by A. J. Snyder
As one psychiatrist put it one time while he stormed out of his very own office, "I'm too fucked up to cure."
Never were truer words spoken.
My childhood did a number on me mentally, and I don't think I'll ever truly be cured. In all honesty, I agree with the numerous therapists on one thing --- my unconventional behaviors are the only way my brain can block out all of the horrible things that happened to me and allow me to function as a semi-normal adult. If I somehow find a cure and rid myself of these obsessions, I'm afraid of what will happen to me.
Feeling even more anxious than before, I place the unused stack of notes back in their proper place and return my attention to my computer.
It's almost time.
My eyes focus on the email string between Morello and me once again.
When my supplier told me he found the exact type of girl I wanted, I demanded a picture, something I've never done before. In the past I liked to be surprised besides knowing their measurements, so that I can order accurate clothing sizes. But I always preferred to see their face for the first time in person. It heightened my anticipation and hunger.
But with this girl, Number Seven…I wanted --- no, I needed to see her as soon as possible.
It took Morello almost eight hours before he responded to my request, and I honestly thought the anticipation would kill me.
When I pull up the picture he attached to the email for what feels like the thousandth time today, I suppress a moan in the back of my throat. He finally found me exactly what I wanted --- a dark-haired beauty with light green eyes. All the girls in the past haven't been to my specifications, but my suppliers tried. Oh, they've all tried.
I request brunettes with light eyes because I want the exact opposite of my mother. I don't want to be reminded of her in any way, shape or form. All the girls in the past have been blondes. Not the particular shade of dirty blonde my mother was, thankfully.
I study the girl's picture closely and can't help but feel a sense of apprehension. She looks…happy. So much unlike the other girls in the past, although I never asked for a picture to be sent before.
The others had been poor, needing and craving the money and luxuries I gave them.
This girl is on the beach, her long tanned legs stretched out before her on the sand. Her long, dark hair cascades around her shoulders in soft waves, and she's smiling a flawless smile with straight, white teeth.
She doesn't look like someone I would expect to need money. In fact, she looks like the exact opposite.
My thumb brushes against her full, glossy lips, and then I curse as I realize I probably left a smudge on my screen with my carelessness. Quickly, I reach into the top drawer and bring out a cleaner and wipes. I spend several minutes cleaning my computer screen, making sure my thumbprint is gone, before I put everything away and stare at her beautiful face once more.
Maybe I'm reading too much into the picture. It's not like I saw her predecessors in their before state. Perhaps this was just one great day out of her usually miserable life. Yes, that must be it.
I can't help but wonder what condition she'll be in when she gets here. All six of the previous girls have come in here dirty and damaged, roughed up by their handlers, against my wishes, of course. But I have to admit that part of the fun for me was returning them to pristine condition before I took what I paid for.
I need complete and utter perfection before I lay a finger on them.
And I won't settle for anything less when this girl comes under my ownership…even if her beauty most likely will disarm me.
No.
She will be exactly what I crave and precisely what I need.
She will be absolutely perfect.
CHAPTER 6
ADELINE
I WAKE UP slowly, my head throbbing with a tremendous pounding that feels like someone knocking on the side of my temple with a hammer. Groaning, it takes me a few times to be able to sit up. It takes even longer until I'm able to open my eyes. And when I do, I just want to close them again.
I don't know where I am.
The room is dark except for the moonlight shining through two skylights in the ceiling. The realization that I'm lying in someone else's bed in a strange room hits me hard. I press my fingertips to the pounding on my head and feel crusted blood matted with my knotted hair.
What happened to me?
I think back to the last thing I can remember, and the horrible flashes of memory come back to me all at once. Giovanni and I were on a date. We left the restaurant. We were walking…we were lost…and then a group of men tried to rob us…the gunman grabbed me...and then I must have blacked out. I'm trying to remember what happened after that, but I'm drawing a blank.
The harder I try to think, the more pronounced the fierce pounding becomes. I cry out in pain and grip the sides of my head.
When the pounding settles to a dull ache, I decide to find out where I am. Did Giovanni save me from the gunman and take me to a friend's house or something to recover? That's the only plausible thing I can come up with at this moment.
Pulling back the blankets, I realize that I'm no longer wearing the little black dress that I had spent hours picking out before our date. I'm wearing some type of thin cotton gown with no underwear under it. Who the hell undressed me?
Panic starts to rise in my chest as flashbacks of sensations begin to bombard my overwhelmed mind. I remember someone poking me with a needle and the sense of feeling like I was flying and falling.
I fumble in the almost pitch-black room and manage to find a table beside the bed. My fingers land on a solid object, and I squint in the darkness trying to figure out what I'm touching. When I realize it's a small lamp, I search for a switch, finding one after what feels like forever.
Holding my arms under the dim light, I search for evidence of my flashbacks. There is some bruising and definite needle marks on the inside of my elbow. Did I have an IV…or was some kind of drug injected into my veins?
Slowly, I crawl out of the bed on unsteady legs, gripping the mattress to keep my balance. My legs feel heavy as if I've been sedated with something. That coupled with the fact that I have a lot of memory loss makes me thinks that someone must have drugged me.
But why?
And who?
I slowly manage to make my way to the door. Holding myself up against the wall, I reach for the handle. It takes me a few fumbling tries before I'm able to focus and find it with my fingers. I pull the latch and pull, but the door is stuck. With all of my strength that I'm able to muster, I yank on the handle, cursing when it doesn't open.
I search for a lock of some kind, but find none. But through my inspection, my fingertips come upon a new discovery. Some type of keypad beside the door. My blood chills as I stumble back and fall on my ass to the floor. I'm locked in here. "What the ---?"
"You can only enter and exit with the code," a dark voice says from behind me.
Screaming, I scramble to my knees and search the dark room for the source of the voice. "W-w-who are y-you?" I stammer, my entire body shivering in sheer terror.
Out of the corner of my eye, a tall, dark figure rises from a chair in the corner of the room. "My name is Lucien."
My mind scrambles to find some memory of his name. Does he work for my father? Is he an enemy of my father? I search and search, but come up empty. I've never heard the name Lucien muttered before. "W-where am I?" I ask the dark shadow.
"My home," he answers simply.
This must be some sort of mistake that I'm here. I can't remember what happened after Giovanni and I were mugged, but this is all wrong. I'm not supposed to be here. Shaking my head, I crawl back to the opposite corner of the room near the bed and press my back against the wall. I'm panting, completely and utterly exhausted and feeling like I just ran a marathon. My entire body feels lethargic; my limbs heavy from what can only be some sort of sedative.
"Did you…did you drug me?" I ask breathlessly.
He doesn't ans
wer right away. "Your handler should have told you that it would be necessary for your trip here."
Handler? My trip here? The thought of not being in New York City anymore and under the protection of Gio and my father has me folding in on myself, hugging my knees to my chest. I've never left the city, let alone the state before. "Where am I?" I ask him again.
"You already asked me that, and I already answered you." His tone suggests he's bored, impatient even.
I frown at his answer. He damn well knows I want a location more precise than his home, but I know I'm not going to get any more information. "Why am I here?"
A dark chuckle comes out of the shadows. "Enough of the twenty questions. This isn't how this works." After a deep sigh, he then says, "Your handler should have explained everything to you."
This isn't how what works?
He mentions my handler again as if I should understand what the hell he's talking about. I could ask him a thousand questions, and it still wouldn't tell me everything I desperately want to know. Instead of uttering another word, I decide to remain quiet, hoping that he will tell me more.
He takes a few steps out of the shadows, and the moonlight cascading through the skylights highlights his face. I notice his dark hair and dark, piercing eyes first. Then I study his statuesque and handsome features. He's clean-shaven and dressed in an impeccably tailored dark suit and tie. He doesn't look like a kidnapper or someone who would keep a woman against her will.
But I guess looks can be deceiving.
"You're here because I'm the one who bought you," he says, answering my earlier question and bringing my worst possible fear to fruition.
When I was a little girl, a few of my sisters were kidnapped and held captive by enemies of my father. My oldest sister, Isabella, was sent back home…one piece at a time.
A violent shudder rips through me at the idea that I'll probably have the same fate as Isabella, and I watch as a smirk forms on the man's face at my reaction.
"My father will pay you whatever ransom you're asking for," I blurt out before I can stop myself. My father doesn't negotiate with kidnappers or enemies. He always told me it makes him look weak. That's why four of my sisters are dead and only three of us, the three that managed to never be kidnapped, still have a pulse.
He quirks a brow and cocks his head to one side at my statement, but remains silent. His dark eyes narrow and watch me intently, studying me as the only sound in the deafening silence of the room is my panicked, rapid breaths.
After what feels like an eternity, he finally tells me, "You can clean up in the bathroom." He motions over his shoulder to an adjacent room. "Someone will bring you breakfast soon."
Before I can say anything else, he's stalking to the door, inputting a code that I can't see, and leaving. The door closes behind his retreating form, a beep and a click signaling that I'm locked in here.
CHAPTER 7
ADELINE
HE JUST LEFT. I wait with bated breath, thinking that he'll return.
But he never does.
My breathing becomes more erratic as my anxiety spikes to a new high. A sob rips through my throat as I struggle to stand and make my way across the room to the adjoining bathroom. I close the door, pressing my back against it. Flicking on the ceiling light, I turn and search for a lock on the door, but there isn't one. Desperate, I stare around the room. There's a bathtub and shower combo with glass doors, toilet and a cabinet with a built-in sink. I swing open the cabinet doors, hoping for something I can use as a weapon. There are towels, toilet paper and other bathroom necessities, but nothing that will prove to be helpful in my situation.
Feeling frustrated, I lean against the sink and let out a painful moan. My entire body feels sore like I was hit by a Mack truck, and then the truck backed up and ran over me again. My head is pounding with the worst headache I've ever felt in my life, and my legs feel like they're being weighted down with lead bars.
A large rectangular mirror is above the sink, and I slowly meet my reflection in it. I gasp at the sight before me, not believing that's it really me that I'm seeing. I'm covered in blood and dirt and god knows what else. Black streaks of mascara stain my cheeks as if I'd been crying for hours. Maybe I was, I think to myself.
My hand shakes violently as I bring my fingertips up to my temple where blood is caked and matted into my tangled hair. When I touch the wound, I hiss and cry out in pain.
I back away from the mirror, no longer able to face the pure, undiluted fear present in my eyes. Staring down at the stained nightdress I'm wearing, I cry out in frustration and rip it over my head. I ball it up in my hands angrily and throw it in the corner of the room. I fold my arms across my breasts and run my hands up and down my scraped and dirty arms, barely keeping it together. I'm on the verge of hyperventilating as I drag ragged breaths in and out of my lungs.
I can't remember the past however many hours of my life. I don't know who has had their hands on me, where I've been, what happened to me or where I am now. I've never felt so dirty and scared in my entire life.
With the sudden urge to feel clean, I walk to the shower and run the water until it's the perfect temperature. I rummage under the sink and snatch a few clean, fluffy towels. I set them on the sink before I step into the shower under the spray of water.
I groan in ecstasy at the feeling of the water cascading down my body. I put my hands against the wall and face away from the spray, letting the warmth hit my back. I stay like that for a long time, relishing in the comfort.
When I glance up, I notice that there is a shower caddy filled with an assortment of shampoos, conditioners, body washes and soaps. I grab one of the shampoos and pour a large amount into the palm of my hand before returning it to the caddy. It smells like coconut as I suds my hair up and scrub vigorously, being careful of the sore spot on the side of my head.
I rinse and repeat two more times. Then I set out to wash the rest of myself, using half a bottle of the peach-smelling body wash before I finally feel clean.
The desperation of my situation slowly begins to set in, and I wonder how the hell I'll ever escape from this man --- Lucien, as he calls himself. Tears stream down my face and mix in with the water as I sob under the stream of water.
I have no idea where I am or why I'm here. When I mentioned my father paying a ransom, he didn't give me any inclination that he's interested in money. If he doesn't want money, then he must want something else.
Me.
The thought of being raped and it being my first time completely guts me, and I sob even harder. I slap my hands against the tile, screaming out in agony.
Why is this happening to me? What did I do to deserve this?
And then I remember that my sisters never deserved what happened to them either. When you grow up in the Italian mob, bad things are expected to happen. My father explained that to me from a young age.
He molded me into the perfect daughter, but apparently that wasn't enough to keep me safe. If only Giovanni wouldn't have wanted to walk home…
Giovanni.
A beam of light in this dark situation suddenly shines through. Giovanni would have seen who took me, and he would have told my father. Maybe they're working together right now and trying to track me down.
But then a more sinister thought creeps into my mind…what if Giovanni is dead? What if the man kidnapped me and killed him?
Fresh tears surface and stream down my face as I cry for what feels like forever. If Giovanni is dead, then all hope for anyone to come save me is gone. No one will know where I am, and I'll be stuck here…maybe forever…or until this man --- Lucien --- wants to kill me.
It isn't until the water starts to run cold that I finally get out of the shower.
I dry off, wrapping a dry towel around my long hair and tying it on top of my head in a sort of turban. Realizing I don't have anything to change into, I bite my lower lip and think about my options. I don't know who could be in my room. What if Lucien came back? Or what i
f it's someone else?
He told me that he's the one who bought me, but are there more monsters lurking out there like him?
I stare at the door. It's not locked. In all reality, they could have come in if they really wanted to.
Strumming up some courage, I yank the door open and peer out. The room is silent…empty. Slowly, I creep out of the bathroom, my feet sinking into the plush carpet as I walk.
Sunlight streams through the two skylights high up in the ceiling, but I can only see fluffy, white clouds in the bright blue sky. There aren't any other windows in this room, and that thought depresses me even further. I at least wanted to see some familiar surroundings, to know that my father might be closer than I originally thought and that I could be going home soon.
The aroma of food hits me, and my stomach growls right on cue. On the bed is a lap tray with a covered dish and two cups filled with what looks like water and orange juice. As I approach the four poster king-sized bed I take notice that the bed was meticulously made while I was in the shower, and it smells as if the sheets and comforter have been freshly laundered.
I wonder if Lucien made the bed and changed the sheets or if he has staff here. The prospect of other people being here lifts my spirits. Maybe if I explain my situation, they would help me.
Needing to get out of this towel and into clothes, I turn around and search the room for a dresser or something that would contain clothes for me to change into. The only furniture in the room is the bed, a small table with a lamp and a few occasional chairs in the corners.
When I turn back to the bathroom, that's when I notice another door to the right. It looks like it might be a closet, and so I go to it, hoping for the best. I turn the handle and pull the door open. A light instantly flickers on above me, illuminating a walk-in closet filled with racks and racks of clothes, mostly dresses, and shelves filled with shoes.
I pull open some of the drawers under the shelves and am happy to see underwear, although it looks more like lingerie. I rummage through the thongs and underwear and pull out a lacy pair of black panties. I read the tag and am amazed that it's my size. Curious, I pull out another pair and then another and then another, reading the tags as I go. Sure enough, they're all the same.