by Alexa Riley
"I had no right?"
His voice is deceptively soft. And for a moment, I think that I am safe. That it's going to be okay. Until he reaches out and catches me by the chin, arresting my face in his unyielding hand.
"I have every right," he thunders. "You belong to me!"
My lungs fight for air when he drags me closer, the pulse in my neck beating a wild staccato against my delicate skin. Javi sees it. He sees everything. And he likes what he sees.
He likes to taste my fear.
But it isn’t just fear anymore. It’s something else too. A force of nature that can’t be contained. It’s a thrill. An adrenaline rush. A rollercoaster of want and need and hate and revulsion.
His breath whispers over my lips as he leans into my face. And I am not the only one at odds with my feelings. Javi is walking a razor’s edge of control, his eyes swinging from destruction to obsession and back again. I never know which side of him will win. So I remain still and quiet, waiting for the storm to pass.
His fingers drift over my face. Soft and gentle and full of reverence. I don't understand.
What's more, I don't understand my response to him. He has conditioned me to accept his touch so freely. Not only do I accept it, but I find solace in it. Pleasure, even.
“I told you to be a good girl,” he says. “I warned you.”
“I’m sorry.”
"Just one taste," Javi whispers to himself. "Just one."
He kisses me.
It shocks me back to life before I die all over again in his arms. I can’t grasp what's happening. He’s never kissed me before. And it feels so different. His lips are soft and warm until they aren't.
When my lips part, his tongue invades and conquers. He drinks me in. He nourishes his obsession. And he devours me. What started as a simple taste now feels like he is taking a part of my soul. His arms hold me prisoner so he can take from me what he wants.
He doesn’t need to. Not anymore. Not when I am giving myself freely. Not when I am kissing him back. Drinking him in and nourishing my psychosis.
Without warning, he pulls away. Breathless, we stare at each other. Feverish cravings ignite the air between us. I thirst for him, still. And he hungers for me. But Javi can’t and won’t admit it.
The want in his eyes burns out, and malevolent storm clouds roll in. This is always the way with him. He reels me in and tosses me away.
I can’t figure out what he wants from one minute to the next. Everything is a minefield, and I don’t have the strength left to navigate.
I’m shaking my head already. Begging him not to do this. But my pleas fall on deaf ears. He drags me from the room. I dig my heels into the floor. I fight back this time. But it’s futile.
He takes me to another part of the house. Cold and isolated. And in this room, there is nothing more than a wire cage.
I cling to his sweatshirt when he tries to push me away.
“Please, Javi. Please no. I will do anything. Anything you want. Please don’t do this.”
He smiles beneath the shadow of the hood, and his lips are cruel.
“Good, sweet Bella. Because this is what I want.”
He shoves me into the cage- big enough for a dog- and engages the lock on the door before I can resist any further.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask through my tears. “Why? My father loved you! He did everything for you.”
This is the wrong thing to say.And I never could have known the impact of this statement. I never could have known what it would provoke in him.
His fist shoots through the wire slot and wraps around my throat without warning. And this time, it is not a game.
He is choking me. Watching the light dim from my eyes as I scratch at his hands. I think this is really it. This is how I will die. I never saw it coming. My hands fall limp at my sides, and I lose the will to fight. Only then does he release me. Rattling the cage with his fists and growling into my face.
I scamper back into the corner and curl into myself, unexpectedly grateful for the lock that separates us.
“He did everything for me?” he roars. “And this is why you are here, beauty. Because you are blind to the real monsters. The ones you’ve lived with all your life.”
Tears track down my face as I shake my head in refusal. Denial.
“My father is a good man.”
“Is?” Javi mocks. “How hopeful of you to believe his heart still beats.”
“Was it you?” I accuse. “Did you kill him?”
He laughs, and it is callous.
“If I had killed him, Bella, you would know. For I would have delivered him back to you in pieces.”
Now it is me who is unhinged. I grip the wire of the cage and rattle it as I scream into his face.
“I hate you!”
“Good,” he replies. “That hatred will serve you well, my sweet. That hatred will be the only thing you have left when I am finished with you.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
LUKE IS LOOKING FOR HER. Making problems that I don't have the patience to deal with. So when I go to her today, it is with this simple request in mind.
I hand her the pen and paper and wait while she looks up at me. Half-timid, half curious. She should be afraid of me.
She should be terrified. So long as she fears me... so long as she knows I am a monster, then we will be alright. I won’t lose control.
I won’t forget.
"What is this?" she asks.
"A letter," I tell her. "To Luke. Tell him you are done. With all of it."
Her face pales, and her fingers tighten around the paper.
"You can't honestly think this is going to work," she says. "Javi, there are more people out there. More than just Luke will notice I've gone missing."
She's lying, and I know she's lying.
When I discovered that Ray had a daughter, I knew I had to see her. I had to know who she was. I had to know everything. And from the second I first glimpsed her, I have watched her.
She was only sixteen then. Ray was already leaving her home to fend for herself while he went out into the world to do evil.
It was foolish of him. He had so many enemies, and any one of them could have taken her. But they would not. I made sure of that. Because from the moment I saw her face, I knew she would be mine. Mine to keep. Mine to play with.
I've watched her for so long. I know everything about her, and this includes who she keeps company with.
She is lonely. Surrounded by people, but still alone. Using her books to keep her company. Using her songs to make sense of the darkness inside of her head.
This has always been her way. She never fit in with the rest of society. She was never like them. She has always been an outsider.
Like me.
She only has Art now. Which she reminds me of in the next sentence.
"Art checks in with me weekly."
"I know."
She's quiet. And I am glad she does not try to lie to me again.
"If I do this," she says. "If I write this letter, will you let me out of the cage?"
"Do you not like it in here?"
She stares up at me, blank.
"Please, Javi."
Now it is me who is quiet because I do not know what to do. The answer should be simple. Always no. Never give her what she wants.
But she looks so lovely like this. Naked and filthy and mine. Her breath soft and her voice sweet and her nipples hard every time she sees me.
I want to reward her.
And it is a dangerous want to have. She is poisoning me. Making me forget.
"I just need something else to do," she says. "To keep me busy. Let me help you. Cooking and cleaning and doing the laundry. I can do those things."
She is trying to trick me. Just like he did. And now she does not look sweet. So perhaps I can be agreeable after all.
"You want out, sweet Bella?"
"Yes," she answers quickly.
"Then be honest about your f
ather. About the kind of man he was. Tell me you are glad he is dead. Tell me that the world is a better place without him."
Her mouth falls open, and revulsion darkens her delicate features. It does not give me as much satisfaction as I had hoped.
"How could you say that to me?"
Her eyes are filled with tears now. When they drip down her cheeks, I want to fuck her.
She brushes them away and hides her face beneath a veil of hair, jabbing the pen into the notepad and scrawling across the paper in quick, angry motions.
When she is finished, she rips the letter away and thrusts it in my direction.
"There. You got what you wanted. Now leave me alone."
I want to punish her for speaking to me this way. I want to tie her up and flip her over and fuck her face down into the wire mesh of the cage.
But I don't.
Because it is better that she hates me. It is better that she understands what I am and never forgets.
Beautiful things were meant to be broken.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
FOR THE NEXT TWO WEEKS, I bide my time. Watching Javi's every move. Seeking out a weak link in the chain.
I don't think there is one. He is regimental in the way he goes about his day. The times that he delivers my meals. The way he locks the door.
Every day is the same routine. He comes to the cage. He humiliates or punishes me with a variety of terror campaigns. Forcing me to spread my legs for him and play with myself. Sucking him off through the holes of the cage. Torturing my feet with his belt.
And then he feeds me through the cage too. Tossing me scraps like a dog before he leaves. He watches me. On camera and off. Of that, I have no doubt. Because there are cameras in here.
I spend my days writing and plotting my escape. It's the only thing I have to hold on to. Art has not come. Nobody has come. It was foolish of me to think that they would.
He checks in with me via text. Javi probably knows my speech patterns well by now. He could easily fool Art with his own replies.
Hope is abandoning me. I envision myself ten years from now, still locked inside this cage. But in this vision, I am nothing more than a skeleton. Because surely, Javi will tire of me by then. He will destroy what’s left of me, as he promised.
Every day, the light inside of me dims.
And when I am finally certain that it has extinguished forever, something happens. Something that changes everything.
Javi comes to retrieve me from the cage. There is no explanation. No apology. No words. He simply leads me back through the house, along the same corridor in which we came. This time, he makes me walk.
My feet are bare, and the floor is cold, and Javi is not dragging me along by the arm. It gives me time to take in my surroundings. It gives me the opportunity to notice things I never have before. That’s when I see them.
The trap doors in the floor.
I count three on the way back to the conservatory.
A renewed sense of determination blooms inside of me like Spring. When Javi turns to me, I wonder if he can see it. If I have given myself away.
“Tonight,” he says.
“What?”
“Tonight, I have something I want from you.”
I swallow and nod, playing the words on repeat in my mind. This is it. My chance.
Javi leads me into the bathroom and points to the tub.
“Wash up,” he demands.
I don’t want to.
I want him to leave so I can look for the door. But he doesn’t. He stands there, and I go about the process of bathing, hardly noticing him at all as my mind considers the possibilities. When my hair is washed, and my skin is clean, he tells me to get out.
I do.
And then he is gone.
Leaving me to my thoughts. To my plan.
I am unnaturally still while I wait for the sound of the lock to engage on the door outside. I know Javi will deliver my lunch soon, which means I only have a short window of time.
The moment the lock slides into place, I dart out of the bathroom and begin searching the floor frantically. My heart beats erratically in my chest, and my fingers prickle with anticipation. But after three complete passes of the conservatory, I still have not found a door.
My eyes burn with unshed tears, and I can’t accept it. I’m not willing to give up. I check every maladjusted tile. Beneath the columns of roses. The bookcases. And then, finally, the chairs.
I move them one by one. They are heavy and awkward, and I’m terrified that I’m making too much noise or that he could check the camera at any moment.
I have gone through them all. All but one.
The solitary chair that rests on a small area rug in the corner. It looks out of place there, and I have never noticed it before. But I notice it now.
My feet slap against the floor as I run towards it and yank the corner of the rug back.
I want to scream out my triumph. There is a trap door beneath.
The latch is secured with a small padlock, but the hinges are old and rusted. I glance up at the cameras, and for a split second, I am paralyzed. I never thought of what would come next. There are so many unknown variables with this plan. Javi could catch me. He could catch me, and this time, he would certainly kill me.
But I realize that it doesn’t matter. I have no choice. I need to take this opportunity while I can.
My fingers scan the bookshelves for a hardcover. The hardest cover I can find. And though it is totally sacrilege, I use this as my tool of choice, striking the blunt edge against the lock.
On the third time, I have success.
I yank open the door and stare into the blackness, uncertain what waits for me below. It is dark and musty and old. I can’t bring myself to move. I can’t breathe. Fear threatens to steal my joy and keep me locked in place.
What if it’s worse? What if I get lost, or…
I stop myself.
It doesn’t matter. Nothing can be worse than what he’s already done. I can only focus on one word right now.
Freedom.
I lower myself into the hole and shut the lid over me, obscuring myself in the blackness. The space is too small, too cramped, and it smells damp like the earth... and something more sinister that I can't identify. My hand moves along the passageway, guiding me.
I come to several crossroads throughout the path and use my best guess to find my direction. I don't know exactly which part of the house the conservatory is in. But if my sense of direction is correct, I believe it is in the East Wing which means I need to move west.
I move through the darkness for what feels like an eternity. It's taking too long. Javi will have discovered my empty room by now. He will be furious. And he will be looking for me.
The close confines are getting to me. I'm running now. Breathing too shallow. I trip and land on something hard and sharp. My knees burn, and the threat of tears is real, but when I look up, there is a tiny sliver of light peeking through another doorway.
I have no idea where I am beneath the house. It could be anywhere. It could be Javi's bedroom for all I know. But at this point, I have no choice but to chance it. I will get out of the house much faster than I will this passageway in the dark.
I push up on the door and meet no resistance. There is a small step ladder leaning against the wall, and I use it to climb up into the room. A room that looks like something straight out of a horror movie.
It is all tile. The color of light sea foam. It is cold and sterile, and in the center of the room is a surgical table with straps.
Straps stained with blood.
A wave of dizziness threatens to topple me over. Instinct tells me that this is the room. This is where it happened.
There is a drain in the floor beneath the table. A drain that is also stained with crimson.
I lock my knees, so they don’t give out on me. I count to three and try to push through the nausea roiling around my stomach. My eyes move over the space, taking it
all in.
The workbench on the opposite wall is filled with vials of different colored liquids. Morbid curiosity drives me to examine them. They are sedatives. Children's cough syrups. And in the pill bottles, prescriptions for Zara Castillo.
My legs feel like jelly as I continue my investigation. There are surgical tools scattered everywhere. Scalpels, forceps, scissors. Alcohol wipes and bandages.
I need to leave this room. I need to run away and forget whatever horrors happened here. But I am overwhelmed with questions.
Why did Javi kill his mother? Was he bad from the start? I have an insatiable need to know more. To understand him.
I can’t explain it.
And I know that I am risking my only chance at freedom. But I also know I can’t leave here without answers to these questions. I need to know what really happened to Zara. What horrors might await me if I don't escape.
On the wall, there is a projector. And beneath it, reels and reels of old tapes. It is a foolish thing for me to wonder what is on them. It is a foolish thing of me not to run as fast and far as I can.
I try to talk myself into leaving. But my eye is on the reel already in the projector. Just this one. I will see what’s on this one tape, and then I will go.
I reach down and turn it on. It is old, but with a sputter, it comes to life, projecting the video onto the opposite wall. At first, what I see does not look like the horror movie I had imagined.
It is a woman. A woman that I recognize from the media headlines as Zara. And in her arms, a young boy. He must have only been eight or nine here. She is cradling him in her arms, singing to him. Encouraging him to drink the liquid while she hums a soothing melody.
He protests, but in the end, she wins by forcing the cup to his lips. After a time, he grows sleepy. When his body is limp, she moves him to the table and straps him down, kissing his hair and smoothing it away from his face.
"I'm going to remove the implants," she whispers. "I'm going to get them all this time, Javi. I won't let them control us."
On the screen, Zara retrieves a tray of surgical tools, and I swallow.