by Bea Paige
Rose isn’t the only one to be hurt by love, fuck knows I’ve had my fair share. But I don’t run from it like she does.
I would run towards it with open arms if I could.
It’s just a little more complicated for me to immerse myself in the possibility of it, given I’m a hot-blooded male with a fear of women. And until Rose danced into my life, I never thought it ever a possibility.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my brothers, and my mother despite her quirks. But that kind of love isn’t as fulfilling as the all-encompassing kind. The kind that makes you feel alive, better, stronger, able to face the fucking world and all the shit it throws at you because you have someone by your side who loves every part of you, even the shit, and would rather die than leave your side.
I crave that. Always have.
Just like Rose pretends she doesn’t.
I wasn’t lying earlier when I said that I didn’t want a heartless woman. I need the opposite of that. I let Rose in because I know she’s as far removed from my torturer as a person can get, even if she can’t admit that to herself. Because I see her.
She may believe she’s entered this room to absorb my darkness, to save me, but I’ve always known since the moment I first met her and every day since finding out what an incredible woman she is, that we’re here to save her too.
All of us, Anton, Ivan and me.
Even when I ran from her. I knew she’d come.
Ivan cracked the shell around her heart, Anton seeped into those cracks, but I intend to break it completely. To truly help me, she’s going to have to submit to everything I demand, not just what she deems worthy of submitting to. This isn’t just about me needing to mark her skin to claw back some of my own strength, this is so much more than that.
Anton had told me how she’d reacted to Ivan’s confession that night she’d offered to show him the colour red and what it meant to them both. Ivan had pushed her too far, and if it hadn’t been for Anton biting her neck, I’ve no doubt she would’ve beaten my best friend until the damage was irreversible.
But in here, with me, the tables have turned. She will take everything I demand believing it’s what I need to heal without realising it’s what she needs too.
“Do you have any of your medication with you?” I ask, focussing on fixing what I can for the time being.
“No…”
She tips her head at me, her face open and accepting when only minutes before she was scowling and trying to convince me she was a heartless bitch, after only one thing. She’s quite a contradiction and I understand why she finds it so difficult to understand herself given this startling change of mood. It’s easy to become what someone wants, than to be who you truly are. It takes courage to do that.
“Anton, I know you can hear me. Rose needs her medicine, I need Ivan to get it,” I say, searching the darkness beyond the glass wall.
In the far corner of the outhouse, the light of a phone illuminates the pitch black and a portion of Anton’s face. This whole time he’s kept his word and has been watching this unfold without interfering. I’ve always known he enjoyed studying people, but until now I always believed it to be because of his art. Now, as we catch each other’s gaze, I realise it goes far deeper than that.
Anton’s a voyeur… as much as Ivan’s a submissive.
Rose has unearthed their true natures, brought them to the surface. Will she do the same for me? More to the point, is that wise?
“Done,” he responds. We catch each other’s gaze, and he nods, flicking the phone off and falling back into the darkness.
I return my attention back to Rose. To the green of her eyes, just like the fields around Browlace Manor, just like the field where Emmie and I found love and lost it…
Is my new beginning with this woman, or is she just a tool to get there?
Just like my brothers, I already know the answer to that question as though it’s tattooed on my heart.
She’s the one. I’ve known it from the first moment I laid eyes on her.
I’ve just got to convince her of the same thing.
“Erik, what are you waiting for? I’m here. You want to feel, so feel.”
She takes a step towards me, closing the space between us, brushing her fingers against my bare chest. It takes me by surprise. Goosebumps scatter over my skin, but not the good kind. The kind my brain thinks precludes pain and degradation.
It’s her first mistake.
Grasping her roughly, I pin her arms to her side. “Don’t force me when I’m not fucking ready,” I growl, surprising myself with the sudden change, as much as it does her.
She’s not the only one who flits between the different facets they present. Just like a butterfly drawn from one flower to the next, my emotions are a frantic wing batting inside my chest, changing direction in a heartbeat. I might be able to touch her, but I’m not ready for her to touch me in return.
Not yet.
“Get on the fucking bed, Rose,” I demand.
She pinches her mouth shut, but doesn’t attempt to disobey me, this time. She’s all too aware of the danger that my sudden change of mood presents, just as much as I’m aware of hers.
Hobbling over to the bed, she sits, unable to hide the pain when she shifts her legs onto the bed to get more comfortable.
“Good girl. Now lie down,” I murmur.
When her head hits the pillow, I pick up the rope and pull her arms above her head, tying the rope to the bed frame.
Now she can’t fucking move, let alone touch me. I stand back, putting space between us.
Another breath releases, calmness replacing the frantic beat of my heart. One after the other those breaths settle the butterfly within. Eventually, I’m calm enough to look at her again.
To begin.
Chapter 19
Kneeling on the floor next to the bed, I take my time to really look at Rose.
Like Anton, I appreciate her perceived flaws as much as her understated beauty.
Like Ivan, I’m drawn to her inner core of strength, but more so the vulnerability beneath it. Ivan needs her to be his Domina, I need her to be the girl she once was, just as much as the woman she is now.
Slowly, as though I’m touching something breakable, I graze my fingers against the stretch of skin above the waistband of her leggings. Her t-shirt has ridden up, showing her flawless skin.
Rose draws in a breath as my fingers slide across her stomach. I glance at her, and there is confusion in her eyes. She expected me to touch her differently, she expected roughness and whilst I do intend to mark her, I don’t intend to do it in exactly the way she expects.
Besides, right now I need to get used to touching her. So why not use this opportunity to explore her body completely?
Sliding my hands over her thigh, I cup her hurt knee. It feels warm to the touch, not a good sign. She sucks in a sharp breath as I press against the tender joint.
“Kneeling hasn’t helped,” I remark, not expecting a response but getting one anyway.
“One day I’ll be in a wheelchair…” her voice trails off as I catch her gaze.
A slice of vulnerability slashes across her face. It’s like looking into the depths of an ocean, at a shipwreck, battered and broken at the bottom of the sea.
She turns her head to the side, avoiding my gaze, but I lunge for her face, forcing her to look at me. Forcing her to show me her vulnerability, her fears. This isn’t something I can let pass. It’s the beginning of something, as though her subconscious is willing to share even if the conscious part of her isn’t.
“I need to see the truth in your eyes, Rose. I can’t be in the same space as someone who isn’t willing to share what’s hiding in their soul. I need to know you aren’t like her,” I add, gritting my jaw.
“But I thought…” She looks startled, fear flashes across her eyes but is hidden the second she squeezes her eyes closed. When she opens them again, a veil has been put in place. She’s done this so many times before, protect
ed herself like this.
I realise then that if I’m to get Rose to truly face what’s within her heart, I need to draw out her demon. I need to break her down, rip it from her chest and put her back together again.
In that moment as we regard each other with wariness and fear, that’s what I decide to do.
“You thought I wanted your silence. You thought I needed you to look away, to be unthreatening, submissive,” I say, my fingers loosening their hold from her chin.
“Yes.”
“Right now, that isn’t the kind of submission I seek…”
My fingers swirl over her lips, her chin and down her neck until my palm rests over her beating heart. Nothing tells the truth of a person than the thud of their heart and just like a metronome hers beats in time to the rhythm of my own. It feels good to be reminded that she’s just as affected by me as I am by her. It’s a start.
“What other kind is there?” she whispers.
“The definition of a submissive is someone who’s willing to conform to the authority of another. To be obedient, passive, and whilst I do want that from you. Fuck only knows I do. I also need something else. I want you to submit to your true desires, Rose, not just to the darkness and the physical pain. If you truly want to help me, crack open your heart and let me in. Let us all in.”
“I can’t,” she whimpers, as I slide my hand up her shirt to cup her breast.
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Both,” she bites back as I tweak her nipple painfully.
“Then this ends now.” I stand abruptly, stepping back. “You’re not ready, and I’m not prepared to lay everything on the line if you’re not willing to do the same.” I’m breathing hard, the violence I try so hard to control rushing into my veins. I’m willing to draw out her monster, I’m willing to purge my own but only if I know that we’re both willing to try and heal from this encounter.
Anton steps out of the darkness.
“Erik?” He looks worried, he should be.
“If she remains in here, like this, then I will hurt her. I hoped she could do this. She can’t.”
A sudden wave of exhaustion washes over me, beneath it the rage I fight so hard to keep at bay, bubbles. Normally after having an attack I crash and burn for hours. This time the injection of adrenaline having Rose enclosed in here with me has kept me going, but now it’s slowly wearing off and I’m fucked.
Physically, mentally, emotionally.
The fact she clearly can’t do this isn’t helping either. I’ve run out of juice and I’m shutting down fast. I’m either going to collapse right here and now like a fucking narcoleptic or I’m going to squeeze the life out of her. Of the two, the first option is, fortunately, winning.
I want to heal. I have hope.
She doesn’t.
And it pisses me the fuck off.
“I need you to leave, Rose,” I mumble, fighting the heavy exhaustion that sits like a lead balloon on my shoulder.
“Wait!” Rose shouts.
We both turn to look at her. She’s breathing heavily, a mixture of anger, lust, determination and finally, a sliver of hope in her eyes. “I can do this. I can submit.”
“To everything?” I press, my hands shaking as I try to control the violence and the dark comfort of sleep that’s pulling me under.
“I will try. That’s all I can offer. I will try for you, for them,” she whispers so softly that I’m not sure if I’ve heard correctly.
“That’s not enough.”
“What more do you want?”
“There’s one person you’ve failed to do this for…”
“Who?”
“You, Rose. You.”
She nods tightly, her mouth pressed in a hard line. Has she ever really done anything for herself, I wonder? Seems to me Rose is all about seeking out the darkness in others, saving others, whilst failing to purge her own darkness and saving herself.
“I won’t entertain your notion of healing, Rose. I won’t be a victim to another woman’s whim. I’ve lost too much already, and I’m not prepared to lose what’s left of me on a woman who can’t, won’t fucking fight to be who she truly is. I’m taking a huge fucking risk on you, a woman I barely know. I’m trusting my gut, and that isn’t necessarily a good thing. I need to know you’re with me, otherwise, this can never happen. Do you understand?”
She might be Ivan’s Domina.
She might be Anton’s muse.
But to be my saviour she must dig a hell of a lot deeper. I want what’s beyond the demon protecting her heart, beyond the darkness. I want what’s locked behind the fucking cage. I want her heart, and I’m not going to stop until I uncover it once and for all.
I do this for Ivan and Anton.
I do it for me.
I do it for Rose.
I do it for us.
“I understand,” she whispers, fear and a desperate kind of hope in her eyes.
“Good,” I say, untying the rope from the bar above her head.
“What are you doing?” she asks, her eyebrows pulling together in a frown.
“Do you sleep on your side, back or front?” I ask, the question throwing her for a minute.
“My side, my right side generally, why?”
Unravelling the rope from her bound wrists, I remove her left hand. Then secure the rope around her right wrist, tying it the bed frame tightly. At least now she can sleep more comfortably, and if she suddenly gets any ideas of trying to murder me in my sleep, then at least I’ll hear her dragging the bed across the room. I don’t sleep deeply, or for very long anyway. Never have.
“You want me to sleep?” she asks incredulously.
“It’s been a long, shitty few days and I need to fucking rest. You do too. That knee needs a bag of ice for the swelling, and at some point, we’ll both need something to eat and drink too,” I say, turning my head towards the area Anton is sitting.
His phone lights up once more, presumably to text Ivan making with my request. Lucky they’re here really, given Mother is banned from returning.
I feel relieved honestly. It’s a been a long time since I’ve felt a shard of hope myself and I’m acutely aware that Mother has an unhealthy dislike for Rose. No more than any of the other girls I’ve shown interest in over the years, but still, I can’t deal with her shit right now on top of everything else.
“You don’t want to…”
Rose’s voice trails off as her cheeks go bright pink. It’s a pretty shade, and I suddenly feel a pang in my chest for Anton and the fact he’ll never be able to experience such beauty. She adjusts herself on the bed, turning on her side to face me. Picking up the other end of the rope, I wrap it around my wrist, clasping it in my palm then collapse into the armchair on the other side of the room.
“You want to sleep?” she rephrases, a curious expression on her face.
“I don’t want to sleep. Fucking you is also quite high on my list of priorities, amongst other important things, but I’m bone fucking weary. Right now, I need sleep. An unexpected side-effect of PTSD, but a reality for me after I’ve had a mother overload of flashbacks.”
“You’ll be comfortable in that chair?”
“My body can handle a bit of stiffness, yours can’t. This is how it’s going to be until I can figure out something better,” I mumble, my brain getting that heavy, foggy feeling as sleep starts to invade my skull.
“We’re staying in here for a while then?” she responds, shifting to get more comfortable.
“Why don’t you tell me, given you’re the one who wants to break me out?”
I’m pretty sure I have another witty comment on my tongue, but it suddenly becomes heavy in my mouth at the same time my muscles go lax and my eyelids droop.
Darkness swallows me, and with it come the memories...
Chapter 20
Erik, Kirkwall – Summer, 1998
Staring at my mobile, I frown. That’s the fifth text I’ve sent Emmie and still she’s refused to text back. I�
��ve called and left messages too, apologising for standing her up. She’s pissed at me. Real pissed. I get it, we’ve planned this night for weeks now, it was supposed to be special. Our last night together on the island. I wanted to be there, but then Ma got sick and needed me. What was I supposed to do? Viktor left a week ago. I’m all she’s got.
Hitting redial, I hold the phone to my ear. It goes straight to voicemail.
“Hey, Emmie, it’s me again. I’m so sorry about last night. Ma was sick, flu or something. I couldn’t leave her. I’m so, so sorry. Please, just call me back. I’ve something important to tell you.”
I hold my phone in front of me, half expecting it to ring. When it doesn’t, I kick my foot against the bedpost, instantly regretting it when pain shoots up my big toe.
“Shit.”
Shoving my phone into my pocket, I grab my sweater and cap and head downstairs, rushing towards the front door.
“Erik, where are you going?” Ma asks me from the kitchen.
“Fuck,” I say under my breath, before plastering a smile on my face and turning to face her.
“You’ve got packing to do, and I’m not feeling well still. I could use your help,” Ma says.
To be fair, she still looks sick, but I really, really could do without the guilt trip.
“Where are you going?” she repeats.
“For a run.”
She narrows her eyes at me. I’ve never told her about Emmie because I know she’d never approve of a holiday fling. To be honest, she never approves of any girl I’ve brought home. Girls are too much of a distraction in her opinion. As far as Ma’s concerned, I need to concentrate on my studies, on becoming the next big thing in the classical musical world.