by K. Webster
I’m about to consider several different variations when I pause to simply consider her in the shower. The very image of droplets sliding down her smooth, pale forehead and wetting her dark eyelashes is captivating. Her blonde hair would grow darker from being wet and it would hang smoothly down her back. And her smile—it would reveal her perfect, pearly white teeth and the kindness that lies within.
If she’s smiling, she’s breathing slower. Perhaps thirteen or fourteen breaths per minute. But the variable I’m still unsure of is the length of her showers. I’ll have to ask her to time them.
I glance up at my long mirror on the wall and frown. For over ten years, I’ve been this man I don’t know. Ever since…well, anyway, I’m him now.
And I hate the very fucking air he breathes.
All twenty-two breaths per minute.
Today, I’m wearing a pair of charcoal-colored fitted slacks, black dress shoes, and a crisp pale blue dress shirt that matches her eyes almost perfectly. I’d seen to ordering three online in similar colors in an attempt to find a perfect match. If none of those work, I’ll have to call the manufacturer and have a special order made.
Normally, even at home, I slip a tie around my neck and dutifully knot it just as Dad showed me when I was ten years old. Sometimes, I wish the knot would turn into a noose and hang me. I’ve contemplated how many breaths I would take before my air supply would become completely cut off. Three? Four? Twenty? The answer defies me and I can’t seem to ever push it from my mind.
Along with the million other rampant thoughts that run my fucking life.
“To hell with it,” I snap in defiance. It’s me who struggles to survive in a battle against myself. Every now and again, my true self wins—even if only momentarily.
I toss the black tie onto the bed and start to stride from the room. I’ve barely made it to the door before I’m stalking back over to it. Carefully, I roll it up neatly—it takes two tries to get it exactly the way I like it—and I place it back in the drawer where it belongs. My breaths seem more rapid, so I unbutton the top few buttons in an effort to breathe more easily.
Every day for years, I’ve had my morning ritual. Shower. Dress. Eat. And then work. But today, along with the discarded tie, I have the urge to break from the mundane and peek in on where she sleeps. Last night, I’d left in a childish huff at seeing her eat like a pig. The human part of me wanted to feel sorry for her—sorry that she was so hungry that it forced her to eat that way. But the monster who controls my every thought was disgusted. If I weren’t afraid of what the stomach acid would do to my teeth, I’d have stuck my finger down my throat and thrown up after I’d sought refuge in my bathroom.
I have no idea what she did after I left her.
Did she finger every surface of my house? I make a note to have my maid, Greta, do a massive sterilization. She hates when I go on my benders but when I triple her pay those days, she quickly quiets down. My mind craves to consider every single thing Baylee touched but I force it away and burst from the room. I’m shocked to find her curled up on the couch sipping on some coffee.
“The couch is white!” I hiss out in greeting, instantly hating the words that came out.
She blows on the mug and arches a perfect eyebrow at me. “I know I’m a teen and all,” she mutters sarcastically, “but I’m not a toddler. I won’t spill it. Good morning, by the way.”
Once again she throws her age at me, causing me to feel like more of a bastard than I already am. “Morning,” I tell her gruffly, this time less angry. “Did you sleep well?”
Her brows furrow together and she sighs. “Best sleep I’ve had in two weeks to be honest. With Gabe, I didn’t really get to sleep.”
I run a hand through my hair. Last night, I tossed and turned wondering about what that man did to her. When she mentioned the cucumber, I was disgusted. And not because it was food—but because he hurt her. I may be fucked in the head but I’m not a virgin to the female anatomy. Before my world closed in on me, I quite enjoyed sex.
If I’m being truly honest and not dwelling on the dirtiness of the act, I fucking miss it.
But then images of exchanging bodily fluids—fluids which another person has shared with another and so on and so on starts to fester in my mind. I can’t even watch porn without wanting to scream.
“What did he do?” I don’t want to know the explicit details, and yet, this is why I bought her. To entertain me. To accompany me. To talk to me.
She sets the mug down on the end table and stands with her back to me while she faces the wall of windows overlooking the ocean. My mind momentarily frets over whether or not she’ll leave a coffee ring on the wood. But when she stretches, arms high over her head, my mind blanks.
The white robe she’s been given lifts and rewards me with a view of her lean upper thighs just below her ass. Her arms fall back down and with it, the robe covers more of her flesh. My fingers crave to lift the edges of the fabric and reveal her perfect skin to me again.
I want to touch her.
The thought alarms me.
I don’t want to touch anyone. Ever again.
“What didn’t he do?” she mutters and steps close to the windows. I’m afraid she’ll put her fingertips on the glass and smudge the crystal clear view. It sets my jaw on edge but I bite my tongue. The despair in her voice distracts me and I find myself eager to know more about her. “After he kidnapped me, he took me to some remote cabin. For days, he trapped me in his cellar. I was forced to climb out on my own only for him to beat me and tie me to his bed.”
A sob catches in her throat and her shoulders hunch. I take one, two, three, four steps toward her. When I notice my hand is stretched out, reaching to comfort her, I jerk it back.
“Then what?”
“It’s kind of confusing. I mean, I have a boyfriend and I love him dearly,” she murmurs and crosses her arms across her chest. Her back remains to me and I wonder if it is difficult for her to say these things directly to me. “But Gabe was my neighbor. I’d trusted him for so long. In fact, I’d always had a bit of a girly crush on him.”
“He hurt you?”
She turns to look at me, as if I just asked the most ignorant question, especially after last night’s admission about the cucumber. My neck tightens with stress as I wait for her to mar the untouched glass. Instead, she drops her hand, leaving the glass in crystal clear perfection.
“He gave me orgasms. Plenty of them. I didn’t want them, War, but they felt good. I had no control over my body and I hate myself for that.”
I take another step. Her sweet scent doesn’t poison me. It intoxicates me in a way that has my head spinning. I like her scent. I like the way it fills my lungs and cleanses me.
“That’s not your fault.”
She sniffles. “Then, he took my virginity. It hurt so much but then…”
“You liked it?”
A sob pierces the air. “I-I-I did. I betrayed my boyfriend because I liked when Gabe had his way with me. He was always clear about selling me. After he fucked me over and over again, I had in some way hoped he’d just keep me. That we could stay in that cabin and I’d make do.” She lets out a deep breath that fogs the window in front of her. I watch with a mix of horror and fascination as she draws a “B” with a heart around it on the foggy glass.
My mind begs to flip the fuck out but something stronger within me wants her to continue. And as the fog fades, the smudge of her letter remains barely noticeable. It adds warmth to my ridiculously cold space. I’m alarmed to learn I like it there. Trying not to obsess over her artwork, I urge her on. “Then what?”
“One day… he told me to run and when I did, he caught me. That night, in the cold forest, he violated me. Robbed me of another first.”
The growl in the room startles us both and she turns to look at me. I understand quickly, the protective growl belongs to me. Shit. I’d normally be flipping the fuck out talking about anal sex, despite how much I’d wondered about it as a
teen, but right now, all I can think about is beating the fuck out of Gabe.
Her sad eyes meet mine and she takes a small step forward but doesn’t touch me. We’re a mere twenty-four inches apart. I haven’t been this close to someone out of my own volition since my high school girlfriend. For a few brief moments, in her broken presence, I feel like the strong one. I feel as though I’m normal.
“And the cucumber,” she hisses out bitterly and I cringe, “he used to penetrate my sex with while he drove into me from behind. ‘Oftentimes two men will want to take you at once. You have to be prepared,’ he said.”
My chest threatens to explode with fury. A single strand of her blonde hair has escaped her bun and my fingers twitch to stroke it away from her forehead. Not because it’s out of place but because I want to see her face better. I want to comfort her.
And I fucking can’t.
Fisting my hand, I snarl out my promise. “I would never hurt you like that. He sounds deranged, Bay.”
Tears well in her eyes and I lean in toward her. I want her presence invading me. Despite not touching, my flesh reacts to her close proximity. Goosebumps prickle my flesh. The hairs on my arms seem to lift and point toward her as if she carries some magnetic current that my body is attracted to.
Seventeen.
I swallow and look over her head toward the ocean. It’s beautiful, and one of the few things I won’t allow my mind to become obsessed with—pondering the many creatures and organisms that infest it.
Instead, I think about her.
My mother.
The way her dark hair would whip around her in the wind while I would chase the waves. She’d force me out of the water every so often to ruffle my hair and press a kiss to my forehead. Sometimes, she’d hand me a sandy cracker to munch on to keep my energy up so I could keep playing.
I won’t allow my mental disease to ruin those memories. They remain virgin against the dark cloak of hatred and despair that rages continuously in my head. Always threatening to do harm. But no matter how fucked up my head may be at a particular moment, I can always return to her and our days at the beach.
One of the few calms in this life.
And now…
Now I’ve found another one.
Gorgeous blue eyes are staring at me, glistening with tears, when I return my gaze back to her. She’s so beautiful, and for a moment, I could almost forget everything and kiss her.
Forget the germs.
The numbers.
The what-ifs.
The blood.
And bury myself in the pure distraction.
This time, reality, not my affliction, deters me and I force words from my mouth I wish I didn’t have the balls to say. “You’re only a child. I won’t hurt you like he did. I swear on my mother’s grave.”
A tear rolls out but she lifts her chin in defiance. “I’m not a child, War. I’ll be eighteen on the twentieth of next month. Besides, after what happened to me, I’m no longer innocent. I’m every bit woman.”
Forty-eight days.
Six Sundays. Six Mondays. Seven Tuesdays. Seven Wednesdays. Seven Thursdays. Seven Fridays. Seven Saturdays.
Eighteen.
“I don’t care if you’re eighty, Bay. I will never touch you without your permission.”
Her eyes widen and her mouth parts. “But you’ll touch me if I ask you to?”
After my flagrant display of my afflictions last night, I’m sure she’s confounded by my words. Hell, I’m fucking confounded by my words.
“After your birthday, perhaps.”
A small smile tugs at her lips which only further frustrates me. How can she be so pleased with my answer? I’m no fucking better than that bastard who stole her. I mean, I bought her for crying out loud.
“Let’s talk about your family,” I say in a gruff tone before stepping away from her. My eyes slide over to the glass and a tightness clamps over me at seeing her “B” on the surface again. The tightness is unlike anything I’ve ever known. It almost feels possessive.
A ragged breath escapes her. “I thought if maybe we wired them some money and sent a letter stating I’d run off with you, they’d buy the story long enough to help Mom. I know my Dad though. He won’t stop until he finds me.”
Anxiety explodes inside of me. The thought of people crawling all around my house in an attempt to steal her away makes me livid with rage. She’s the first shard of happiness in this goddamned world I’ve seen in over a decade. I can’t let them take her.
“But he’s not the problem. It’s Gabe. He’s already promised to come for me soon. In fact, I wouldn’t put it past him to already be stalking us now.” Her body shivers and I ache to hold her. “He’s kind of obsessed with me.”
I’m kind of obsessed with you.
I fist both hands and huff. “Gabe will never touch you again. I’ll kill that motherfucker if he steps one foot onto my property.” The words are technically a lie—the images of that man’s blood everywhere threaten to make me sick. But, if it came down to protecting her from him, a little blood might be necessary. Greta would really fucking hate me then. “I’m going to call my attorney to set up an arrangement of transferring funds to them without it getting traced back to me. You need to write down your address and your parent’s names. I’ll see to it they receive the money.”
She nods but frowns. “And how will I let them know I’m okay?”
That part’s easy.
I’m a computer genius.
I’ll run the source e-mail through so many encrypted servers, nobody will ever find out where it came from.
“I’ll give you a computer with an e-mail as long as you promise to never divulge your whereabouts.”
“I promise. But War, Gabe knows your name. He’s not stupid.”
I run my fingers through my hair in frustration. “Not my last name. Only the auctioneer had that information. I won’t let him take you.”
She chews on her lip and nods, but still seems unconvinced. I want to reach over and pluck her plump lip from between her teeth. To run my tongue over it to soothe the damage she’s caused with her nervous habit.
My cock thickens in my pants and I nearly jump for fucking joy.
“Come on,” I say with a grunt, not revealing the happiness that’s running through my veins. In these few moments with her, I’ve felt freer than I ever have. “Let’s eat some breakfast and then we’ll get started.”
TODAY HAS BEEN a long one. I’m exhausted. The food sucks. And I’m still donning a stupid robe. Yet, it’s also been productive. After I’d given War my information, he e-mailed his attorney and instructed him on how to funnel the money so that it appeared to have come from an anonymous donor. He’d also managed to order me a selection of clothes online. The man becomes one with the computer when he sits down at it. All of his anxieties seem to dissipate as he throws himself into whatever task it is he’s trying to accomplish.
All afternoon, I’d sat in a cozy chair in his office while he worked. His fingers had tapped away as codes danced upon the computer screen. I’d been fascinated but after the last weeks of turmoil, my body was clearly exhausted because before long I had fallen asleep. When I’d awoken, he was no longer in the office but he’d covered me with a blanket. The kindness on his part wasn’t missed.
His office, like the rest of the house, is bare. No décor. No rugs. No curtains. Just the necessary furniture and technology. He has a simple filing cabinet that I’m sure is meticulously in order and one framed picture sits on the desk, seeming out of place in the stark room.
While he’d worked, I hadn’t pried but now that I’m awake and alone, I’m itching to look at it. The frame is simple and black—not a fleck of dust or a fingerprint on the glass.
A small boy with a mop of brown hair and bright blue eyes beams at the camera. His parents, wearing matching grins, stand behind him. The ocean is the background and it’s a picture of happiness.
So how did this little boy, who’s clearly War,
turn out to be the troubled man who’s terrified of life?
The picture reminds me of my own family and tears begin to well in my eyes at the thought. Setting the picture down, I swipe the hot tears from my cheeks with the back of my hands. Mom and Dad are probably sick to death with worry over me. I’m probably all over the news by now. God, I miss them both so much.
“Everything okay?” A gruff, yet anxious voice, questions from behind me.
Not at all.
Everything sucks.
I shrug my shoulders and sniffle. “I miss my family.”
A rush of breath escapes him and I turn to peek at the man. Today, he’s especially handsome and almost relaxed. After last night, I’d assumed I’d have to deal with the uptight germaphobe twenty-four-seven. But then, this morning, he’d come out and seemed more human. As if he was attempting to climb out of his bubble—even if it were only one finger at a time.
“Edison delivered some freshly laundered new clothes for you,” he says softly. “They’ve been put away in your room. You must be eager to get out of that robe.”
I nod and force a smile. “Thank you. When can I contact my parents?”
His jaw clenches and the strain in his eyes matches mine. We’re both fumbling through this crappy situation in our own distinct ways. “I’ve created an e-mail account. For your own safety, I’m going to read them before you send them. I’ll also read their replies.”
He said them and replies as in more than one.
Initially, I had assumed I’d send one e-mail to let them know I was okay. But now…now, hope blooms in my chest.
“Can I e-mail them now?” The excitement in my voice is evident with each rising octave as I speak.
“Why don’t you dress first and then we’ll work on that? My attorney also assured me the first transfer has been made.”
“First transfer?” I question.
“I didn’t want to send it all. Insurance if you will. I sent a little to help them out this first transfer. If I give them everything they need right away, you’ll have no incentive to stay with me.” His voice is tight and his brows are furrowed.