With this thought in mind, I sit up, looking around for any kind of robe but don’t find any. Throwing the blanket to the side, I pad to the closet, snagging a black robe hanging there.
Wrapping it around me, I sigh in relief from its warmth and I rush into the hallway, needing to find Arson, but he is nowhere in sight.
The house appears empty as I gaze around it, confused. Right in the middle of the living room, even Ares is still sleep, snoring loudly, but where is his owner?
Why would he leave me in the middle of the night?
Didn’t last night mean anything to him?
For the first time in my life, someone made me feel so important and wanted… that I got blinded by it, forgetting about my moral code and survival.
Just for once, I wanted to live in the moment where the outside world didn’t exist. Where I could pretend I was just a girl falling for a guy while still having my freedom intact and a whole future of opportunities.
But instead, in this cold morning, I’m getting nothing but a wake-up call that it’s all an illusion of my creation.
My brows furrow when I notice a tablet on the table and curiously walk toward it only to see a message flashing on it, like a link to somewhere.
I try clicking on it several times, but it’s hard to guess this new technology. Finally, on the fourth try, it works and goes to the link. The TV turns on at the same time, and I cover my mouth when the bloody body comes into view hanging from a ceiling.
Marcello.
Some of his body parts are chopped off, his skin is burned, and… are those worms sliding down his arms and neck?
Shaking my head in disgust, I look away from it all while thinking that Arson left my bed to go kill Marcello. Only because I told him how much the man has hurt me, although I imagine he would have killed him regardless.
After all, he tried to take me away and left bruises on me. Did I expect any other reaction from my captor who guards me like the most expensive of jewelry?
Sinking onto the couch, I palm my head, rocking back and forth while images of my mom pop in my head.
How she always chose the wrong men who hurt her until she couldn’t stand it. She loved them so much, it didn’t matter she was the victim in the relationship and they the persecutors.
Yet both times, she found the strength to leave them, choosing to survive with her child rather than slowly die with her abusers.
I once made myself a vow to never be like her, to love a monster who is capable of horrendous things. Love in my opinion had no meaning, because it allowed people to wrongly use it, justifying any bad deed with it.
Even Pastor claimed that he loved us both and did his best for our future. As if we were responsible for him doing the child trafficking.
And here I am now.
I surrendered to Arson, allowed him to touch me, be my first only to discover on the next morning he killed a man once again.
I should be angry, rage, cry. Display some kind of normal emotion over it, run away, scared for my life, even if it’s useless.
Just do something to escape him.
But as terrifying as it sounds… I have no such desire.
He is a monster, yes, but he never hides his true nature. He never wears a false façade of sainthood, only to surprise me when I least expect it.
In all the time I’ve known him, he’s never hurt me, never touched me without my permission, never abused me even though he’s had this power.
Ironically, he’s never created a phantom of himself in order to lure me, and he is the only one besides my mom who has shown me kindness in this world.
Is it a wonder I’m attached to him?
That’s why it’s so tragic.
In a world that has so much to offer… I’ve known nothing but despair. And when another monster ended up being caring toward me, I fell for him hard.
Stockholm syndrome.
Two words that describe such a depth of fucked-up emotions that affect entire lives.
With clarity, I understand that I’ll be forever protected here, as long as I stay with him. He made me his so he will never willingly let me go.
And the most terrifying part about it all?
I’m afraid that I’ll accept it too, finding peace and harmony in this life. Once again without a choice.
But what does freedom really have to offer me?
The twist of the lock echoing in the room pulls me back to the present, and I scrunch my eyes when I hear him enter the house, his heavy boots thumping joined by Ares’s soft paws, as the dog barks excitedly.
The dog then runs to me. I tense even more, because he might be nice to his owner, but it doesn’t mean he has to like me.
But the beastly creature licks my bare feet and then barks, rushing off.
“Look at me,” his husky, deep voice orders from a distance, and I scrunch my eyes even more, covering my ears, because something deep within me demands I make a decision right now, but I’m not sure I can face him.
Not sure if I can stand still without bursting out crying from all the unfairness this world has to offer me.
Afraid to dart toward him, because only he is capable of soothing the fear inside me, like last night in the club.
“Look at me,” he repeats, and the air freezes in my lungs, while my eyelids flutter.
He. Repeated. A. Sentence.
I get up and with a deep breath spin around to face him, ready for the blood and whatever else might be smeared on him.
But he is clean, wearing a sweater and jeans with a soap scent floating in the air, so I know he’s taken a shower.
Cleaned up after his last kill, probably didn’t want traces of Marcello on him.
He flips the lighter between his fingers, one, two, three times before he throws it at the wall where it bounces loudly, and he says, or more like orders, “Come on. Call me that name.” His hollow laughter ricochets in the space. “I’m surprised you are still here. Come on. Call me a monster. A despicable human with no redeeming qualities. A serial killer.”
I stay silent, just watching him, noticing things I haven’t before. How deep the scars around his neck are, how his jaw tics when he is angry, how his silver pools become even more vivid with the display of emotion.
But most importantly, the self-loathing present in every word after he showed me without hiding what he did.
He doesn’t pretend to be someone else; with Arson, you get what you see.
“I’m all of those things, and I’ll never stop. This”—he points at TV—“is who I am and who I will always be. So come on, darling. Spit it out. And demand your freedom.”
A freedom he will never give me.
I imagine men like him, with such deep pain held inside them, never let go of things they consider theirs. They stake a claim and possess, and it doesn’t matter if the woman wants it or not.
They won’t take by force physically… but psychologically, you are forever trapped in their make-believe prison.
A tear slides down my cheek and an unreadable expression settles on his face; he is ready for any fight or hysterical outburst.
Not even trying to wipe it away, I go to him until my toes connect with his boots and raise my hand. He tenses, maybe expecting a slap on the face.
But I place it on his chest, feeling his rapidly beating heart, the heartbeat that lullabied me to sleep last night.
The heartbeat of a man who sees the world through the color gray….
My gaze travels over his chest, to his neck, and finally clashes with his, where he waits for my insult, but I have nothing to say to him except “Thank you.” He jerks in my hold, and I wrap my hands around his neck, stepping on his boots and rising on my tiptoes. “Thank you for killing him.”
Because the most terrifying thought that flashes in my mind after watching the TV?
Is that I’m not even sorry for Marcello’s death, and I think the world is better without such an awful person as him.
Connecting my mouth with
Arson’s, part of my heart weeps, because I’m making a choice right now.
The woman in me soars, and the human in me weeps for it.
I choose a monster who never wears a mask, who shows me all his darkish handsome glory and is not afraid of my rejection.
And in choosing him, I say forever goodbye to my freedom.
Chapter Fifteen
“Friendship is a gift.
Not everyone though is worthy of it.
Humans learn this lesson the hard way.”
Arson
Arson, 7 years old
“Artem, are you done?” Parker calls from the room, and checking myself one last time in the bathroom mirror, I open the door to see her pacing the room back and forth, but once she spots me, she grins. She clasps her palms together and jumps in excitement, “Just look at you!” I tug a little at the white shirt I’m wearing, uncomfortable in it, because the collar digs into my neck.
Parker came home a few hours ago with a warm lunch she made me eat and then announced she had a gift for me, a new set of black jeans and shirt that will transform me into the most beautiful boy on earth.
“Ah, you missed one button,” she says and then kneels in front of me to fix it. Today is the first day of me working for Madam, so my fingers shook the entire time I buttoned it up. I’m still not sure what we need to do for her, but Caspian tells me we can handle it.
He somehow managed to calm his mom down who wouldn’t talk to him, because he wanted to earn his keep too. Apparently, Madam promised him freedom soon, but he had to work hard.
Parker kept me in the room, feeding me to death and taking me for long walks so I’d have a healthy glow. She even made me take a shower every day and let me sleep on the bed instead of the floor so I wouldn’t get any bruises.
Her concern for me, so very different from the constant neglect in the past, warmed my heart, and she even allowed me to hug her sometimes.
I soaked up all the attention, hoping this was a sign that she finally saw the light and won’t be mean to me again.
This gives me bravery to voice my fear to her as I say with a trembling voice, “I’m nervous.” She frowns at this but then smiles back again, getting up and spinning me around so I’m facing the mirror.
She reaches over me for a comb and then starts doing my hair all while talking to me in a soothing tone. “It’s going to be okay, Artem. The first time is always the hardest, but I promise you… everyone else won’t be this painful.” Painful? Why would this job be painful? “Don’t worry though. Your aunt”—she pats her chest with her palm—“knows how to provide aftercare. But most importantly—” She palms my head from the back, catching my eyes in the mirror so I don’t miss how for a second something weird passes through them, but it’s gone so quickly I must have imagined it. “—never scream or resist. They don’t like it. It might… be worse than it could be,” she finishes, her voice hitching, and then she hugs me close, so tightly it’s hard to breathe, but I don’t pull away from her.
Maybe because for the first time in my life, I feel like she truly means it. There is something different about it.
But then she lets go of me and combs my hair one last time before taking my hand and strolling out into the hallway. “Such is life though, darling. Some of us have no other choice but to live like this. Survive using whatever means necessary.”
One of Madam’s guards is waiting for us and, nodding at my aunt, he pushes me forward. “He’ll be back in the morning. You’ll get your cut then.”
In the morning? This might take that long?
“I’ll you see then, Artem.” She blows me a kiss and shuts the door as the guard grunts and motions with his chin for me to walk straight.
We go to the end of the hallway leading upstairs to the fourth floor, and I blink in awe when we enter it, because the hallway here is so different from downstairs with its rusted walls and washed-out paint, plus the stained carpets that smell so bad.
Instead, red velvet and stain-free white carpets greet me with chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, swaying a little from the heater blowing on us.
“Go to the second room,” the guard orders, and I take a step, when he puts his hand on my shoulder, making me raise my gaze at him. “Good luck, kid.” Again, I get this weird feeling like I had with Parker earlier, but I shake it off and go inside, wondering what it is.
But all I find is a dark room with a huge bed and bathroom, black shades covering the window so only the bulb above lights this place.
I rub my arms a little, confused by not seeing the rest of the kids who were supposed to participate with me. Without having much to do, I sit on the bed and, due to its height, my feet dangle above the floor.
Maybe I was the first they called?
Uneasiness rushes through me, but I don’t want to think the worst. We’ve tried to guess with Caspian what they might want us to do but couldn’t come up with anything.
I’m about to go back in the hallway to ask what’s going on when a man wearing a black suit and a grim expression on his face enters.
He closes the door, which makes me jump to the floor, a little more confused and scared than usual as he sweeps his gaze over me from head to toe, smiling when he settles on my face. “Indeed, you are perfect.” His deep yet scratchy voice sends chills down my spine.
He reminds me of all the men frequently coming to the whorehouse, so what is he doing here?
He removes his jacket, folding it before throwing it over the nearby chair and then starts unbuttoning his shirt. “I had a business function tonight, but the minute they showed me your photo, I knew I couldn’t resist,” he says while I take a step back, trying to make sense of all this.
What is he talking about?
“A product who hasn’t been touched before.” He laughs, and scares me even more. “That’s truly a gift I hadn’t expected.” The smile disappears from his face. “A gift that cost me a fortune, so you gonna make sure I’m happy, boy.”
“You are mistaken. I’m not the whore,” I whisper, taking another step back as he takes one in my direction. “It’s a mistake.” Where is the guard? Madam? Parker?
They need to explain to this man I’m not the whore!
What will he do with a little boy anyway?
“Don’t worry, boy. Tonight, you’ll become one.” With this, he leaps for me, but I manage to duck to the side and run toward the door, screaming, “Someone help me! Please help me! Please!” Tears come on their own as I hit the door with my fists, trying to get out, but I can’t, because it’s locked from the outside.
This place never has locks on the inside, so Madam can have access to all the rooms at any time.
Is this the business Parker spoke about?
You should earn your keep.
That’s what she meant? She wanted me to be like her? For this man to hurt me?
A hand fists in my hair, pulling me back hard, and a cry escapes me only to get muffled when he picks me up and throws me on the bed, face down.
I don’t even have time to move as he is on me in a second, straddling my spine while both his hands wrap around my neck, not letting me move. “For such soft skin, I can forgive your resistance,” he tells me, his breath fanning my cheek as he kisses me on the back of my neck, and I scream into the mattress, but he pays no attention to that.
Instead he gives me one more kiss on my cheek before digging his thumb into my shoulder blades and then sliding his hands all over my back, gripping me tightly in his arms. “So soft. Perfect doesn’t even begin to describe it.” He rips my shirt from the back, the tearing sound bouncing off the walls and I whimper in despair. He must sit up because the pressure on my lower back disappears, and I instantly try to wiggle free, but this time he presses my cheek to the mattress, and he winks at me when I catch the stare of his eyes in the black headboard reflection. Once again, I’m lying on my belly. “Rare silver color. You are like a canvas painted specially for me.” I hear the familiar sound of a belt buckle be
fore he takes it out with a loud whoosh and lowers his zipper.
Sweat breaks on my skin and I start to thrash harder, not wanting to experience whatever this man wants me to do. “Please, no!” I scream, “Madam, please, I don’t want it.” I don’t care if Parker is happy with this or that it might give us freedom.
I don’t need education if it means this man can touch me and do this to me!
“Help, please!” Where is the guard? “Please help!” I continue to scream, but the man just laughs, taking off his shirt and then snatching my pants down, exposing my bottom.
“Ah, skin to skin at last,” he says, squeezing it roughly and then pulls me up by the hair. I open my mouth to scream louder but cough on the leather of the belt he wraps around my mouth. “Although the wiggling of your body turns me on, boy, I don’t need your screaming ruining my night.” Tears stream down my face when I feel the tip of something touching me there, and I try to run away again, waving my hand, trying to do something to him, but I’m helpless in his hold.
He is so huge!
I whimper through the belt, begging him, “Please, let me go. Mister, please.” Although I’m not sure he hears it properly since the belt almost rips my mouth in two, that’s how tightly he wraps it.
“Don’t worry, boy. First time I’m going to go easy on you. And then you’ll learn to love it. They all do at some point. Children like you were born for men like me.” And then he hits me with his hips hard, and agonizing and unbearable pain slashing through me as he pushes something hard into me, all while pulling at the belt tighter.
I scream, my mouth full of blood and spit, all while he continues bringing me pain over and over while chanting above me how amazing I am.
My nails dig into the sheets, clenching it hard while I cry so much, whimpers escaping me through my screams because I still hope for rescue to come.
“See, boy? You are already loving this.” He tightens the belt around me, cutting the oxygen from me and my lungs burn for a breath of air, but he doesn’t let go.
Instead he hits me time and time again, then he takes away one of his hands from my hip only to wrap it around my stomach making the pain in my bottom worse and worse, while blood drips from my mouth on the sheets in front of me.
Arson’s Captive Page 24