by Dori Lavelle
Rosebud, my heart aches for you every day you’re not in my arms. My hands itch to reach out and touch you. I crave to run my tongue along the lines of your body.
I'm dying to slide between your folds.
But I also want you to need me, dammit. I need you to dig your nails into my flesh when I enter your warmth—not from pain, but because you're overcome with desire. Because you want to hold on for the ride of your life.
Until you let me in again, my dick will continue to throb with longing as it waits for you to open not only your legs, but also your life to me. I can’t wait for the day when your body craves my touch, when your moist pussy hungers for my dick. Don't make me wait too long.
I clench my teeth tight as I shred the handwritten letter and shower the floor with the pieces. I’m furious at myself for reading it in the first place. Why do I do this to myself? Am I searching for the man he used to be? Regardless, his words both draw me in and repulse me.
He has left me alone for a week, to grieve and accept the fact that everyone believes me to be dead, that my previous life has been erased. Not once does he come up to see me. No sound of his voice over the speakers, either. Nothing.
Hanna has clearly been told to stay away as well. He wants me to stew in my isolation, to crave human contact so much that I beg him to come to me. I spend my days sitting on the bed for hours on end, staring at the door.
Damien could leave me in the room to hunger for human contact, entertainment, and food. But he feeds me. Three times a day a small, rectangular partition carved into the bottom of my door is unlocked, and someone slides a tray of food through. Three meals a day, without fail. The first day I don’t eat. The second, I only eat the breakfast and throw it up again, my stomach too unsettled to keep anything down. But on the third day, I’m ravenous. I eat everything he sends up to me, wishing it could fill the emptiness.
He gives me what my body wants, even though I don’t give him what he wants. Giving myself to him would be emotional suicide. I’m not ready to die, not yet—not even emotionally. To hell with the obituary and the lies he told everyone. I’m still here, alive and breathing. My beating heart is proof of life, and I’m not ready to sell my soul. As long as I have everything I need to keep me alive, I might still be able to survive this. How, I don’t know yet.
I should at least be grateful that he hasn’t hurt me physically. Some jailers abuse their prisoners both physically and mentally, destroying every piece of them. But Damien is convinced that once he breaks me emotionally, I will belong to him physically. What he doesn’t know is that it will never happen.
After eight days, I wake from a troubled sleep to the sound of the blinds and shutters being opened, as they always are first thing in the morning. I don’t get why he even bothers to open the shutters every day. Why not leave me in my darkness?
On cue, my breakfast appears through the door partition, and it slides shut again. The aroma of eggs and coffee fills the room. I listen to the commotion on the other side of the door—Adrian making himself comfortable at his post outside.
The last thing I want is to get out of bed to do nothing all day. But I decided two days ago that I have to pay attention to my health despite the circumstances, so I have started putting the yoga lessons I used to take with Chelsea into practice, if for no other reason but to keep my mind calm.
I get out of bed and straighten the sheets. It’s something to do. So is brushing my teeth and washing my face. I eat breakfast once I’ve completed my morning routine. I take my time eating, since time is all I have, then place the tray at the door. Adrian’s hairy hands will pull it through the partition later.
My long, empty day starts, and as usual, I try not to go crazy. It’s hard not to when all I have to think about day and night is not going crazy. I’m so desperate for something to keep my mind off my situation, something to give me a reason for breathing. As though Damien has read my mind—or perhaps my thoughts from my pained expression—in the afternoon, instead of pulling out the lunch tray through the partition, Adrian opens the door. He’s carrying a box in his arms.
“I brought you some books. Mr. Steel thought you might need something to occupy you.”
For a moment our eyes lock. I want to be angry with Adrian as much as I am with Damien. He’s Damien’s right-hand man, after all. He followed me around in Oaklow to invade my privacy when I was none the wiser. But something inside my heart refuses to see him as an enemy.
His dark eyes are too kind, too warm. In them I read only sympathy. He knows I’m suffering and there’s nothing he can do about it. It helps to know he cares. At least, I choose to believe he does, and that’s enough for now.
He leaves the box by the door, nods at me, and walks out with the tray.
“Thank you.”
The genres are diverse, including romance, thriller, and science fiction. Sci-fi is not my cup of tea, so I throw those books back into the box. Next I toss in the romance, since any romantic notions I may have once believed in are stagnant inside my heart. I choose a thriller and settle back on the bed.
Tears fill my eyes with the turn of each page. The story of a little girl’s torture touches my soul. Before I was kidnapped, a story was just a story—something to be enjoyed during a moment of relaxation or boredom. But now I find myself wondering about the facts beyond the pages of the book. Did the author experience something similar, or know someone who did? Or is the story simply a product of his imagination? Isn’t fiction always born of some shred of truth?
In my race to reach the end of the book, I come across notes scribbled in the margins in a language I guess to be Spanish. I wonder who the book belonged to, and what the notes in black ink mean. With no way of finding out, I move on to the next page and then the next, engrossed in the story.
To my surprise, the book I pick up the next evening is a sci-fi novel; I had not planned on reading it, but it pulls me right in. My eyes droop before I finish the story, and the book falls to the floor. Somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness, I hear his voice.
“Good night, my angel.” His voice is like poisoned honey. I turn my face away from the direction the sound is coming from and fall asleep.
Chapter Eleven
It takes me five days to get through all the books I wanted to read, and a few I didn’t. Now all the books are back inside the box, and I’m sitting on the bed staring at it. A sound at the door makes me look up.
The breakfast tray was pulled out at least an hour ago. Still a few hours left before lunch arrives. I look at the partition, waiting for it to open. Maybe I’m getting a mid-morning snack. That would be new.
I jump when the entire door opens.
Damien breezes in, casual and cool in a cobalt-blue polo shirt, stone-washed jeans, and a smile. My mind recalls Judson, the man who once stole my breath away and filled my dreams nightly. Before my body can react, I blink the memories away. Damien, the monster, reappears and my heart turns to lead.
“You look well today.” He comes to sit next to me on the bed. He smells of shampoo and peppermint.
He raises his hand, hesitating before placing it on my arm. I shrug him away, shrinking from his touch.
“I’d prefer it if you didn’t touch me.” Rage scalds the back of my throat.
He withdraws his arm and places both his hands on his knees. “Let me make this clear. I hate this as much as you.” His voice is low and thick. If I were anyone else, I’d probably believe he means what he says.
“And yet you continue to keep me locked up in here.”
He shifts ever so slightly. “I’m normally a risk taker. I welcome risk in business, but not in love. I can’t risk letting you out of here until I’m one hundred percent sure you will not betray me. I still have a nagging feeling you will.”
I bury my hands in my hair. It’s still damp from earlier, when I washed it with grapefruit-scented shampoo. Yesterday afternoon, my lunch was accompanied by a bag that contained all the toiletries a girl
might need, including tampons.
He gets to his feet and rolls his shoulders. “I’m not prepared to take any chances. So you’ll remain in here until you understand your place. You’ll only be permitted to leave this room once I instruct you to.”
I massage my temples and take deep breaths, begging my mind to stay calm.
He pushes his hands into his pockets, legs wide apart. “I hate that you are sad, though. I know you’re bored in here, all alone. So I brought you a little surprise.”
“I don’t like surprises.” I tilt my head back and gaze into his green eyes. There’s not much life behind them today, no sparkle. He’s tired. The fear of me leaving him, and watching me day and night from his secret cameras, must be robbing him of sleep.
“You’ll love this one, believe me.” He heads to the door and taps on it. When it opens, he beckons someone inside.
Hanna appears in the doorway with a teal, cable-knit cashmere blanket in her arms. Adrian is peering over her shoulder, a puzzled expression on his face.
Damien steps aside to let her in, his arms folded across his chest.
As Hanna walks in, taking careful steps as though carrying something breakable, I notice that the bun that used to be on the top of her head is now tucked at the base of her neck. Her face looks softer than before, her lips curved in a tiny smile. “Good morning, Mrs. Steel.” She places the bundle in my arms and steps from the room.
I lower my gaze, and the blood gushes from my face. The shock is so sudden my body jerks and I almost drop the surprise. I blink several times to make sure my eyes are functioning properly.
Gazing back at me are the big brown eyes of a baby sucking on its fingers.
“See, I knew you’d be blown away.” Damien is sitting next to me again, touching a springy curl on the baby’s creamy forehead.
“Are you… are you out of your mind?” I attempt to hand the baby to him, but he stands up again and takes a few steps back.
“Maybe.” He rubs his chin. “Or maybe I’m just a loving husband who wants his wife to have a reason to wake up in the morning. I’m guessing you don’t feel too excited about waking up these days, do you?”
“You are crazy.” My body trembles along with the words, but I’m careful to keep the innocent baby steady in my arms.
“Stay calm around the baby. You don’t want to scare him, do you?” He steps forward again, leans down, and kisses the baby’s forehead. “You can decide on a name for him.”
The baby has fallen asleep, his long, thick eyelashes resting on his cheeks and his fingers still in his mouth. Warmth spreads through my chest.
I love children, and babies melt my heart, but it bothers me not to know what Damien’s plans are.
“Where did you get him?” I’m afraid to learn the answer, but it’s the most important thing right now.
“Don’t worry. I didn’t steal him, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He leans against the door to the walk-in wardrobe. “In fact, I happen to be his guardian angel right now.” He raises a hand. “I mean us. We are. The baby was found in a hotel bathroom a couple of days ago. I was shocked that someone would abandon a two-month old baby. I offered to give him a temporary home until a permanent one can be found.”
He pushes his hands into his pockets. “I told the cops and child protective services that my wife and I would be delighted to look after him for a couple of days. I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to ask you first. You do love babies, don’t you? I recall you saying as much in one of your magazine interviews, about two years ago, when you were still working as a model. You said you hated being an only child, that you wanted a big family. We’ll have that family, eventually. This is a fantastic opportunity to practice, don’t you think? And it gives you something to do.”
While he’s talking, the door opens again, and Hanna and Adrian bring in several boxes of various sizes, which they place around the room.
The baby squirms and I look at him, thinking he’s about to wake up. His eyes flutter for a moment, but then he gives a soft sigh and sinks back into sleep.
I’m still paralyzed with shock as I watch Damien help Adrian and Hanna open the boxes, revealing all kinds of baby products.
Adrian exits the room and returns with a brand new changing table in distressed black, carried on one end by another man I haven’t seen before. Next they bring in a matching embroidered crib with carvings accenting the head- and footboard.
“Put it over there.” Damien points to an empty wall.
“Whaaat…” The words wedge themselves inside my tight throat before I can finish the sentence.
While I’m still struggling to react, Hanna brings in bags of diapers as well as shopping bags bursting with baby clothes, designer tags hanging out. A pure white wicker Moses basket is placed next to my bed, a few inches from where my feet are planted.
“Thanks, everyone.” Damien waves them out, and we’re alone once more. He ignores the shock on my face. “I hope you have everything you need for the baby. If you need anything else, let me know.” He glances at his watch. “I have some things to take care of. I’ll see you in a few days.”
“Are you kidding me? What you’re doing is disgusting.”
“Many would disagree. I’m giving a child that could have died the opportunity to live. All I’m asking for is a little help from you. Is that too much to ask?”
“Why me? Hanna could look after him. Or you could get a nanny. I know nothing about looking after babies.”
“This is your chance to learn. One day we’re going to have children of our own.”
“What kind of twisted world do you live in?” I pause as the baby wriggles in my arms, bringing its face close to my breast. I drop my voice. “You’re delusional.”
“No. I’m in love with you, and I’m waiting for you to love me back, like you used to.”
“I never loved you. That was...” I laugh bitterly. “You can’t expect me to feel anything for you, not after everything you’ve done.”
“You’ll see it differently one day. I’ll wait.” With that he walks to the door and taps on it. It opens, and he leaves.
Hanna returns some minutes later, carrying a basket overflowing with baby formula, a kettle, a thermos, and a few baby bottles.
“He is a good man, Mr. Steel.” She places a warm bottle next to me. “He cares about people in need. He has helped so many poor people in this town.”
“What’s the name of this town, Hanna?” I ask before the moment slips away.
She shakes her head and walks to the door. “Mr. Steel will send me up to help you if you need me. I worked in an orphanage in Hungary. I saw many innocent babies suffer after their mothers left them behind.” Her smile wavers. “There was no one like Mr. Steel to save those poor babies.”
So I was right about her Eastern European accent. How did she come to work for Damien?
Before she disappears through the door, I swing my legs from the bed. “Please don’t go. I can’t…I can’t keep this baby.”
I don’t get to her fast enough: the door opens and closes, leaving me alone with a baby I don’t know. A baby that’s now awake and smiling at me.
This has to be some kind of joke, I think as I sink onto the bed and pick up the warm bottle. But if it’s a joke, why would Damien go to all the trouble of buying everything the baby needs?
I don’t know how I’ll be able to care for a baby when I’m a complete mess, when I can’t even help myself. He must be using the baby to distract me from thoughts of leaving him.
Chapter Twelve
The baby is crying. The sound is so sharp and loud, it cracks the air like a whip. I stir for a moment, but I think it’s a dream and try to fall back asleep. When the cry gets louder and more desperate, reality sinks into my brain and I sit up. I place a hand on my forehead. It comes away drenched in sweat.
Shit, I think as the baby’s cry ratchets up another notch. I sweep back the covers and turn on the light, wanting to laugh and cry at the
same time. I still can’t believe Damien put an infant in my hands, and that he’s convinced we will one day be a real married couple, even though he kidnapped me and drugged me so I’d marry him.
My head is filled with fog as my feet touch the soft carpet, and like a zombie, I pad to the baby’s crib, wondering what time it is. The shutters are closed and there’s no clock, so I have no way of knowing. My guess is it’s sometime between midnight and dawn.
I blink away some of the fog, suck in a deep breath, and look into the crib.
As though a button has been pushed, the baby stops crying and the room fills with sudden silence. A lump forms inside my throat when his entire face breaks into a smile, his cheeks flushed pink, eyes bright with tears. Inside his sleep sack, he draws his little legs toward his tummy and then kicks them out in excitement.
“It’s okay, little one,” I whisper as I pick him up, one hand under his neck and head, and the other supporting his bottom.
The gentle smell of baby shampoo and powder surrounds both of us first, but that layer peels off to reveal one that’s a little less pleasant. I do my best to hold him the way Hanna had earlier. Hanna returned again a few minutes later to run me through the basics of caring for a baby: how to hold him, change him, and feed him.
I sat on the bed the entire time, pretending not to be listening. While I still believed Damien was playing a game and would come for the baby before the day was over, I listened, because underestimating him would be an even more dangerous game.
Before leaving, Hanna put a folder on my nightstand with the most important information I would need, should I forget something.
When the shutters closed and the baby was still with me, I’d gone through the folder briefly, fuming. Despite my hatred for Damien, the fact remains that I have a fragile human being to care for. I cannot mess up. The baby is innocent. I will not punish him for Damien’s evils.
“You need changing, don’t you?” Ensuring his neck is well supported, I move his head to the crook of my arm. “Let’s give it a try, shall we. Forgive me in advance if I get it wrong, okay?”