That’s because they don’t exist.
Accompanying Song: “Running Up That Hill” by Placebo
Providence, Rhode Island – May 1st, 2013, morning
Sebastian stands up, fishing his ringing cell phone from his pocket.
“Yes, this is Sebastian Brand. You want to come over today? Sure. Okay, thanks.” He puts it back in his pocket and turns around to me.
“Stay in bed. I’ll be right back.” He leaves the room.
I don’t feel the need to disobey. I think it’s a safer option right now. To pass the time, I watch the giant clock hanging from the wall. This guest room is rather large, now that I actually have time to look around. Like the rest of the condo, there are windows everywhere, and the dark wooden floors bring out a beautiful contrast with the white walls. Even in here, the furniture consists of solely black and white. There is almost zero color in this house, to the point that it’s frightening.
When Sebastian steps back into the room, I’m surprised to find him with a tray in his hands. It smells like freshly ground coffee and I can spot the waffles from the bed, causing my mouth to water. With a smile, he brings it to me, places it on the bed in front of me, and sets the coffee on the table beside the bed.
“I figured breakfast in bed would make you feel better.”
I try to form a smile with my lips. “Thank you, Mister Brand.”
“Sebastian is fine.” He looks at me and clears his throat. “For now.”
“Sebastian,” I repeat.
For a moment, we just stare at each other and an uncomfortable moment of silence passes between us.
His eyes dart around like he doesn’t know what to do with them. “When you’ve finished your plate, you can come out and wander around the house. I have to get to work. But please don’t try to escape. Like I said, it won’t work.”
“Wait,” I say, grabbing his hand as he gets up. “Work?”
“I’ll still be here, don’t worry about it. I’m just going to clean up a little.”
“Don’t you have a housekeeper?”
He shrugs. “I sent her home, for the time being.”
“Why?” I frown, curious for his answer.
“Because I thought it’d be nice to spend some time alone with you.”
And then he gets up and walks out the door, just like that. No other words, just a door clicking shut and then silence. I’m baffled. That a man who could do such heinous things to a woman suddenly cares about spending time with her, and wanting her to feel okay, and eating a nice breakfast … it blows my mind. This man is truly a mystery to me.
I realize there is no point in contemplating the reasons for his actions, though. I suppose the logic will come in time. For the moment, satisfying my growling stomach is more important so I start eating and am impressed, much to my dismay. His cooking is fantastic. I don’t know whether Conchita did this before she left, or if he actually spent time in the kitchen, but it sure beats the hell out of the food they had in the institution.
The more I eat, the better I feel, and soon I’ve forgotten all about the nightmare. That’s what always happens when something bad occurs; I block it out and pretend it never existed.
When I’m done, I put everything back on the tray and get out of bed. My naked body confronting me in the mirror almost makes me drop the tray, but I steady it in time. The bruises I find on my neck and between my legs are as frightening as they are empowering. For some reason, I feel strong looking at them. Like I survived something important, capable of enduring the worst. Like some sort of trophy. I shouldn’t stare at it for too long, because I’m almost starting to feel proud of them. Flushed, I grab the bathrobe hanging from the wall beside it and put it on. The soft texture feels cozy against my skin as I walk out the door with the tray.
In the middle of the room, right in front of the table, at the exact spot my chair stood yesterday, Sebastian is cleaning. On his hands and knees, he scrubs the carpet rigorously. Soap froths underneath the brush he pushes deep into the white carpet, stained with what I believe are spills from last night. Bodily fluids that have left a permanent mark in his home. He doesn’t seem too happy about it. His eyebrows almost touch each other as he works tirelessly, sweat running down his forehead. When he spots me, he looks up, wiping it off.
I clear my throat. “Thank you … for this.”
“I hope it tasted well.”
“Yes. Did you make it?”
“I did, actually. I cook sometimes, but not often. Only for special guests.” The small smile he gives me makes my skin tingle. It shouldn’t happen, but it does. I almost feel ashamed to admit it to myself.
He stops cleaning for a second and points at the door behind me. “You can put the tray on the table; I’ll bring it to the kitchen later. Go take a shower.”
I nod, treading softly to the table, light as a feather so as not to anger him. After watching me for a second, he continues scrubbing the floor. The way he shoves the brush across the carpet makes me think he’s trying to dig a hole through the floor. Even the tiniest spots get a rough treatment. He sure does love to clean things.
I move backward into the shower where I close the door and take a deep breath. I’m alone with myself, which isn’t an easy feat. It makes my mind go crazy with ideas and thoughts. Memories of last night, how he forced me to shower, and is now expecting me to do the same. How much I now realize that freedom is a gift not to be wasted and that I spoiled it for myself. As I step under the shower and let the water cascade down upon me, I ponder about why I do this to myself. Why I let him hurt me the way he did. Why I’m not as angry as I thought I would be. Maybe it’s a survival mode kicking in, which makes me compliant to avoid any further unnecessary pain. Or maybe it’s my heart that’s still pining for him, for the man my mind once knew him as.
When I step out of the shower again, I’m more confused than when I stepped in. A flower-patterned dress hangs from the door, which wasn’t there before. I put it on, as I suspect that’s what he wants and what I’ve come to expect from him. I look at myself in the mirror and brush my hair with his comb, attempting to look nice. I don’t do it for him, I tell myself. I want to be pretty for once. Gazing at myself, trying to perfect my look, makes me forget all the things that make me what a normal person would call insane. For once, I want to be normal, like everyone else. Even if it’s all a lie.
I want to smash this mirror to bits, but I don’t. It wouldn’t be proper. It wouldn’t keep me safe. So I choose the better option and walk out the door instead.
To my surprise, I find Sebastian sitting in a chair with a chessboard in front of him and another chair on the opposite side. With a rigid face, he looks up and beckons me to come closer. As I walk toward him, my eyes dwindle toward the place he was cleaning. It’s spotless, nothing out of the ordinary. Just plainness and boring black and white. Vapid of all evidence that he abused me last night. Squinting, I look him straight in the eye, balling my hands to fists. Rage courses through my veins. Whether it’s for himself or for the others, he’s trying to cover it up. Making it seem like it never happened. Well, he can’t erase the bruises on my body or the scars in my heart. The mere thought has brought me power. The will to live reviving my body.
“Sit,” he says, his eyes flickering toward the chair opposite to him.
Reluctantly, I sit down, crossing my arms in front of me. His lips quirk up into a momentary smile before disappearing again. He seems amused by my renewed defiance.
“Never giving up, are we?”
“No.” I lean back in my chair.
“So you’re still intent on fighting me?”
“As long as you keep me a prisoner.”
“Hmmm …” There’s a pause. He picks up the chess pieces and places them all on the board. “What is the reason for you hunting after me, Miss Carrigan? I’ve been curious about this since the start of your visit.”
“I’m not visiting. I had meant to … be with you.”
“As what?�
��
My cheeks color red. “I don’t know.”
He muffles a laugh. “As a lover, you mean?”
“You know what I mean. Whatever. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Oh, but it does to me.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Why? You already have what you wanted.”
“On the contrary. I wanted you gone, remember? But I guess this is the safest option.”
“For you,” I scoff.
“Touché.” He winks as if this is some sort of joke. I’m not laughing. “Where do you come from, Miss Carrigan?”
“Why do you care?”
“Answer me.” His voice has changed darker with the snap of a finger. I know I’m treading on thin ice if I don’t do as he says. I’d rather keep him as a friend right now.
“Someplace I don’t want to be anymore.”
“Right … and you know me how?”
“Know you? Um …” My pores become sweaty. “You kind of saved me from … something.”
“Saved you …” He nods, frowning. “Right. From what exactly?”
I flush, my eyes drifting down to the table. “I … I don’t know, actually.”
“Why don’t you know?”
“Because I don’t remember, okay?” I sigh. “It wasn’t something I wanted to remember anyway.”
“Did you forget on purpose or is it something else?”
“Something else.”
“Right …” He places the last chess piece on the table and sits back in his chair. “So let me get this straight … I saved you from something you don’t remember, and it’s got you in shambles. Am I right?”
I shiver from the way he says it, so clinically. This is my life we’re talking about. It really sounds insane now.
“Sounds to me like you have a serious case of trauma going on.”
He hits the nail right on the head.
I swallow, not knowing how to respond.
His lips twitch. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
“So what?”
“Tell you what, Miss Carrigan, you don’t have to tell me where you’re from. I’ll find out sooner or later.”
That sounds like a threat.
He clears his throat. “But know that I’ll get to the bottom of this. I will find out why you’re so intent on being with me.”
“I’m not.”
“Not anymore, but you were definitely interested in me.”
I scowl. “That was before I found out how cruel you can get.”
“Cruel … I don’t like that word.”
“I don’t like you.”
He smiles. “Let’s change that.”
I laugh. “Good luck.”
“Thanks, but I won’t need it. I know I’ve already made an unforgettable impression.”
“Yes, you did, Mister Brand. Yes, you did.”
“There is no lie you could tell me that could explain the way you writhed for me last night. How wet you were when I licked your pussy. Or how hard you came when my cum spurted into your mouth. You can tell me anything you want, Miss Carrigan, but I won’t believe it. I know what I saw. Your body still longs for me, even after all the things you accused me of.”
“That’s preposterous. I’m not a liar.”
“Maybe not, but I can clearly tell you can’t stop wanting me. And that’s okay. I will see to it your every need is taken care of, including those of your pussy.”
“Stop it,” I hiss, trying not to think about how good it actually felt to have his fingers probe me last night. How I hungered for his cock, even though he used me like a slave. It just isn’t right to even think about it.
“Why are you so unwilling to look past your morals? Does it make you uncomfortable to talk about the undeniable attraction between us? Does it make you seethe with anger that I know exactly what effect I have on your body and your mind? That in the end, you crave the darkness, even though it might mean you’ll lose your dignity?”
I frown, slamming my mouth shut. His devilish smile tells me he thinks he’s right. Maybe he is, but I won’t acknowledge it.
“Denial will only get you so far,” he says.
“At least it will keep me focused.”
“On what?”
“Escaping your wretched grasp.”
He laughs. “What if I told you that you could be free if only you’d obey me?”
I narrow my eyes. “You’re lying.”
“It’s not. I can assure you, I speak the truth.”
“Why would I believe you?”
He leans forward. “Because I hold the key to your recovery.”
I cock my head. I don’t believe him. Is this for real? How would he know how to cure my trauma? Regardless, my curiosity is piqued. “How?”
A wicked smile forms on his face. “I will tell you … if you play this game of chess with me.”
I sigh. “Seriously?”
“Are you afraid I might win?”
No, I think he has hidden agendas I’m not eager to uncover. “What’s the catch?”
He plants his elbow on the chair and rests his head on his index and middle finger. “Let’s make a bet. If you win, I will tell you everything there is to know about me.”
Now he’s talking. “Interesting …”
“If I win, you will surrender completely. Your soul. Your body. Your mind.”
“No way.” I laugh. “I’m not a fool, Mister Brand; I know when I’m being played.”
“And I will help you find the answers to your memory loss. Cure your trauma. Make you whole again.”
I contemplate it for a moment. “And what if I refuse?”
“You can’t.” He smiles, cocking his head to the other side as if this is some sort of funny game to him.
“Well, then I guess I have no choice but to play,” I say, grabbing a white chess piece. Such a coincidence that I’m playing with white and he’s playing with black. How ironic.
“One more second, Miss Carrigan. I have one more rule to add.”
“Which is?”
“Let’s make this a little more interesting, shall we? With each move, we tell each other a bit about ourselves. It has to be something previously unknown.”
I laugh. “You’re joking, right? Why would you want to know anything about me, a woman who stalked you?”
“I’m glad you’re finally admitting to your stalking behavior. However, despite what you may think, you intrigue me. I might keep you as a prisoner in my home, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to get to know you. On the contrary … one should get to know his captive, if only to make the transition easier.”
“You mean for you to use these tidbits against me, so you can gain full control?”
“Perhaps. Although, might I add that you would have the same power over me. This is not a one-way chat. I really want to get to know you better. After all … I would like to be able to pleasure you in more ways than one and provide you with anything you desire.”
Baffled, I wait before I place my piece on the chessboard. He seems truly genuine.
“All right, I say. But you begin.”
“As you wish,” he says, bowing his head before grasping a piece and placing it on the board. I manage a club.”
“What kind of club?”
He shakes his finger. “Ah-ah, Miss Carrigan. No questions. Just answers.”
I sigh and roll my eyes. “Fine.” I place the chess piece on the board. “I used to study photography.”
“Used to?”
“Ah-ah, no questions, Mister Brand,” I say, raising an eyebrow cheekily.
“You forget that I make the rules in this house. But for now, I’ll let it pass.” He picks up another piece and places it on the board. “I love to clean.”
“Yeah, I could see that,” I snort.
“Reply again and I will make you tell me everything I ask, including all the dirty little secrets you don’t want to spill. Now … play the game according to the rules.”
Jesus … he sure does
love his rules.
Fine. If he wants to play it dirty, he’ll get dirty. “I recognize that pin button you’re wearing.” I point at it.
He frowns, gazing at me, then lowers his head to look at the pin button. He seems momentarily fazed before he takes the pin button off and tucks it into his pocket.
“I bet you’re wondering how. Too bad you don’t allow me to explain. It’s against the rules to question or reply.” I place the piece firmly on the board. “Your move.”
Accompanying Song: “Animals” by Muse
Providence, Rhode Island – May 1st, 2013, morning
Of course, I didn’t win. There was no other logical conclusion. From the moment she moved her first pawn, I knew where the game would go, knew what piece I had to move to trap her and beat her at her own game. However, I wanted her to win. I wanted to see the glow on her face, the glint in her eyes, and the bright smile on her lips as she placed that last methodically selected piece onto the board. She needed to win, so that I can start helping her. I might come across as an arrogant, egotistical bastard, but I’m very much interested in taking care of her. After all … she is my captive.
She probably thought this was an easy way to pry facts from my mouth. She thought wrong. There is only so much I will tell her … little unimportant things about me, like the fact that I dislike spicy food, that I prefer suits over casual clothing, that I own a library, and that the love of my life is books. That I enjoy hunting and prefer anything black or white to color. But these are all insignificant attributes. They only show my likes and dislikes, but they do not show the truth about me. About all the horrible things I’ve done and will continue doing.
No, this little game was meant for her to learn to trust me again. Regardless of the fact that they are all worthless little bits about me, to her they make a difference, because I speak the truth. Truth means trust. And trust means obedience, which is exactly what I’m aiming for.
Snare (Delirious book 1) Page 16