by Jenn Marlow
“What?” she asked, confused.
“Call your brother,” he replied matter-of-factly. He seemed to be in a good mood, something that didn’t happen very often. “Don’t make it a habit, but this once, go ahead.”
He nodded to her, gave a reassuring half-smile, flung himself back over the threshold, turned, and walked away. She couldn’t believe it. It had been weeks since she had heard her brother’s voice, let alone see his face. She wasted no time, not even to dress, before she launched herself to his bedside table where he kept her phone for safekeeping—or imprisonment guarding, whichever you prefer. Nonetheless, she swiped the screen to unlock it, reveling at the way the small device felt in her hands. God, she missed this thing. She fingered her way to her contact list and landed on Denny’s name without fail. She couldn’t wait to hear his voice.
Chapter 5
The sound of his voice caused a pang in her heart as soon as she heard it. It didn’t take him long to answer, almost like he was waiting by the phone. She appreciated how it made her feel, and as she hung the phone close to her ear, she closed her eyes and imagined that he was right beside her.
“You there?” he asked with concern all in his voice.
“Yes, hey, hon. How are you?” she asked, tears burning her eyes and her throat clenching with pain. She missed him so much.
“I’m good. I’ve been going through chemo. Holly’s been taking me,” he replied, his voice choked. She could tell he was on the brink of tears, as well.
“How’s it making you feel? Are you sick?” she asked quickly. She had been thinking about these questions for weeks now. She never thought she’d actually be able to ask him. That was the worst part about it all; the slavery aspect wasn’t shit compared to how much she missed him.
She held the phone closer in anticipation of his answer and was glad she did, because his volume got lower and his voice raspier. He was crying; the tears finally broke through. “It’s the same as always, pretty much,” he managed to choke. “But, I really miss you. When are you coming back?”
Her heart dropped to her gut so fast that she felt that it had literally fallen out of place. She felt like she had just dropped from the highest peak of a roller coaster at lightning fast speed. She was nauseas. “It’ll be a while, but I will be back.”
“Mom said the same thing, you know… She took my pills and said she’d see me when she woke up. She never fucking did!” he screamed, tears obviously flowing now. He was defensive, hurt even. And her heart broke more and more with every word he uttered.
“I’m not mom, honey. I’m not going anywhere. I promise,” she reassured, doing everything she could to hold back her tears. Her throat ached, and she couldn’t get rid of a baseball-sized lump that bobbed relentlessly within it.
Around the corner, she had no idea that someone had just heard things about her conversation that she had always wished to remain private. And she hadn’t even suspected that he had known until dinner that evening. They sat quietly, as they always had, but he cleared his throat, and Alex wondered if it was just to break the silence. Because then he hit her, square in the metaphorical gut.
“I heard your conversation. Your mom isn’t around anymore?” he asked, straight to the point without an ounce of fear.
She didn’t know how to respond or if she even could respond. It was as if all air had escaped her. She was floored. Had he been listening in to her conversation? How dare he? That was the one private moment he had allowed the entire time she had been there for two and a half months and turns out it wasn’t private at all.
“I thought you had fucking work!” she screamed angrily.
He looked at her warningly. “Careful,” he said, holding the chewed bit of steak in the side of his mouth. It wasn’t refined, and it was very unlike him to speak when food was in his mouth, but his tone reciprocated his gaze almost perfectly. She knew he didn’t want to hurt her, and she knew he didn’t want to terminate their agreement, but he would. She knew that he would. “I had to come back in for my wallet, and I heard the conversation from the hall. I wasn’t trying to intrude, but regardless, you will not talk to me that way.”
He put his fork down gently and finished chewing his bite of steak, his head down, averting his eyes from her. She could hear the food chomping around in his mouth as he masticated it. It sounded wet and disgusting and completely unlike him in every way. He was king manners; it was strange, really.
“She died,” she replied flatly. He looked up at her, hints of shock on his face.
“How?” he asked, concerned. He sounded like it mattered somehow, like he genuinely needed to know. He sounded too concerned for Alex’s comfort, almost like he had personally known her.
“She overdosed on pills eight years ago,” she responded, taking the first bite of her own steak, trying to avoid speaking further. She wanted the conversation to be over, and Roland usually dropped things quite quickly if he felt they were heading into emotional territory, so she knew he would drop it soon. But he didn’t. He pressed more.
“What pills?” His question was hurried and almost panicked.
“What the fuck is your damage!?” she screamed, throwing her fork and knife down. It clanged against her plate and bits of food flung into the air in minuscule amounts. “You never talk about you! So why the fuck do you constantly want to ask me shit, huh!? We never talk about you; it’s always just me, me, me! And last I fucking checked, I was a sex slave not a fucking slave in general. I don’t have to emotionally divulge everything about my past!”
She was angry and irrational, she knew, but she felt he had no right. She didn’t know how much her mother’s death still affected her until she was asked about her. That was the first time she had been asked about her mother in years. She thought she was over it; she thought she had moved on, but she wasn’t and she hadn’t and she wasn’t sure she ever would.
He was calm still; he hadn’t moved or even flinched at her reaction. He seemed completely unfazed. He just kept on with his usual dinner behavior. He took a slow and gentle sip of the wine in front of him. It was a sparkling white, which was different than usual – and then he sat it back down in a similar manner, slow and gently.
She stood, still outraged. His calming nature did nothing but infuriate her more. “You act like you care, but I know you fucking don’t,” she said tone of finality. He picked up his fork and knife again and smirked. He began cutting another bite-sized portion of steak with more manner and refinement than he was displaying before. He was slow with it, as if he was savoring the moment somehow. His smirk never left.
“I have a piqued interest in you, as I do all of my slaves. I feel it’s important that I know more about their backgrounds…where they came from, what they do. However, you’ve never mentioned your family. I merely wanted to know more,” he said, before taking the bite-sized portion of steak into his cocky grinning orifice. “Have a seat, please.”
She sighed, defeated. She felt an urge to cry. She thought about her mom often, but she wasn’t used to someone bringing her up, especially so casually, and from someone who hadn’t known her. She was used to being strong for Denny, and rarely ever felt tears threaten to fall when she was reassuring him. She had much more pressing matters on the forefront of her mind around him, but with Roland it was different.
He caught her off guard with his questioning. The very first time she felt she was given a privilege since she arrived at his house ten weeks ago, and he seemed to rip it away instantaneously. He knew far more than she ever wanted him to know and brought up demons from her past that she never wished to speak of with anyone other than Denny. But as she sat down, something overtook her. A calm and soothing feeling seemed to rush in, and she felt her lips moving and words escaping her mouth before she even knew what she was saying.
“She overdosed on Denny’s pills,” she said.
“What kind of pills?” he asked, furthering the conversation, apparently interested in delving further into her life.
“Pain medication,” she responded again, her head bent down to look at her food and the scattered bits of her silverware all over the table.
“Pain medication for what? What would a little boy be taking that he would have to continue for a long period of time?” He was confused; she could tell. And then it hit her. He didn’t know about Denny’s cancer.
“Denny has cancer.”
And that’s all she had to say before he seemed to clear his throat and look away. She wondered what the reaction was, but she was going to continue. He asked, and she was going to tell him everything. She didn’t want for it to come up again unexpectedly. She wanted it out there. They still had over two more years left together; and by God, she wanted it over with.
Her mom was a phantom of her past that continued to haunt her dreams and her wake. She wanted him to know that it was a subject she edged out purposely because it fed—like a leech—on her every day. So did Denny’s cancer. She hoped with her confession, that he would leave them both to rest in her mind. She was the only one who needed to worry about her demons.
“Denny developed cancer at around five years old and mom was great at taking care of him when it all started. But see, she had a little bit of an addiction in college…pain meds, go figure. Eventually, we guessed it just became too much for her to handle. His cancer, her addiction and seeing the pills, giving them to him every day, and all the emotions that went along with it. It all just became too much for her to handle. So, she started taking them. First, it was for a headache and then it wasn’t long before she took them recreationally and overdosed on them. So, all of that over a fucking headache, right? How pathetic!” she said, pushing her plate away harshly.
***
She didn’t know it, but as soon as that phrase left her mouth, the dynamic between she and Roland shifted. Something changed, and she wasn’t sure if it was something that happened bit-by-bit or all at once. But regardless, it changed, and she noticed it right after their talk that night.
Something changed, and he was kind. But what was more dramatic and stir-worthy for her, though, was the fact that she was kind to him, too. It was almost bittersweet, really. It all started with what she noticed as his kindness; because it had been edging its way through ever since their talk. She wasn’t sure what was happening exactly, but she felt it when it all changed, when she changed.
She learned that she may have been wrong about him; and she may have been wrong about herself.
They were barely even on speaking terms, and something as small as his inquisition regarding her life caused a shift. She wasn’t sure who bent first. Was it she who delved into parts of her past that she rarely ever spoke of? Or was it him, who asked the question that led to it?
Regardless, this sudden kindness that he exhibited, this gentleness, was unexpected. And it all began with something small, just a little change.
Neither of them were prepared for this sudden friendship—or acquaintanceship, or whatever it was. But they felt the unease of the situation. In fact, they were both scared, terrified even.
He was mean and coarse, cruel even. And she was unrefined and unsure of herself. But now, now they were both endearing. Neither knew it was even possible, not even of themselves.
He thought he saw her glance at him from across the room. It was strange how close they were becoming, and he wasn’t sure if it was welcome, but she was no longer challenging him; she no longer looked at him with disdain.
He wasn’t sure if she was in a good mood, or if he was, but it was something he was willing to ignore.
Alex knew it wasn’t just him that had changed in demeanor; she had, too. She wasn’t sure what shifted, and when exactly it did, but it was alarming. Who would have ever thought that they could be this civil to one another? He wasn’t Prince Charming, as smooth as he thought he was, but she had never expected or wanted a man to be Prince Charming. He was too perfect and unrealistic, and though Roland was far from perfect, maybe even quite the opposite, there was something else there. Something that was hidden before. Something she hadn’t seen before.
She didn’t necessarily enjoy or like the fact that she found herself enjoying his company. She was supposed to go through the three years hating him, with her mind on the prize. He was supposed to be a repulsive, rich bastard who bought women for his own pleasurable gain. And though it was partially true, she saw something else there. She knew there was more to the story, and that it wasn’t all black and white.
But the fact that her breath caught every time he was in the room with her, and that she found herself looking at him for no apparent reason, thinking about him for the same reason, it was too much for her to bear. It was all so overwhelming and scary. She had never harbored romantic feelings for anyone deeper than attraction, so she wasn’t sure if her feelings would constitute as romantic, but there was something there. Something more than the physical attraction that had been blatantly obvious from the beginning.
She didn’t know anything—not anymore, not really. What she did know was that they had changed, both of them. They had both bent in some way for the other, and it created an understanding which apparently led to something much deeper and complicated. She only knew that she saw him differently, and she could appreciate the fact that she saw him for what he truly was; she was able to delve deeper. But she didn’t know why she couldn’t sleep at night, or why she thought about him constantly.
It was in one of her sleepless nights, in fact, that she decided to venture downstairs and into the master bedroom where Roland laid his beautiful head of chestnut hair. She had gotten there before she even had the chance to contemplate it, or weigh the pros and cons. She had even climbed up on the bed before she realized she was in his room.
She crawled on her knees to the head of his bed, where he slept peacefully. “Roland,” she whispered in his ear before trailing a lingering wet kiss across the flesh there. He smiled in his sleep, and she took that as invitation to go further. She pulled back his puffy silk comforter, the black color disappearing in the darkness almost completely. And when she pulled it back, she saw that he was already naked.
She grinned widely before snaking her hand down the entire length of his torso, her digits gently rolling over his flesh, until her hand reached the base of his half-hard cock. She gasped, loving the feel of his heat beneath her touch. She squeezed firmly before she began to pump his foreskin up and down.
He began to moan in his sleep, and she continued, picking up her pace. As she stroked him harder and faster and his breath quickened, she could tell that he was beginning to stir for real; he was waking up. Though her eyes had already adjusted to the darkness, his sleepiness shined like a light through it. It was obvious that he was half-asleep, as he groggily tried to open his eyes.
“What the fuck?!” he screamed, pushing her away with force.
It was a miracle she hadn’t fallen off the bed with how much force he had exhibited. “It’s me!” she called, reassuring him.
“I know!” he yelled in reply. “What the hell are you doing in here?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” she replied, a little hurt at his sudden cruelty.
“Well, I was asleep, so if you don’t mind I’d like to get back to it?” His voice was stern and consistent in tone. He wanted her to leave. And it hurt; though she wasn’t completely sure why. She didn’t even want anything to do with him until recently. But now that she had grown fond of him, it did hurt. She knew that was why. But, nonetheless, he wanted her to leave. So she did.
Indeed, she didn’t know much.
But, she did know that she needed a drink.
And drink she did.
She traveled the entire house until she rounded up enough alcohol to have a little cornucopia worth. The plethora of drink choices astounded her, as she held an armful of bottles close to her and traveled to the den. She had been carrying the booze throughout the entire house; it was a relief when she finally was able to take a load off.
&
nbsp; She dropped the burdening glass bottles onto the pool table before she began her science-award-worthy bartending adventure. She was going to concoct the perfect mix of drinks to alleviate herself from any feelings that she may have somehow found herself possessing. She was going to get shit-faced. She was going to forget the building fondness for Roland; she was going to ignore it; and the Thanksgiving-feast-worth of booze was going to help her do it.
Chapter 6
It was almost laughable really, how anyone could ever think that alcohol was the answer. It was a depressant, and she should have known better. But now, as she lay atop the red felt-covered pool table, memories came flooding back to her of her first consensual night with Roland. Sex on her terms she called it. It happened so recently, but it felt like years ago. They both seemed so different compared to how they were back then.
Roland, in all his twisted glory, helped her see something. He showed her that there was someone out there who could relate; that there was someone just as fucked up as she was. She wasn’t sure what it was that she felt for him, but she knew that it was growing in intensity.
She hoped it wasn’t romantic, but she couldn’t be sure. The only thing she could be sure of was her need to detach from her emotional side for the time being. She had to find a way to let go of it all, and alcohol clearly wasn’t helping. It was making it worse because the more she drank, the more she wanted him there so that they could discuss it together. If he even wanted to discuss it further.
Then, it hit her. Maybe he was kind before because he didn’t care to challenge her anymore. Maybe he was bored with it all. And maybe he didn’t want to fuck her earlier because he was bored. She knew that she should be grateful if that were the case. Because that would mean the remaining two years and some odd months could be spent in a luxurious house without worry of being one’s slave.