Twist Me

by Anna Zaires

  His words wash over me like a warm ocean wave, bringing with it trepidation and a kind of unhealthy excitement. Some twisted part of me revels in the fact that I’m special to Julian, that he’s as helplessly drawn to me as I am to him.

  For some strange reason, I feel compelled to reciprocate his openness. “I was afraid of you,” I tell him quietly. “In the club, and then when I saw you at my graduation, I was afraid.”

  “Only afraid?” He sounds amused and mildly disbelieving.

  “Afraid and attracted,” I admit. This seems to be the night for revelations. Besides, he already knows the truth. Despite my fear, I desire him. I’ve wanted him from the very beginning, and nothing he’s done since changes that fact.

  “Good.” He runs his hand lightly down my back. “That’s very good, my pet. It’ll make things easier for both of us.”

  Easier? I consider that statement. Easier for him, certainly. But for me? I’m not so sure.

  “Did you ever contact my family?” I ask, thinking of his promise all those days ago. “Do they know that I’m alive?”

  “Yes.” His hand pauses at the curve of my spine. “They know.”

  I wonder what he told them and how they reacted. I wonder if it made it better for them or worse.

  “Will you ever let me go?” I already know the answer, but I need to hear him say it anyway.

  “No, Nora,” he replies, and I can feel his smile in the darkness. “Never.”

  And bringing me closer, he holds me until we both eventually fall asleep.

  Chapter 16

  Over the next few months, my life on the island falls into a routine of sorts. When Julian is there, my world revolves around him. His moods, his needs and desires, rule my days and nights.

  He’s an unpredictable lover—gentle one day, cruel the next. And sometimes he’s a mix of both, a combination that I find particularly devastating. I understand what he’s doing to me, but understanding doesn’t make it any less effective. He’s training me to associate pain with pleasure, to enjoy whatever he does to me, no matter how shocking and perverted it is. And always afterwards, there’s that unsettling tenderness. He turns me inside out, takes me apart, and puts me back together—all in the span of one night.

  And his training is working. I go into his arms willingly now, craving that high I often get from a particularly brutal session. Julian tells me that I’m a natural submissive with latent masochistic tendencies. I don’t know if I believe him—I know that I certainly don’t want to believe him—but I can’t deny that his peculiar brand of lovemaking resonates with me on some level. Toys, whips, canes—he’s used them all, and I have invariably found pleasure in some part of what he was doing.

  Of course, he’s not always sadistic. Sometimes he’s almost sweet, massaging me all over, kissing me until I melt, and then making love to me when I’m nearly out of my mind with need. On days like that, I don’t want to leave the island. All I want is for Julian to keep holding me, caressing me . . . loving me, in whichever way he can.

  Perhaps that is the most disturbing part of it all—the fact that I now crave my captor’s love. I don’t even know if he’s capable of that emotion, but I can’t help needing it from him. He wants me, I know that, but it’s not enough. Somewhere along the way, I’ve lost my hatred for him, and I don’t even know how or when it happened. I still resent my captivity, but those feelings are now separate from the way I feel about Julian.

  Instead of dreading his visits to the island, I now eagerly await them. His business keeps him away more than I like, and I begin to understand how pets feel, waiting for their owner to come home from work.

  “Why can’t you conduct more of your business from here?” I ask him one day, after we wake up together in the morning. He always sleeps with me now. He likes holding me during the night; it helps him with his nightmares.

  “I do as much remotely as I can. Why, do you want me here, my pet?” His gaze is coolly mocking as he turns his head to look at me. He doesn’t like it when I question him about his business. It’s a part of his life that he seems to want to keep separate. In general, I get the sense that he’s sheltering me and Beth from some of the uglier parts of his world. Beth is fully aware of what Julian does, of course, but I don’t know if she knows much more about arms dealing than I do.

  “Yes,” I tell him honestly. “I want you here.” It’s pointless to pretend otherwise; Julian knows exactly how I feel. He’s very good at reading me—and manipulating me. I have no doubt that he’s enjoying my growing attachment to him and likely doing his best to facilitate it.

  Sure enough, at my admission, his lips curve in a sensual smile. “All right, baby,” he says softly, “I’ll try to be here more.” And reaching for me, he brings me toward him for a kiss that makes me dissolve in his embrace.

  * * *

  With each day that passes, my old life seems further and further away, fading into that nebulous time known as the past. When Julian is gone, I occupy myself by reading, swimming, hiking all around the island, and the occasional fishing expeditions with Beth. Julian brought us a large-screen TV with a DVD player and hundreds of movies, so Beth and I have something to do during rainy weather, too.

  We’re still not exactly friends, Beth and I, but we’ve definitely grown closer. Partially, I think she likes the fact that I no longer try to escape. After my one failed attempt to bash her over the head—and the horrible incident with Jake that followed—I’ve been a model prisoner.

  Of course, it would be foolish to be anything else. Even during Julian’s visits, when his plane is here, it’s locked inside the hangar I found on the other side of the island. I’m pretty sure Julian keeps the keys to the hangar in his office, where only he can access them. And even if I somehow got my hands on the keys, I sincerely doubt there would be an operating manual conveniently stored inside the plane, teaching me how to fly it.

  No, my captor knew exactly what he was doing when he brought me to this island. It’s as secure a prison as any I could imagine.

  As days turn into weeks and then into months, I try to find more activities to fill up my free time—and to prevent myself from pining after Julian when he’s not there.

  The first thing I do is start running again.

  I begin with short distances at first, to make sure I don’t strain my knee, and then I slowly increase both speed and distance. I run either in the mornings or at night, when it’s cooler, and it’s not long before I am in as good of a shape as I’d been during my days on the track team. I can do a three-mile run in under seventeen minutes—an accomplishment that makes me ridiculously happy.

  I also take up painting. Not because I remember Julian saying that Maria was good at drawing, but because I find it both entertaining and relaxing. I had enjoyed art classes in school, but I was always too busy with friends and other activities to give painting a serious attempt. Now, however, I have plenty of time on my hands, so I start learning how to properly draw and paint. Julian brings me a ton of art supplies and several instructional videos, and I soon find myself absorbed in trying to capture the beauty of the island on canvas.

  “You know, you’re very good at this,” Beth says thoughtfully one day, coming up to me on the porch as I’m finishing a painting of the sunset over the ocean. “You’ve got the colors down exactly—that glowing orange shaded with the deep pink.”

  I turn and give her a big smile. “You really think so?”

  “I do,” Beth says seriously. “You’re doing well, Nora.”

  I get the sense that she’s talking about more than just the painting. “Thanks,” I say dryly. Should I add that to my list of achievements—the fact that I’m able to thrive in captivity?

  She grins in response, and for the first time, I feel like we truly understand each other. “You’re welcome.”

  Walking over to the outdoor couch, she curls up on it, pulling out her book. I watch her for a few seconds, then go back to painting, trying to replicate the multid
imensional shimmer of the water—and thinking about the puzzle that is Beth.

  She still hasn’t told me much about her past, but I get the sense that for her, this island is a retreat of sorts, a sanctuary. She sees Julian as her rescuer, and the outside world as an unpleasant and hostile place. “Don’t you miss going to the mall?” I asked her once. “Having dinner with your friends? Going dancing? You’re not a prisoner here; you could leave at any time. Why don’t you have Julian take you with him on one of his trips? Do something fun before you come back here again?”

  Her response was to laugh at me. “Dancing? Fun? Letting men put their hands all over my body—that’s supposed to be fun?” Her voice turned mocking. “Should I also shop for sexy clothes and make-up, so I look all pretty for them? And what about pollution, drive-by shootings, and muggings—should I miss those, too?” Laughing again, she shook her head. “No, thanks. I’m perfectly happy right here.”

  And that’s as much as she would say on that topic.

  I don’t know what happened to make her so bitter, but I strongly suspect Beth hasn’t had an easy life. When we were watching Pretty Woman, she kept making snide comments about how real prostitution is nothing like the fairy tale they were showing. I didn’t ask her about it then, but I’ve been curious ever since. Could she have been a prostitute in the past?

  Putting down my brush, I turn and look at Beth. “Can I paint you?”

  She looks up from her book, startled. “You want to paint me?”

  “Yes, I do.” It would be a nice change of pace from all those landscapes I’ve been focusing on lately—and it might also give me a chance to get to know her better.

  She stares at me for a few seconds, then shrugs. “All right. I guess.”

  She seems uncertain about this, so I give her an encouraging smile. “You don’t have to do anything—just sit there like that, with your book. It makes for a nice visual.”

  And it’s true. The rays of the setting sun turn her red curls into a blazing flame, and with her legs tucked under, she looks young and vulnerable. Much more approachable than usual.

  I set aside the painting I was working on and put up a blank canvas. Then I begin to sketch, trying to capture the symmetric angles of her face, the lean lines and curves of her body. It’s an absorbing task, and I don’t stop until it gets too dark for me to see anything.

  “Are you done for today?” Beth asks, and I realize that she’s been sitting in the same position for the past hour.

  “Oh, yeah, sure,” I say. “Thanks for being such a good model.”

  “No problem.” She gives me a genuine smile as she gets up. “Ready for dinner?”

  * * *

  For the next three days, I work on Beth’s portrait. She patiently models for me, and I find myself so busy that I hardly think about Julian at all. It’s only at night that I have a chance to miss him—to feel the cold emptiness of my king-sized bed as I lie there aching for his embrace. He’s gotten me so addicted that a week without him feels like a cruel punishment—one that I find infinitely worse than any sexual torture my captor has doled out thus far.

  “Did Julian say when he’s going to be back?” I ask Beth as I’m putting the final touches on the painting. “He’s already been gone for seven days.”

  She shakes her head. “No, but he’ll be here as soon as he can manage. He can’t stay away from you, Nora, you know that.”

  “Really? Has he said something to you?” I can hear the eagerness in my voice, and I mentally kick myself. How pathetic can one get? I might as well put a stamp on my forehead: another stupid girl who fell for her kidnapper. Of course, I doubt many kidnappers have Julian’s lethal charm, so maybe I should cut myself some slack.

  Thankfully, Beth doesn’t tease me about my obvious infatuation. “He doesn’t need to say it,” she says instead. “It’s perfectly obvious.”

  I put down my brush for a second. “Obvious how?” This conversation is fulfilling a need I didn’t even know I had—that for a real girl-to-girl gossip session about men and their inexplicable emotions.

  “Oh, please.” Beth is starting to sound exasperated. “You know Julian is fucking crazy about you. Whenever I talk to him, it’s Nora this, Nora that . . . Does Nora need anything? Has Nora been eating well?” She lowers her voice comically, mimicking Julian’s deeper tones.

  I grin at her. “Really? I didn’t know this.” And I didn’t. I mean, I knew that Julian is crazy about fucking me—and he definitely admitted to a certain obsession with me because of my resemblance to Maria—but I didn’t know I was this much on his mind outside of the bedroom.

  Beth rolls her eyes. “Yeah, right. You’re not nearly as naive as you pretend to be. I’ve seen you batting those long lashes at him over dinner, trying to wrap him around your little finger.”

  I give her my best wide-eyed-innocent look. “What? No!”

  “Uh-huh.” Beth doesn’t seem fooled in the least.

  She’s right, of course; I do flirt with Julian. Now that I’m no longer quite so afraid of my captor, I am again doing my best to get into his good graces. Somewhere in the back of my mind, there is a persistent hope that if he trusts me enough—if he cares for me enough—he might take me off the island.

  When this plan had first occurred to me—in those terrifying first few days of my captivity—I had been playacting. As soon as I found myself off the island, I would’ve done my best to escape, regardless of any promises I might’ve made. Now, however, I don’t even know what I would do if Julian took me with him. Would I try to leave him? Do I even want to leave him? I honestly have no idea.

  “Have you ever been in love?” I ask Beth, picking up my brush again.

  To my surprise, a dark shadow passes over her face. “No,” she says curtly. “Never.”

  “But you have loved . . . someone, right?” I don’t know what makes me ask that, but I’ve apparently touched a nerve, because Beth’s entire body tightens, like I just struck her a blow.

  To my surprise, however, instead of snapping at me, she just nods. “Yes,” she says quietly. “Yes, Nora, I have loved.” Her eyes are unnaturally bright, as though glittering with unspilled moisture.

  And I realize then that she’s suffering—that whatever happened to her had left deep, indelible scars on her psyche. Her thorny exterior is just a mask, a way to protect herself from further hurt. And right now, for whatever reason, that mask has slipped, exposing the real woman underneath.

  “What happened to this person?” I ask, my voice soft and gentle. “What happened to the one you loved?”

  “She died.” Beth’s tone is expressionless, but I can sense the bottomless well of agony in that simple statement. “My daughter died when she was two.”

  I inhale sharply. “I’m sorry, Beth. Oh God, I’m so sorry . . .” Setting down my brush again, I walk over to Beth’s couch and sit down, putting my arms around her.

  At first, she’s stiff and rigid, as though not used to human contact, but she doesn’t push me away. She needs this right now; I know better than anyone how soothing a warm embrace can be when your emotions are all over the place. Julian delights in making me fall apart, so he can then be the one to mend me and put me back together.

  “I am sorry,” I repeat softly, rubbing her back in a slow circular motion. “I am so sorry.”

  Gradually, some of the tension drains out of Beth’s body. She lets herself be soothed by my touch. After a while, she seems to regain her equilibrium, and I let her go, not wanting her to feel awkward about the hug.

  Scooting back a bit, she gives me a small, embarrassed smile. “I’m sorry, Nora. I didn’t mean to—”

  “No, it’s all right,” I interrupt. “I’m sorry I was prying. I didn’t know—”

  And then we both look at each other, realizing that we could apologize until the end of time and it wouldn’t change anything.

  Beth closes her eyes for a second, and when she opens them, her mask is firmly back in place. She’s my jai
ler again, as independent and self-contained as ever.

  “Dinner?” she asks, getting up.

  “Some of this morning’s catch would be great,” I say casually, walking over to put away my art supplies.

  And we continue on, as though nothing had happened.

  Chapter 17

  After that day, my relationship with Beth undergoes a subtle, but noticeable change. She’s no longer quite so determined to keep me out, and I slowly get to know the person behind the prickly walls.

  “I know you think you got a rough deal,” she says one day as we’re fishing together, “but believe me, Nora, Julian really does care about you. You’re very lucky to have someone like him.”

  “Lucky? Why?”

  “Because no matter what he’s done, Julian is not really a monster,” Beth says seriously. “He doesn’t always act in a way that society deems acceptable, but he’s not evil.”

  “No? Then what is evil?” I’m genuinely curious how Beth defines the word. To me, Julian’s actions are the very epitome of something an evil man might do—my stupid feelings for him notwithstanding.

  “Evil is someone who would murder a child,” Beth says, staring at the bright blue water. “Evil is someone who would sell his thirteen-year-old daughter to a Mexican brothel . . .” She pauses for a second, then adds, “Julian is not evil. You can trust me on that.”

  I don’t know what to say, so I just watch the waves pounding against the shore. My chest feels as though it’s being squeezed in a vise. “Did Julian save you from evil?” I ask after a while, when I’m certain that I can keep my voice reasonably steady.