one another hopelessly, as if hoping the other girl would have the answer. But I truly didn’t know what to tell her. It was a disaster for her career, and besides, she didn’t have a steady partner. She lived on her own in an apartment paid for her by her parents, and as far as I knew, she had a maid come in every day to clean up her mess.
“How am I going to raise a baby, Harlow?” she asked in exasperation, and I bit my lip guiltily, wondering if she’d somehow read my mind. “I’m not fit to be a mother. God, I don’t even want to be a mother!”
“You have to talk to the father,” I told her gently, sitting down next to her and pulling her hands into my lap. “You’ll figure out what to do together. And I’m here for whatever you need.”
“Thank you,” she said, sniffling and giving me a sad little look. “God, Harlow. I can’t believe this happened. I thought we were being careful.”
I gave her a sympathetic smile and rubbed her arm. “It’ll be okay, you’ll see. Just calm down. Do you need a place to sleep tonight?”
“No.” She got up with conviction and gave me a brave smile. “You’re right, I should go talk to him. He should know what’s going on. Maybe we can figure out something together.”
“That’s right,” I said, giving her an encouraging look. “And whatever you need, Carina, please remember I’m here.”
“I guess I’m just worried I’ll lose my parents’ support,” she said brokenly. “You know they pay for everything.”
“I’m sure they’ll understand,” I told her gently. “Have you decided when you’re telling Madame?”
She shook her head no and the unspoken question lay heavily in the room: was she going to keep the baby?
I knew Carina wasn’t religious, and neither were her parents. But I could still never ask that question out loud. It felt incredibly offensive and insensitive, and it was her decision to make. I didn’t have an opinion either way because I had no idea what I would do in the same position.
“Do you want a cup of tea?” I asked her, and she nodded brokenly.
I got her a box of tissues and set to preparing a nice cup of English Breakfast, my favorite. I kept chatting to Carina while I made it, hoping I’d make her feel better.
“I don’t like Earl Grey, you know,” I said. “It tastes like soap. Momma always made English Breakfast.”
“You’re not twenty, are you?”
Carina’s question came out of nowhere, and I spun around nervously after putting the kettle on, my eyes on hers.
“Carina,” I said softly. “You can’t tell anyone.”
“I won’t.” She shook her head and stared at her hands in her lap. “I would never. Not even before you were this kind to me.”
I finished our tea, mine with just a splash milk and hers with plenty of it and two spoonfuls of sugar.
“Thank you,” she said gratefully. “It’s the one indulgence I allow myself. Madame be damned.”
We giggled and toasted with our mugs, and I turned the TV up to make her feel more comfortable. I didn’t dig for more information, knowing that Carina just needed me to lend an ear, not pry to find out more. I had no idea what kind of support I was supposed to offer her, so I could only hope I was doing a good enough job.
Slowly, Carina started chatting about dancing, about the studio. We didn’t mention her pregnancy once, and I did my best to distract her. I offered to make her some food too, but she declined, saying she needed to watch her figure right before blanching and bursting into a new wave of sobs.
I felt sad for her, and miserable because I couldn’t help her more. But there was nothing I could have done to make things right. This was something she’d have to accept herself.
The clock turned past eleven and I was getting sleepy. Practice started early the next day, and I was worried Carina would be late getting home. And if she got a late strike, like I had been usually, Madame would grow suspicious before she even found out about the baby.
“Right,” Carina finally said, sighing heavily. “I’ve been bothering you for long enough.”
“You’re never bothering me,” I admitted. “I just hope I’ve managed to help at least a little.”
“You have,” she promised, wrapping me up in one of her signature warm hugs. “I’m sorry I just barged in here. I just… didn’t know where else to go.”
I nodded and squeezed her back, promising I’d be there for anything she needed and meaning it too.
I walked her to the front door and we embraced tightly again before she disappeared into the cold night, leaving me with my head swimming. I pulled out the sofa and arranged my bed just like I did every night, but I felt distracted as I got ready to sleep, putting on a flimsy nightshirt and brushing my teeth in the dingy bathroom. My notebook was resting on the table, but I hadn’t written in it yet. Somehow, Carina’s struggle felt like a story I should keep to myself. Not even my notebook was sacred enough to keep that secret.
I hoped Carina would be alright. I still thought being pregnant should have been something beautiful, but I understood why she was upset as well. I wanted to help her badly, but I knew I’d done my part.
Climbing under the covers, I pulled the sheets tightly around me and wondered if I’d ever have the same problem as Carina. Then, I scolded myself mentally for even going there when she was struggling. I was just a jealous little bitch, and she needed my support, not my envy.
But still… I’d never so much as kissed anyone. I was a virgin, with no hope of that changing in the near future, even though I was desperate to explore a new, undiscovered side of myself. Who was I supposed to open up to about it though? Definitely not Carina, not with what I’d just found out… And Amber was much too young. Madame? That would be incredibly uncomfortable.
I sighed, tossing and turning in bed and feeling like I’d forgotten something. I couldn’t get the nagging thought out of my mind when I finally fell into a dreamless, troubled sleep.
2
Thorn
She hadn’t even noticed me.
My little rose was sweet and innocent. She had no idea of the man lurking in the shadows, stalking her every move. Hell, she hadn’t even looked up when she bumped into me at the underground station. And I liked it that way. Better to stay hidden until it was time for me to take her. Otherwise, the temptation might prove to be too strong.
I stood outside her apartment building, in a shitty neighborhood that didn’t feel too safe for me at all. That woman wasn’t doing a good job of watching out for her, that was for fucking sure. I would never have let her rent a place out here, where hooded figures roamed the streets, looking to pay for their next hit.
What none of them knew is that I was the most dangerous of them all. A man in a custom cut designer suit that screamed money. A man little Harlow Granger hadn’t even met yet, but nevertheless the one that would change her life inevitably, and forever.
I’d chosen her years ago. At the time I hadn’t realized her full potential. She was just a pre-teen I saw on one of my trips to the UK, staring through the window of a florist shop while I was placing an order for an enormous bouquet of roses that I’d intended on sending to a woman I’d been fucking.
It was hard not to notice her through the window, but I don’t think she saw me at all. She was focused on the flowers in the store
, and I briefly wondered whether she held the same fascination I did with roses. I watched her, stealing glances when I thought she wouldn’t notice. She was short but willowy, her hair long and golden and her pretty eyes glittering like sapphires. She had a doll-like face, innocent and filled with wonder. She reminded me of a doll my sister used to have. She played with it relentlessly until I broke it, the perfect porcelain face shattered, and my sister was in tears. Perhaps that was the true nature of my obsession.
I’d asked the florist for a single rose. A blush pink one, the color that reminded me of the girl’s cheeks. I walked out of that building, holding the rose by the bud. Once I reached the sidewalk, I snapped the stem. It felt like breaking the neck of a beautiful woman, and it sent a rush down my spine.
I discarded the rose and slipped into a dark alley, my gaze back on the girl in seconds. Just like I knew she would, she rushed towards the spot where I’d dropped the rose. She picked up its broken body and cradled it in her hands, smiling calmly at the ruined rose.
She loved broken things, as did I.
She was the perfect pick.
I turned around and walked away briskly, but not before seeing a man calling her up the stairs into a small Victorian home. I’d memorized the address, but also promised myself I wouldn’t be back to look at her for a long time. Not until she was ready for the rough touch of my leather gloved hand. Not until she was eighteen.
So what was I doing, standing in front of her apartment building months ahead of time?
I was being a fool, risking being caught for a girl that didn’t even matter yet.
But I’d found myself thinking about her in the years that had passed since that chance meeting at the florist. I wondered what kind of woman she would grow up into. I wondered whether I was right about her. Whether she would be the woman I’d set her up to be, or if she’d taken a path I hadn’t designed for her myself.
Our chance meeting at the underground was just that, a coincidence.
I’d been planning to watch her from a distance at her home, but I bumped into her in the station. And she was every bit the woman I’d imagined her to be, even though she was still missing a couple of months to reach adulthood. I would never have touched her. Not then, maybe not ever. At least that’s what I thought until her warm, tight dancer’s body collided with my own.
I resisted the urge to pull her into my arms. To take care of her like I’d always wanted to. It was too early, and I didn’t want to spoil our relationship. Not before I decided what my obsession with the rose girl really meant.
There was enough money in my bank account and enough reputation around my name that I could have taken her right then and there. No one would have batted an eye. But I didn’t want to. I wanted her ready, I wanted her ripe.
She was too young. I didn’t like young. I wanted her experienced for me. But my research told me she was still a virgin, and a desire I didn’t know I possessed until that moment awoke inside me. To be her first… To train her to my liking myself.
I couldn’t get the thought out of my head.
And there I was, standing outside her apartment building a little later on the same day. I couldn’t stay away. I wanted to see her body in her bed. I wanted to be inside her apartment. I wanted to crawl into her happy place and fucking wreck it until she replaced it with a room that only held one thing.
Me.
I didn’t think twice before walking towards the building. Not only was the area shitty, the building was practically falling apart. There was paint peeling off the front, the windows, and doors creaky as fuck. It only took a second to get inside with my tools. No one even noticed I was there. Anyone could have broken in and taken my little rose with her sleeping, unaware of the fact. It made me really angry.
I took the stairs. They were old and beaten but seemed solid enough. The building was old too, and it hadn’t stood the test of time untarnished. I knew which apartment was hers because I’d watched her go in earlier, and I saw the light come on and her silhouette in the window when she entered. Now, I felt the blood pumping through my veins as I stood in front of her door. Only a few moves with my crowbar separated me from seeing my girl in person.
I tried the door handle on impulse and was surprised to find it unlocked. Surely the girl wasn’t foolish enough to leave it open?
But then I remembered the other figure, a pretty curvy girl who’d rushed to see my property a while earlier. She probably forgot to lock it after the girl had left. I smirked and tsk-ed at her carelessness. Not that it mattered. I would have gotten in either way.
My body pulsed with adrenaline from what I was doing. This was most definitely a bad idea. But I’d watched her lights go out earlier, and I knew I could be quiet enough not to wake her. It was past 1 a.m., and I hoped she was sleeping soundly and wouldn’t even notice my presence in her apartment.
I walked inside with soundless steps, surprised by the shabbiness of the apartment. It wasn’t like she hadn’t tried with the place. She’d placed knick-knacks all around, trying to make it feel homier. But the fact of the matter was, it was a shitty apartment with old linoleum flooring and dirty walls. Her furniture was old, and even though the place was spotless, I felt bad for her. Good thing it would all change when I came to collect her.
The apartment was essentially one room, with a small nook that served as a bathroom. I didn’t like her living in such squalor, but she couldn’t suspect anything, so I couldn’t help her out. Besides, I wanted her humble. It would mean she would appreciate everything I gave her when she came into my possession.
It was quiet in there, and the only light was coming from the street outside, and a small night lamp in the main room. I approached slowly, with measured steps meant to make no sound at all. She didn’t stir from her sleep. She lay on a pull-out sofa with her knees pulled up and her arms around them, holding them close. She looked smaller than ever, and I hated myself with a burning passion when I saw her like that. She was so fucking innocent, and all I could think about was waiting, waiting another year until I could snatch her away from her life.
I was a sick man, but she would learn to love me. Crave the fucked-up way I treated her. She would learn to kneel for me.
Slowly approaching, I touched the few objects lying around her home with gloved hands. She didn’t have much, some knick-knacks and decorative stuff with only one photo frame. It was a photo of the girl with her mother, who I knew had passed away. I let my fingers linger on their faces, but I couldn’t stand to look at the photo for too long. I moved away from it, readying myself for her. To watch her chest moving as she breathed in and out. God, I wanted to touch her badly. But she was off limits. She was still a girl. I could only dream of what she’d become. This was our destiny, and I was her future.
I stared at her small body on the sofa. She was bony, too thin. Something I’d get rid of once she was mine. Her obsession with dancing bothered me. I didn’t want her to have ambitions. I wanted her only dream to be pleasing me, learning how to be the perfect submissive. But it was too early for that, so I decided to let her have her little dream. It would all be taken away from her soon enough.
Kneeling next to her makeshift bed, I watched her pretty face as she slept.
Many would think I was a freak, but I merely saw myself as a man who knew exactly what he wanted. And I wanted her. At my feet, with her hands behind her back and my collar around her throat. Whether she came willingly or not, it was going to happen.
I wanted to touch her, but I knew doing that would unleash an avalanche of events neither of us was prepared for. I needed to be patient. I needed to wait.
I walked away from her, her face imprinted in my memory. Those long, thick black lashes lying on her cheeks as her mouth twitched while she was dreaming. Pouty, too-full lips and a pretty button nose with a smattering of freckles over it. She was gorgeous, even if she didn’t know it. She was every bit the English Rose I had remembered her as. And she held my interest now more than eve
r.
Walking around her apartment, I made sure to make not a sound. I was curious though, painfully so. The girl had existed as an enigma in my mind for a very long time. I hadn’t sought her out myself since that moment in front of the florist. This was the first time since then, and I knew if I moved too fast I would come to regret it.
Instead of wavering over my choices, I snooped around her place. There was a small notebook on her dining room table, and I sat down, flipping the scribbled-upon pages. They were filled with loopy, tall handwriting – her own, I realized after reading a few sentences. She kept a diary.
My mouth tugged up at the corners. How perfectly adorable.
I started reading because I couldn’t help myself. I wasn’t nervous about her waking up, although a part of me desperately hoped she would. I wanted to take her right then and there. Force her to live in captivity until she turned old enough to be my submissive. Whether it happened that night or not, I wasn’t leaving. Not until I’d gotten a good glimpse into her life, the way it was now, how different she was to the little girl who had picked up that blush pink rose.
She spoke about her friends in the notebook, though she didn’t have many. She also spoke about a boy, someone called Tommy. What a ridiculous name. Rage bubbled under my skin, desperate to wrap my bare fingers around this guy’s throat and choke the life out of him. I didn’t need much of a reason. It could be done by the morning.
I snapped the notebook shut too loudly and watched hopefully to see if she stirred in her sleep. But my little rose must have been exhausted, because she slept on. I felt a little disappointed, but I knew it was best for me to keep my distance for another year.
Yet I couldn’t risk taking another look at her body in that bed.
She’d kicked off the sheets and I watched her turn around in her sleep, the shape of her body barely visible under the oversized shirt she’d worn to bed. She was exquisite, her body toned to perfection. With me, she would lose those muscles, as she would any of her bad habits. I would mold and perfect her into something that fit me as perfectly as a puzzle piece.