by DD Prince
Hey! I feel a little bit of outrage. It’s my sketchbook. It’s singed around the edges. So much so that ash flakes off as I lift and examine it. He must have had it rescued from my old room, after the fire. I’m sort of shocked.
I open it and look over the partly burnt pages. This is one of three that I had and this one is the most recent of the three. If it had a name, it would be named The Book of Alessandro. Though I couldn’t have named it until after the fire.
On the first page is a cluster of black hollyhock flowers. I drew them. I tend to draw these namesake flowers a lot, though I usually shade them in with vibrant colors. The day I drew them was a gloomy day so I shaded black in.
I flip the page.
There are no less than a dozen portraits of him, which I’ve tried to draw from memory, from the few times I’d seen him. Talking to people, walking, smoking. Now, after being here, I can draw sketches of him exercising. I can draw him with more accuracy. Where his image already felt like it was vividly in my mind from the few times I saw him before the fire? Now, he’s singed into my memory banks. Indelibly.
I’m suddenly anxious to go back to my room to paint.
At the back of the book are several pages of my attempts to draw just his eyes. I can never seem to get his eyes just right. Now that I’ve seen him up close several times, I’d like to try to draw his eyes again. And I could draw his chest and biceps and thighs, now that I’ve seen him working out. I need a closer look to see the detail of his tattoo in order to draw his torso. But, his eyes? Even if I can get the shading right, I’m not sure they can be captured adequately in one still drawing.
I feel a twinge of mortification that he has this, that it’s here, that he’s seen that I’ve been trying to draw him.
I put the book back where I found it and debate going back to my room to paint.
I may never get access to his room like this again. I tell myself I’ll go back in a moment.
I walk toward the set of dark double doors that lead to his bedroom. My heart is racing, but in a good way.
I open the doors and slip in and close them behind me.
There’s a desk here, too, a smaller one. As I walk past it, I spy a laptop. I take two steps back and I open it up.
A login screen. Username: Lex. The cursor is blinking at the start of the password box. Waiting. I have no idea what the password could be. My lips twitch, I’m lost in thought for a moment and then I close the lid.
His bed is straight ahead, taking up a lot of the big space. It’s big, beautiful, and as the focal point of this room, it looks inviting as can possibly be. I had a really good sleep in here the night of the fire. The crystal and copper lamp on his right-hand side nightstand is lit.
I look around. And then I see a wall-mounted cabinet. It wasn’t here before. It dawns that this is where the mirror would be. The mirror that looks through to my room.
The double doors are closed. I try them. Locked.
My heart has been racing since I found my door unlocked. But, now it’s kicked into overdrive.
Does he watch me at night from this bed?
Are these doors opened while he’s in his bed every night?
Does he touch himself when he looks at me?
Does he say goodnight to me and then look at me when he starts his day?
Does he wear night vision goggles to see me masturbating in the dark?
I cringe, but even still, my panties feel like they’re hot.
I pull back and then climb under his covers. It’s warm and it smells like clean laundry, but I feel him here. I feel like I felt when he was over me, breathing on me, so close to touching me.
I think back to when I was in his arms. I smile and squirm, burrowing deeper into the bedding.
I lift my knees so that the blankets are tented my hand goes back into my panties as I imagine him here with me, hovering over me, his mouth within reach of my mouth.
I hear noise.
Oh damn. Is Esmerelda looking for me? I bet she realizes what she did, leaving my door unlocked.
No. Not Alessandro.
I quickly pray that it won’t be him, that he won’t find me here.
But, my prayer goes unanswered. He’s suddenly in the room with me. I freeze, hand still in my panties, mouth wide open in shock at seeing him, at the fact that he’s at the end of the bed with an incredulous look on his handsome face.
He doesn’t look fresh. He looks disheveled. And irritated.
God, I’m so stupid.
I drop my legs straight and try to inconspicuously withdraw my hand. It’s not inconspicuous enough, judging by the hardening expression on his face, a face whose eyes are on me in a way that I know he knows exactly what he walked in on.
And the look in his eyes? His eyes are like the eye of a storm. If only I could draw them right now. Or, they’re more like a storm that’s already done damage but not quite cleared.
I stay stone still, clenching the sheets. I have no words.
“What the fuck?” he snaps.
I blink and try to swallow, but I fail and cough.
He shakes his head and I watch as his tongue moves across his top teeth behind his lips. He sucks on his tongue and shakes his head some more and then moves to the night table and lifts the cordless phone.
“You make any calls?”
I shake my head vigorously.
“If you did…” his expression makes my blood run cold.
“I didn’t.”
It didn’t even occur to me. Does 9-1-1 work in Mexico? How would I even call my mother? Would she know how to help me? Would she even try? I didn’t know how to reach my sister, either.
He hits a button on the bottom of the phone, probably the redial button, and listens for a minute and then says something in Spanish and hangs up.
“I suggest you get your ass to your room and do it immediately, before you feel my anger.”
I scamper out of the bed on the opposite side to where he stands.
“What are you doing with me? Why am I here? Why am I safe when the others…aren’t?”
He scoffs and scratches his jaw.
“Alessandro?”
“What are you doing here?” he asks, and his eyes are lit with something that screams danger!
“I was just…” I shrug.
“You find you can leave your room and you immediately come here? And you don’t use my phone?”
“I didn’t notice it.”
“Ah. What did you do in here?”
“I opened the laptop,” I admit.
“And?”
“And it’s password protected.”
“Of course it is. Am I stupid?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
“That’s a very honest response,” he observes.
I moisten my lips. They feel so dry. His eyes are fixed on my mouth. I moisten them again. And then I suck on my bottom lip.
“Are you?”
“Me?” I ask.
“Are you stupid?” he asks, eyes moving back up from my mouth to lock with mine.
“Maybe.” I shrug and smile.
He doesn’t return the smile. “What were you doing in here?”
“I opened my sketchbook.”
“Why did you choose,” he emphasizes the word choose,
“to come in here?”
“I don’t know how to answer that,” I admit and then add, “without seeming silly.”
He steps toward me and then he keeps coming until he almost collides with me. I step back and find myself backed against the wall, beside the bathroom.
“It wasn’t silly. It was fuckin’ stupid. And lucky for you that you weren’t that stupid to try to call someone. You need to be locked in, it seems. Otherwise you wander. Where would you have wandered to after making yourself come in my bed?”
My belly dips and my knees go weak at his words. My face is bright red; I feel it.
“Answer me,” he orders.
“I wouldn’t ha
ve left the house. I know there are guards.”
“Good thing, I suppose. Or you’d think.”
He’s said that so calm and collected. But his words sort of also don’t make sense. I smile nervously.
I see instantly that it pisses him off.
“Why do you watch me through the mirror?” I ask and gesture with my chin toward those closed doors.
He gives nothing away with his gaze. It’s just fixed on me.
“What do you have planned?” I try.
He snickers, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“So… there is a plan, then? What is it?” I feel bold.
He leans forward and puts a palm flat on the wall, beside my head. “Maybe your slave training is about to start. Maybe you’ll be broken and then sold to the highest bidder. Sassy little thing like you needs to be broken. Where’d this sassy come from, anyway?”
I shudder and shrug. Good question.
He continues to talk. “Maybe I’m getting ready to break you myself.” His eyes rove over my face. “So, I’ve decided to watch you, so I can decide the best way to go about doing just that. Since you’re here, how about I suspend you,” he gestures to the canopy above his bed, “and get started.”
“You…” I take a deep breath, “You can’t. You don’t mean that.” I look up at the racks, the rings.
Oh God, no.
“I can do whatever I please. You’re my possession to do with whatever I choose to do. Maybe I already have a buyer in mind.”
“You don’t need the money.”
“Why do you say that? What do you think you would fetch? A trained blonde-haired blue-eyed virgin with these perky tits? Down here? An untrained virgin even. You don’t know who I am, if I work for someone. You’re an expense. You could be profit. What do you know about me, Holly, besides my name, which I’d like to know where you heard it?”
“Someone said it by accident.”
“Accidents. Too many accidents around here lately.” He lifts the phone and hits buttons.
“Esmerelda. To my bedroom please. Now.” He hangs it up. I’ve never heard him speak English to her before. He must have done that for my benefit.
And he stands there and stares.
“Should I…” I jerk my thumb toward the door, about to ask if I should go back to my room.
“Don’t move,” he snaps. His voice is so cold and angry. Cold prickles over me. I shiver.
“You let that opportunity pass you by. Since you chose to stay, you’ll reap the consequences of that choice. You don’t know me, Holly.”
Before I can halt my reaction, he reads something on my face.
“You don’t.” He moves closer again, both hands now on the wall on either side of my face. Arms bent. His breath is warm and minty.
He’s beautiful. He’s complicated, for sure. He’s in pain, too; that much I can plainly see.
“You don’t know how dangerous these games you play are.”
I’m not as afraid of him as he wants me to be. Why, I don’t know, and it’s possibly a huge mistake, but the way he’s kept me safe, provided for me, the way he saved me from the burning building? I can’t put my finger on it but there’s just something about him that makes me think he’s not totally bad. Not really.
I don’t really know him, granted; I could count how many times I’ve seen him around. I know that everyone here fears him. So much they don’t make eye contact. So much, that when he speaks to people, they go completely stiff.
This is a scary place. He’s in charge of men who tote machine guns around the place. But, I’m strangely sure he won’t hurt me. He saved me. He watches me. Surely, he feels something protective, right?
Why would he want to hurt me when he’s made the effort to protect me? Actions speak louder than words and his actions so far with me don’t say bad guy.
A long moment continues, with his eyes on me, assessing me from head to toe. He’s looking at me in a way that makes me feel like I’m under a microscope.
“Don’t fuck with me, Holly.” He pounds his palm against the wall beside my head.
I gasp. Maybe I should be very afraid.
“No one fucks with me and gets away with it. Do you understand?” he demands, through gritted teeth.
I nod, fear prickling. Why is he trying to scare me? It’s like I can feel that he doesn’t really want to hurt me, but yet he’s doing it anyway. A tear slides down my cheek. I halt any others from coming, but he sees it.
“Ah, little flower. Mi pequeña flor. Did the monster wound your delicate heart?” He touches my cheek with his thumb and tenderly wipes the tear away.
He moves closer, impossibly close, and I see that the whites of his eyes have tiny red webs through them. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. There are beads of sweat on his upper lip, his forehead.
“You’re trying to convince me you have no heart, but I know better,” I say.
My lip quivers. He sees it and then his eyes move to mine and lock mine in his.
“I have a heart. It beats to wound you,” he says gruffly.
He grabs my hand and holds it against his chest. His shirt is damp with sweat, the fabric sticking to him, but his heart pounds fiercely against my palm.
“Feel that? It beats to rip yours to shreds. I’ll rip you to shreds, baby. You’ll be a lifeless pile of pretty shredded ribbons all over the floor. I’ll come all over them and then walk away and find a pretty new flower.”
I try to yank my hand back, but he doesn’t let go. I manage to tear my eyes from his and that’s when I notice his knuckles are bleeding. He jerks me forward and I slam against his sweaty body. His nose lands in the crook of my neck and he takes a big breath.
As he inhales me, I can’t help but take in his scent, too. I feel wet hit me as his tongue traces along where my neck meets my collarbone and then his nose is buried in my hair. I shiver from the tips of my hair to the tips of my toes.
He takes a big breath and I melt against him. His lips tenderly kiss my bare shoulder. I melt a little bit more. I’ve been starved of human affection and I’ve had a raging crush on him, so is that why I’m melting into him despite how mean he’s being to me?
His words aren’t tender but his actions? It’s as if he’s fighting to be bad when he’s actually good. And he looks like he’s already been in a fight tonight. Disheveled, sweaty, angry. I notice he’s got scraped and slightly bleeding knuckles on his right hand.
I’m having trouble reconciling the conflicting feelings I’m having. And my body likes the feel of him, despite that he’s sweating, despite that he looks angry enough to snap me like a twig.
“I don’t think so. Why would you keep me safe all this time only to hurt me? You’ve been taking care of me. Watching over me. At night in my room. I know that you…”
“Circle you. Like prey. I’ve been waiting.”
“Waiting?”
“For the perfect time to strike,” he says, matter-of-factly.
I summon some bravery from somewhere. I’ve never been brave. I’ve been kept hidden and locked away for years. I wasn’t brave back home in Alaska, either. Why is it I suddenly feel so brave, so brazen?
Maybe because I’m so sure about him. Maybe because there’s nothing to lose. Maybe because I’m nobody and worth nothing, but what I am to him.
“Why’ve you kept me safe? Kept me safe all this time? Kept me whole? You should get a Band-Aid on that.” Blood has dripped off his knuckles and has landed on the carpet. It looks like an expensive oriental or Persian rug in blues and greys. Two blood drops are now on the lighter grey spot.
He matter-of-factly answers, “For me.” He ignores my Band-Aid comment.
“For you?” Hope sparks deep in my heart. I know he wants me. I feel it. And I’m sure if he could see my eyes he’d know it’s what I dream about.
“So that when I’m ready…” His nose is in my hair again and that spark starts to ignite to a flame. But then it all comes screeching to a halt as he finis
hes with, “I can ruin you.”
“Ruin me?” The hope begins to slip away. But, I’m still in denial. Sort of. “If you were so terrible, you’d have done it before now.”
“You’re mine to ruin when I’m ready. And not true. I’m terrible.”
“I don’t think so. Not truly.”
He backs away enough to look into my eyes. We’re no longer touching. He grits his teeth. “You’re wrong. You’re a foolish little girl. I’ve just been edging. Edging for a long fucking time. When I do take you? It’ll be the best I’ve ever had. You’re a gift I’ve decided to award myself when the time is right. And believe me, I’ve earned it. I just haven’t claimed that gift yet. I didn’t save you for you, Holly. I’m saving you. For me.”
He moves closer, impossibly close. And now I’m feeling the bravery drain away. The look in his eyes? It’s starting to frighten me. I try to disappear into the wall at my back. His eyelashes touch my forehead.
“When I finally have you, mi pequeña flor…” He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip and moves back so that his eyes can travel the length of me. “I’ll use you all up.”
My eyes close. This is kind of breaking my heart.
“I took my frustrations out elsewhere. Others have been satisfying my appetite. But only just barely. The way you’ve begun intentionally tempting me?” He slams his palm against the wall right beside me again. The cracking thud makes my body jolt and lock. Now I’m sweating, too, in this sauna-like room.
“Not smart. Your punishment? Now I’m savin’ it all up for you.” He shrugs. “Your birthday is in a few weeks, yeah? I told myself I could do who I wanted until you were eighteen. Until I finished making you mine. Knowing how close that is, and after your little stunts? I’m celibate until I have you, fucking only myself with visions of you while my cock is in my fist. When I take you, you might not recognize yourself afterwards. And for certain, you’ll look at me differently. I’ll miss those stars in your eyes, Holly. I really will. You won’t be so carelessly bold with me and I won’t allow it. You and me? We’ve now officially begun. No one but you until I use you all up.”
My chest hurts. The pain is crushing me. I’ve had some sort of fantasy of him, of him being a good guy that just needs his goodness acknowledged. But, maybe I’ve been wrong about him. The look on his face, the anger. The words coming out of his mouth? What does “we’ve now officially begun” even mean?