by Bea Paige
“You’ve got thirty minutes. Make sure I don’t have to come in and deal with Ms Hadley myself,” I say, refusing to engage in a conversation I’m not ready to have and feelings that terrify me.
Ivan shakes his head, exasperated at my obvious avoidance. “Rose, I was never a patient man. I wanted what I wanted. I took what I needed. But with you, I’d fucking wait a lifetime, don’t think I won’t…”
“You might be eating your words then,” I mutter, interrupting his speech. A speech which is making me feel decidedly uncomfortable. Anger bubbles, but mixed within it, a sense of hope, and that scares me so much more than my anger does.
Ivan laughs, a smile reaching his eyes and lighting them up. “And like you, I’m stubborn,” he continues. “I’m not giving up. Whether you like it or not, want it or not, our home is yours now. You are mine, and Anton’s.” A wry grin erupts across his face as he glances at Anton. He shakes his head as though he can’t quite believe he’s sharing me with him, then returns his gaze to me.
“I’m pretty certain you’ll be claimed by Erik too. It’s an inevitability you can’t avoid, and I don’t fucking want you to. Believe it or not, I love Anton and Erik. They deserve happiness, a place to belong, and so do you, Rose. You deserve so much more.”
My lips part, ready to respond with a cutting remark. The Rose of a few weeks ago might just have put Ivan in his place and stomped on his heart, but for some reason that Rose has abandoned me. So, I don’t respond at all.
“See you in thirty minutes,” Ivan says, searching my face.
“Thirty minutes,” I agree as he steps out of the car and joins Anton. I watch them both walk up the pathway to the front door and wonder what the hell I’m going to do about his proposal.
Could I live with them all at Browlace? What would it mean if I agreed? It’s true that for the first time in a very, very long time, I feel as though I belong with these men. But belonging and loving are two very different things. I belonged with Roman and he turned out to be the opposite of what I needed.
Is my relationship with these men any different?
Right now, that’s a question I’ve no answer to.
Chapter 10
After fifteen minutes, I get out of the car, unable to sit in it a moment longer. Immediately the briny sea air reminds me of Cerulean Blue and those long days spent in the hull of the boat losing my innocence and destroying my youthful ideals of love.
Love.
It’s such an evocative word.
A word that instils such fear in me. Will I ever be able to accept it, feel it myself? Or will I forever run from it and the damage it can cause?
My hair whips around my face from the wind beating against the shore, tiny little lashes reminding me that thoughts of love are always accompanied with pain. For me anyway.
I stare out to sea, thunder clouds are rolling in over the ocean, thick and black, threatening a heavy downpour. A sense of foreboding scatters over my skin. What is it with these men and the fucking storms they bring, both externally and in my shattered heart?
Ivan had barged into my home during a downpour, soaking wet and enraged. Anton had succumbed to the pain and torment of his father’s ridicule whilst thunder and lightning crashed overhead. Now here I am watching a storm roll in over the island waiting to unleash its wrath upon us all whilst somewhere inside Erik battles his own.
Pulling my jacket tightly around me, I glance at the house. Fifteen more minutes and it won’t be the storm whose wrath will be unleashed, but mine. Pushing off from the car I walk not towards the gate leading up to the house, but the edge of the low hedgerow surrounding the front garden and towards an outhouse to the right side of the farmhouse, my curiosity getting the better of me.
Curiosity…
A trait despised by my mother, and for good reason. I’ve always had an uncanny way of uncovering secrets. She had plenty, but none of them were hidden from me for long once I realised there were so many to uncover. I think that’s another reason why she despised me so much, that and the fact I didn’t even try to save my father…
Pushing away those dark thoughts, I make my way around the side of the farmhouse and head towards the outhouse, knowing in my gut there’s something worth uncovering inside. I look at my watch as time seems to drag on slowly. I know that bitch isn’t going to make this easy for us. Then again, she doesn’t know me very well. I don’t back down.
I won’t leave without Erik.
That much I know.
If I can survive the physical and emotional pain locked in the cupboard beneath the decks of Cerulean Blue then I sure as hell can deal with a twisted, fucked-up old woman.
Placing my hand on the door to the outhouse, I push it open, stopping dead in my tracks when I’m faced with an identical glass cage to the one at Browlace Manor.
Curled up into a foetal position on the bed is Erik…
For a moment all I can do is stare at him. His chest rising and falling steadily, giving off a peaceful countenance even though he’s clutching his head in his hands as though falling asleep had been agonising.
“Erik?” I whisper, approaching him.
I’m not sure why I’m being so quiet, I should be shouting to wake him, persuading him to open the goddamn door and leave. Run.
But I don’t.
Instead, I take quiet steps towards him, approaching the wall of glass nearest to his sleeping form. I crouch down, my palms pressing against the coldness. I can’t tear my gaze away.
I’m enraptured, utterly enthralled by his sleeping form.
Anton had once accused me of being attracted to the tragic beauty of Erik trapped inside his cage. Now, whilst he sleeps, the truth of Anton’s words taunts me.
He's fucking beautiful, and so fucking tragic.
I want to both submit to him, beg for his command, and remain here staring at his fractured beauty, imprinting it on my mind forevermore.
I press my forehead against the glass, the warmth of my breath steaming it up. I’ve never wanted to touch someone as much as I do now. But isn’t that the most ironic thing? My touch has already led to violence he isn’t able to control. That night, with him covered in blood and frantic in his mental break has been imprinted on my mind. I’ve not been able to forget it.
Erik frowns in his sleep, garbled words escaping his lips and something inside flutters awake.
Not my demon.
Not my fears.
Not even the darkness that lives within, always.
Something powerful. Something far, far more dangerous.
“Erik?” I whisper again.
And despite the fact I can barely hear my own voice, Erik’s eyelids slowly open. Our eyes meet and my chest tightens. God damn it, my heart fucking hurts.
“Erik?”
He doesn’t look startled, or even surprised that I’m here. There’s an empty acceptance that scares me because there’s no emotion behind it. Just listlessness. It’s like he’s already given up.
“Erik, it’s me, Rose…” The words are thick and heavy in my throat as he shifts on the bed, sitting up so he’s facing me.
He lifts his hand, pressing it against the glass before tipping his head to the side, his blonde hair falling into his eyes.
“Erik, we’re here to take you home,” I say gently.
He stands, and I rise with him. Both of us keeping our hands pressed against the glass.
We stare at one another and somehow the world falls away until I’m trapped within the hold of his gaze. He’s taller than me by a good six inches and if I don’t look up my gaze falls on the muscles of his perfectly defined chest. He is broader and larger than both Anton and Ivan. He works out, that much is clear. There is a strength in his physicality that is undeniably attractive. I drag my gaze away from his chest and look upwards, drawing in a startled breath at what I see. Something changes in the depths of his eyes, a flicker of recognition. But instead of seeing relief, I only see fear and hate.
“GET THE FUC
K OUT!” he roars suddenly, bringing his fist up to smash against the glass.
The wall shakes but doesn’t shatter. I step back pulling my hands away. Shock rendering me useless.
Fucking look away, Rose, the voice inside tells me.
What possessed me to look directly at him? Like a wild animal he sees it as a threat, a challenge, and he rages against both it and me. Before at Browlace I was able to observe him behind the glass wall without a reaction as stark and as cold as this.
Here, he’s wired. Raw. In pain.
Nothing about him in this moment is peaceful. He isn’t safe.
“GET OUT OF HERE!” he screams, smashing his fist against the glass again. It wobbles from the impact, but it doesn’t break.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, knowing that I can no more leave him than I could walk away from Ivan or Anton when they needed me the most.
All rational thought leaves me as I watch Erik unravel. I can’t rip my gaze away, no matter how much I know I should.
He tips his head back and roars, the veins on his neck popping beneath his skin. The sound comes from the very darkest, most broken parts of his soul and my knees buckle. Falling forward, my palms crash against the glass wall, holding me up whilst Erik retreats further from me.
“Erik,” I say on a painful sob. It takes everything in me not to crumble, to shed hot frustrated tears for his agony.
I’ve never felt so goddamn helpless, or weak.
He grasps hold of his head, pushing back against the bed, stumbling as it slides across the floor behind him by the force. “Get out of my fucking head! You’re not real. You’re not fucking real. She’s dead, goddammit,” he cries, frantically.
“Erik, it’s me,” I respond quickly. My fingertips pressing against the coolness of the glass.
“Get out of my head!” he wails, pulling at his hair.
“It’s not real, Erik. Whatever you see, it isn’t real. It’s just me, Rose,” I implore.
“She’s dead. She’s dead!” he howls, slapping himself across the cheek. His head snaps to the side with the force of it, and another piece of me breaks alongside him.
I skirt around the glass cage, my hands pressing against the walls, following him as he retreats. Reaching the door, I push against it. Logic tells me that it’s locked, but it doesn’t stop me from trying to get inside.
“Erik!” I pound my fist against the door.
But he doesn’t hear me.
He doesn’t see me.
He's lost to the memories of his past torment.
I need to snap him out of it. Ripping off my coat and sweatshirt, I fling them across the floor. There’s only one thing that can help him now.
“LOOK AT ME!” I scream, lifting both my fists and smashing them against the glass.
It's enough to distract him momentarily. Our eyes lock and the second his gaze meets mine, I spin on my toes pirouetting into the middle of the outhouse, kicking up dust as my feet move across the floor. I don’t stop to see if he’s looking, I just dance.
It doesn’t matter that my knee begs me to stop, or that my clothes are too awkward to move in. My only thought is to snap Erik out of his torment.
I did it once before, I can do it again.
I will set him free.
So I dance until my physical pain is the same as his torment. I lose myself to the movement of my body and the freedom of my soul, hoping to God he’s watching and it’s enough.
Chapter 11
Erik.
Five years ago – Afghanistan.
“Erik?” Her voice is barely a whisper, but I hear it all the same.
I don’t want to open my eyes, but I know by now that she’ll force them apart if I refuse to look at her.
“That’s it, look at me,” she cajoles. Her voice is soft, warm, and veiled with intent.
The face of my torturer swims in my vision. I’ve not eaten for days, have been drip fed water, just enough to keep me on the verge of life.
I’m weak, shattered.
“And so, it’s begun…” she muses, trailing her finger down my bruised and battered chest. Everywhere she presses hurts. There are no spots left unmarked by her hand.
Her cruelty knows no bounds.
My gaze falls on the fullness of her lips, lips that once sucked my cock and now spew hate and ridicule. Every word is as painful as the bruise she presses against now.
“You’re already so broken, Erik. Your men aren’t coming for you. Your country has abandoned you. You’re just another casualty of war, forgotten by everyone and only remembered by a handful who’ll move on the second your empty grave is covered with stone.”
I twist my head away, not wanting to hear the words, not wanting to face the truth that she’s probably right. I have been forgotten. How long have I been here? Weeks, months? Time isn’t a concept I understand anymore. Every second bleeds into another, every minute staggers into the next, every hour falls into the one after until time has no meaning. My time here in this dank cell is divided into the torture of my waking moments and the nightmares of sleep. Sleep that I haven’t had for so long.
“You’re wrong,” I managed to retort, but she just laughs cruelly, knowing as well as I do that no one is coming to save me.
“Maybe you’ll get your name scored into stone on some ugly monolith with a thousand others. Once a year you’ll be remembered amongst the many. Perhaps you’ll even be decorated with some spurious medal that will sit in a box tucked away in a drawer somewhere. Perhaps not. Either way your silence is for nothing.” She grips my chin, forcing me to face her once more. “Tell me what I want to know.”
“Fuck you!” I manage to utter before another set of hands yank open my mouth roughly. I taste rusted metal against my tongue a second before the pliers rip a molar from my mouth. Pain registers a millisecond before blood pours from the gum. I cough, feeling a tiny sense of satisfaction as droplets of my blood splash across her face spoiling her perfect makeup.
“Wrong answer,” she snarls, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket, my blood smearing against the white cotton. She nods her head again, and the same male hands force my mouth apart, as another molar is ripped free.
“We can keep going, Erik. I’m not averse to removing every single one of your teeth.”
Surprising myself, I laugh, the sound more than a little hysterical. “Teeth don’t matter when I’m fucking dead!” I snarl back.
Her face darkens as she regards me. “Perhaps you’re stronger than I anticipated. No matter, we still have the music, do we not?”
“No!” I react instantly, attempting to lift my head only for it to be forced back down by the faceless man behind me. He wears a mask to hide his identity, the only thing I can see are the two dark orbs of his black, emotionless eyes.
She laughs freely. “Talk and today maybe we won’t play the music.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to gage what I can and can’t take. I’ve become accustomed to the physical pain, and even though I hurt everywhere, I can deal with that, just. But hearing my music is a trigger that fucking tears me apart and she knows it. This woman, this monster wrapped up in a shroud of beauty.
Can I do it? Can I betray my country, my people? Can I risk the lives of my fellow comrades in an attempt to save my own? Can I betray myself…
The answer is no. Always no.
Opening my eyes I look at her knowing my answer will surely mean my death, but voicing it anyway. Besides, it doesn’t really matter if I die, because inside I’m already dead.
“Erik, tell me what I need to know,” she cajoles, leaning over me as she gently caresses my swollen cheek.
A single tear falls from the corner of my eye as I face my death head on. “No.”
She rears backwards and slaps me as hard as she can across my face. A second later my music plays as a chilling scream curdles the air.
It takes me a while to realise that I’m the one screaming.
Chapter 12
Erik – Pr
esent Day.
My body trembles as I watch Rose move across the room.
Rose?
How is she here? Am I dreaming?
One minute I’m fighting off the memories of my torture and the next Rose is pirouetting before me.
“Rose?” I mutter, pressing my fingers against my eyelids.
No. She can’t be here.
This is just another part of my illness, a way for my brain to cope with the flashbacks. Somehow Rose has become the one person that can ground me in the present, who can reach me when no one else can.
God, how I wish she were here.
And yet, when I peel my eyes open once more, I can see her move before me as if she really is in this outhouse kicking up years of dirt and dust, weaving and twirling across the empty space surrounding my glass room. Stepping towards the wall, I place my hands against it, wanting to study such profound beauty even if it isn’t real. At least whilst her mirage is here, I don’t feel any pain, I’m not lost to the past.
Does it really matter if this is how I cope?
I know I’ll never be able to touch her, hold her, make love to her like a man should a woman. Not whilst I still breathe.
There’s too much risk, too much at stake.
Besides, she isn’t even here. And yet, I’m able to push away the thought of how fucked-up this really makes me and am grateful my brain has found a way to fight the darkness. If this is all I can have, this mirage of Rose, then I’ll take it wholeheartedly.
Pressing my forehead against the glass, I watch Rose. From the top of her fingers to the point of her toes, she dances, using every inch of her body to express herself. Her limbs are graceful, she has such poise and is as breathtaking as the first time I saw her dance.
She’s a perfect mirage and I wonder how I’ve conjured such beauty.
And then she stumbles…
Her knee gives way as she cries out in pain.
I jerk backwards, questioning my own sanity as Rose falls heavily to the floor. Mirages aren’t imperfect. Mirages fade away, they don’t fall, they can’t hurt themselves.