by Bea Paige
They aren’t real.
And yet…
“Rose?” I shout, loud enough to startle myself.
Her head snaps up. I see the flush of her pink cheeks, her eyes wide with concern, but there’s also relief.
“Erik,” she breathes out.
She’s real. She’s here.
And now she’s hurt.
I act without thinking. Grabbing the remote control on the floor beside my bed, I press the button to open the door. It slides open, a rush of cold air filling the room. I hadn’t even noticed how warm it’s become, and only realise now that I’m not wearing a top. At some point between this conscious moment and the last, I must have removed it. As the cold air slides over my hot skin, I have no recollection of doing such a thing.
“Erik, what are you doing?” Rose asks, pulling herself to her feet and crying out in pain when she puts weight on her knee.
I stand at the open door, a mixture of relief, awe and quivering violence battling for my attention. “How… what are you doing here?” I counter, confusion making me lightheaded.
I grip onto the door frame, holding on for dear life. The control drops out of my hand onto the floor, forgotten.
The old me, the one who existed before my experience in Afghanistan wouldn’t have thought twice about hauling Rose into his arms and taking care of her. This me, the one who barely contains the violence inside, is having trouble keeping his shit together.
“Fuck,” she utters, drawing a sharp breath through her teeth as she straightens.
I notice that she’s careful not to look directly at me. At least one of us is thinking straight. She understands instinctively what I need. Her submission makes me feel a little safer, more in control.
“How long have you been here?” I ask, standing on the threshold of my room, still unable to go to her.
“We arrived yesterday…”
“We?”
“Yes, Ivan, Anton and me…” she draws in another breath as she hobbles towards me.
I’m itching to help her, to touch her, to hurt her, to fuck her.
Shit!
My cock stiffens at the thought of dragging her in to my glass room and locking her inside, with me. How does she have the power to make me feel this way, when for so long I’ve felt less like a man and more of a monster.
I’m capable of such violence.
Violence that occurs in moments of time that I have no recollection of. I have no control over the times I blank out. None. No matter how much I want to feel normal again, to feel a woman beneath me, I can’t risk blanking out on her.
“Rose, please,” I beg, holding my hands up.
“What, Erik?” she asks.
Her question doesn’t have a simple answer. What am I begging her for? What do I want? What do I fear? What do I desire? What happened to me just now? What am I capable of?
“I can’t move…”
I want to. I want to step out of this room and hold her. I want to live in a world without fear of myself and what I’m capable of. I want to look at a woman and know that I won’t attack her because of my past. I want to play my violin again without fear of falling into memories so fucked up I lose myself for hours and hours. I want to feel a woman’s touch and not be repulsed by it. I want so many things, none of which I’m able to articulate in this moment.
Rose doesn’t push me to answer. Instead she remains still, her gaze cast downwards. I watch her fingers pull at the hem of her jumper, her hair falling in tangled waves, covering her face.
She’s come all this way and I can’t even step outside this room now that I’m in it. I might have survived a day in my old room back in the farmhouse, but now that I’m in here, I know I won’t be able to leave.
This is my life now, for better or worse.
My gaze flicks to an old sideboard pushed up against the wall not far from where Rose is standing now. On it sits a length of rope left behind by the builders, no doubt. I noticed it when I first walked in here, and just like the many times before I’ve thought about how easy it would be for me to take my life… To leave this world once and for all.
“Fuck…” I grind out.
“Erik?” she questions tentatively.
I’m drawn back to Rose. All thoughts of suicide and death dispersing as I look at her. If there were ever a reason to fight against my past, it would be for her. But how can I fight something I can’t control? Rose isn’t safe with me around and I’m not strong enough to leave this damn room.
My gaze flicks back to the rope, and this time I don’t think of death, I think about how that rope would look wrapped around Rose’s wrists and criss-crossed up her arms until she’s bound so tight her only option is to submit to me, to trust me even though I’m probably the one person she shouldn’t.
“Erik, are you okay?” Rose asks, gently.
Schooling my breath, I try to remain focused. We both know the answer to that question already. I’m not okay, I never will be, that’s why I’m in this room after all. Instead of answering, I respond with a question of my own.
“How did you know to come here?”
“You left a note…”
“I did?” I respond, frowning.
I don’t remember writing any note. Though it doesn’t come as a surprise that I’ve forgotten. Over the years I’ve lost many hours to my PTSD, days even. Huge pockets of time gone, just like that, and I have no recollection of what I said or did in those moments.
On the very worst occasions, I woke up from those lapses in memory covered in blood. Like the time before when Rose danced for me, like the handful of times before that when I’ve hurt myself under the trauma of those flashbacks.
“Yes, you did,” she explains, shuffling forward, more awkwardly now. “Out beyond wrongdoings and rightdoing, there is a field. I will meet you there. Don’t you remember writing it?” she asks, her eyes still lowered. Her voice is soft, calm, despite the pain I hear lingering within it.
“No,” I answer her honestly. “I don’t.”
After seeing Anton, after agreeing to take care of his drawing of Rose, I only remember fleeting moments. I recall my mother coming into the room and packing a bag of my things. I remember part of the car journey to the airport and saying goodbye to Viktor. I remember arriving at the farmhouse, but not the plane journey in between. I barely remember the conversation with Anton, bar agreeing to take care of the picture of Rose. Losing pieces of myself like that is the hardest of all. That’s when I hurt people, when I hurt myself. It’s in those moments I lose my mind.
“We left as soon as we could after finding it. We’ve come to take you home, Erik,” she says, taking another painful step towards me. She reaches out, holding onto the sideboard where the rope sits, for support.
I hover on the threshold of the open door, desperately wanting to help her, but knowing I fucking can’t. My control is paper thin. One wrong move and this could all end in disaster. I might not have a weapon to harm her with, but I still have my hands.
“No. I’ll never hurt you,” I mutter out loud, forgetting myself.
She isn’t that woman.
She’s Rose.
She limps towards me.
“Stop! Don’t come closer. I can’t risk hurting you and I will if you get too close,” I warn, even though it kills me to admit that truth.
Rose does as I ask and remains where she is. Her head is still lowered, her gaze trained on the floor, but her shoulders are tense, and I know she’s calculating whether she’d be fast enough to get away from me if I followed through on my threat. The thing is, she needn’t worry, I’m too shit scared to step outside this damn room.
“Where are Ivan and Anton?” I ask, moving onto safer territory and trying desperately to maintain some order in my fucked up mind and strung out body, even though my heart is racing, and my hands are fisted as I force myself to regain control.
I’ve done it before around her. I can do it again. I must.
Selfishly, I have
the sudden urge to ask her to dance again. I want Rose to distract me from this growing unease I feel. It seems to be the only thing to drag me back into the present.
“They’re speaking with your mother… She hates me, you know,” she adds as an afterthought.
“She’s a difficult woman… I owe her a lot,” I respond lamely.
The truth is we have a complicated relationship. I trust that she loves me, but I understand that her love will always come at a price. I shouldn’t feel obligated to my mother now at my age, but I do. I fucking do. Besides, who else would put up with me living like this? She’s all I have. She understands.
Rose doesn’t respond, instead she leaves the air hanging with tension as she balances on one foot whilst keeping as much weight as possible off the other.
“You’re hurt. You need help…” I state, making no move towards her.
I want to go to her, but a feeling of nausea washes over me at the thought of leaving this room. I know I’ve spent time in her company before and survived, but right now I’m weakened by my memories and I can’t fucking move. Not to mention the fact my head is filled with wayward thoughts that both scare me and thrill me.
“I’ll be okay. I’ve dealt with worse,” she replies, shuffling towards me awkwardly.
“You should leave. Be with Ivan and Anton. Go home. There’s no place for you here,” I say, even though I want nothing more than for her to stay.
“I can’t do that, Erik.” She raises her head a fraction, but resolutely keeps her gaze on the floor. “I can’t leave you like this.”
“That’s exactly what you should do, leave,” a sharp voice says.
My head snaps round to see my mother walking into the outhouse, Ivan and Anton following closely behind her. She’s furious, so much so that she’s visibly shaking. I haven’t seen her this mad since… well, since I told her I was moving away with Emmie.
And that didn’t end well.
Not now, Erik, I tell myself. Forcing Emmie and the memories of our last few days together out of my head, I concentrate on Rose.
To her credit, her gaze remains fixed solely on the ground between us. A space of no more than a few feet, but it may as well be a mile.
“Rose, you should’ve waited,” Ivan begins.
I can see him assessing the situation, assessing me. He loves this woman. I know that because he told me. It’s one of the few things I’m happy to remember.
“You’re hurt, Rose. What happened?” Anton asks, moving towards her.
He glances at me, anger blazing. He assumes I’ve hurt her and though that’s painful to acknowledge, he wouldn’t be wrong to think I’m capable.
She holds her hand out to the side. “Stop. I’m okay. This is my doing. I danced.”
“You did what?” Mother snaps. “You’ve no right coming here. How dare you walk onto my property without my permission? Erik isn’t yours to mess with.”
“But he is yours to mess with, right?” Rose counters, turning her body sideways and lifting her head to look at my mother. “How fucked up are you to encourage this?” she adds angrily.
“What I do for my son, is no concern of yours.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Erik is my concern. I’m not here to argue with you, Ms Hadley, I’m here to help Erik.”
“He doesn’t need you. He has me. Take your dirty morals and sinful behaviour elsewhere. My son is not your toy to play with. He’s mine!” Mother snaps, shocking all of us with her venom, as much as her statement.
They glare at each other for what feels like an eternity before Rose pulls herself up to her full height and places her weight on her knee even though I can see it hurts. Her hand stretches out behind her and she reaches for the rope, grabbing it. She looks at Ivan and Anton.
“I have to do this. It’s the only way I can think of helping Erik. Wait for us,” Rose implores.
Then keeping her gaze downcast, she strides over to me, rope in hand and walks into my room. I reel backward, wanting to put as much space between us as possible, too shocked to protest. She bends, grabbing the discarded control from the floor then turning her back to me, presses the button to close the door.
It shuts, locking us in together.
Chapter 13
Rose – Present Day
“Rose, fuck! Get out of there!” Ivan shouts, rushing over to the door, pounding his fists on the glass. Fear has taken up residence in his heart, and though his reaction scares me more than I care to admit, I won’t leave Erik alone in this prison.
Behind me, I’m acutely aware of Erik’s heavy breathing. My skin prickles at his closeness.
“Please, Ivan. It’s okay,” I respond gently, still clutching the remote and the rope in my hand. It’s far from okay, nothing about this situation is okay. I’m taking a huge risk on a hunch. I know that and so does everyone in this godforsaken place, including Ms Hadley who is looking at me with a hate that would be frightening if I was actually scared of her.
Anton steps up beside Ivan, grasping his arm. “Be calm, brother,” he murmurs, his gaze flicking to Erik, then back to me.
There’s so much left unsaid, but his gaze tells me everything. Anton is afraid for me too, but he’s also afraid for Erik, for Ivan and himself. He understands what I mean to do. Of all people, he gets it. After all, hadn’t I shown him how to accept his flaws, his past? Hadn’t I shown him how he can live with the darkness? I hope I can release Erik from his. All I know is that I must try.
I’m willing to risk everything.
Anton lets out a controlled breath and places his hand against the glass. I mirror his movement, understanding stretching between us. He trusts me.
Ivan isn’t so accepting. He slams his palm against the glass, showing me his fear. Always so expressive in his anger.
“Trust her,” Anton whispers into his ear.
Ivan grits his teeth, not taking his eyes off me. Time expands between us whilst he takes control of his emotions.
“With my heart,” he eventually responds, stepping back.
They both look at Erik then, their fear palpable. Am I doing the right thing? I’ve put them both in an impossible position, asking them to trust me, when even I have no idea if this will work or not. And yet, here they are doing exactly that. They trust me with their brother’s wellbeing, hoping that I can somehow help him as much as I helped them both.
In all honesty, I acted on instinct and right now I’ve no idea whether I’ve made the right decision or not. I can’t even turn around and face him. Afraid that the moment I do, he’ll pounce.
“What have you done?” Ms Hadley screeches, her voice like nails on a chalkboard.
Erik groans, and in the reflection of the glass I see him grasp his head.
“Keep her away from here,” I bite out.
She has no right to breathe the same fucking air as Erik, let alone be so indignant. This is her fault as much as it is that bitch who tortured him. Ms Hadley has perpetuated his need to stay locked in this cage. She’s just as responsible for his ill-health, in fact, more so in my mind. With proper help and treatment Erik might’ve had a chance to survive his ordeal and live with it. But she’s reinforced his fear by supporting his need to be locked away, and in some small way so have Ivan and Anton.
This ends now, he won’t be a prisoner anymore.
I may have stepped into this glass cage and locked the door, but I’ve every intention of shattering it.
“You little bitch,” Ms Hadley seethes. “You’ll pay for this!”
Behind me Erik groans, then I hear footsteps and a door opening and closing as he walks into the cubicle in the corner of the room, locking himself inside.
Has he retreated to protect me or himself? I’m not sure.
“See, Erik has to shut himself in the bathroom. He can’t even bear to be in the same space as you!” Ms Hadley continues, her face flushed. She looks feral, with her teeth bared and her eyes like slits.
I lock gazes with Ivan, not deigning t
o give her the attention she so obviously craves. “Get her out of here. Now! Under no circumstances should she be let back in.”
“I’m not fucking leaving, Rose,” he growls.
“Ivan. Leave. Get her out of here,” I say, my voice changing to the one he recognises as Domina. I realise I’m breaking a huge rule here, using this dynamic between us to force him to obey, but it’s all I have right now. I know he won’t leave me, but he will submit to Domina.
Ivan grits his jaw, and nods, then with one last, brief, pained look manoeuvres an enraged Ms Hadley from the outhouse. Through the open door I can see that the storm has hit in earnest. Rain lashes on them both as the sky erupts with thunder, her screams of rage carried off in the wind.
Anton taps on the glass, drawing my attention back to him.
“I trust you implicitly, Rose, but I don’t trust Erik right now,” he admits, his gaze flicking to the corner of the room and the cubicle where Erik hides. “Pass me the control through the hatch. I promise not to interfere unless you need me to, but I won’t leave you alone with no means of escape.”
I can’t help but see the irony in his request. Guilty of locking me away himself, Anton knows only too well what it feels like to be jailor with the power to set a person free or keep them prisoner. Only this time the danger isn’t that Anton will keep me against my will, but he’ll force me to leave.
Looking at the control still clutched in my hand, I debate what to do. If I give it to Anton, then there’s a chance he’ll open the door. If I don’t give it to him and this goes wrong, Erik will have my blood on his hands. For Erik’s sake, more than my own, I walk slowly to the hatch and slide the control inside. Anton withdraws it.
“Between Ivan and I, we’ll stay and keep an eye on you both. I’ll take the first shift.”
“And the control?”
“Will remain in my pocket.”
“I understand,” I reply, grateful for his concern and hoping that when Ivan takes over, he’ll have more control over his urge to set me free.
We stare at each other. Anton has a way of expressing how he feels with his eyes. I know he’s concerned, but he’s also hopeful. He believes in me.