His Broken Princess

by V. F. Mason

  She used to say if people died, it meant God called them to heaven to grant them beautiful happiness. While I’m happy to know Mommy is in a special place, I wish God wouldn’t have called for her so soon and left me here all alone.

  The man has been impossible for the last two or three days. I’ve lost count of time. He leaves when it’s the morning, because when he opens the door the sunlight blinds me, and then he comes back when it’s pitch dark. He always either does something with his knives or talks about all the people he killed. He gives details I don’t understand, but all this only makes me want to go home even more.

  “Your daddy thinks he’s found a fool!” he screams, and I tense, afraid he’ll come closer, but then I hear him slump onto the chair. “But this business doesn’t work that way. He will pay what he owes me.”

  My nose twitches from the tears forming in my eyes when I hear loud sounds from behind the door, and the man mutters, “What the fuck?” Then the door is kicked open and several men in uniform barge inside, immediately jumping on the man and throwing him to the floor.

  Then Daddy rushes inside and calls, “Jake!”

  “Daddy!” I run toward him, and he picks me up, rocking me from side to side while leaning back and scanning my appearance.

  “My God!” He hugs me close again while I cling to him, because he is the only one left in this world.

  Because Mommy has been taken away in a garbage bag.

  * * *

  New York, New York

  1981

  * * *

  Eugene

  Finally, thirty minutes later, the cries stop, and silence falls, indicating to me she has probably fallen asleep on the floor while fear still rules her system.

  After the things those assholes did to her, I’ve never wanted her to be in the position where she has to fear another man, but she’s left me no choice.

  Once the shock wears off, she will be ready to truly listen to me. Either way, our life together is inevitable. I can’t exist without her, and if… for her to understand… I need to be cruel, then so be it.

  I enter the basement, my feet thumping loudly on the concrete floor as I walk downstairs and take in the environment around me.

  When I first built this place all those years ago, I only concentrated on the idea of my own comfort. Soundproof walls, all the weapons necessary to bring the worst pain imaginable, surgical tables and chairs so the victim would have no choice but to be stuck in one place.

  They were always afraid of me, but I never thought about how the room itself played on their mind psychologically. But watching Lila’s reaction to everything, suddenly it takes on a different meaning.

  I’ve created a hell on earth, and I can never regret it, even if this so-called hell has brought nothing but disgust to my woman’s face.

  Once I’m in front of the cage, I notice her through the bars sleeping in the corner, her hands wrapped tightly around her knees as she presses her face against the wall. Her cheeks are still wet from all the tears, and there are several bruises on her pale skin and dirt on her clothes.

  Did she try to escape?

  Despite it bringing me discomfort, I can’t help but be proud of her for staying brave. For trying to fight, even if it’s useless.

  For a second, another image from the past flashes in my mind, reminding me of the small boy who thought his entire world crumbled, and revulsion washes over me, but I push it back.

  I’m nothing like him.

  I’m a monster, but a monster who will never hurt her.

  As long as she stays mine.

  Unlocking the cage, I step inside and quickly remove the chain from her ankle, massaging the skin lightly and watching her closely. She barely moves, and then I finally pick her up. She nuzzles her nose into my neck, mumbling in her sleep, “You smell so good.” She exhales in relief, putting her hands on my chest right above my heart, and the organ, which is used to only pump blood, reacts oddly to her touch. “I’m so tired.” Her breath evens out, and I thank the gods, because the last thing I need right now is her disobedience.

  I take her upstairs through a spacious hallway, the walls lined with ancient paintings, which probably give off even scarier vibes. As a kid, I hated all this… eyes looking at me as they judged my existence.

  Finally reaching the master bedroom, I place her on the bed and cover her body with the blanket. She shivers a little, and I rub her forehead, giving her comfort, and she immediately relaxes under my touch.

  Ah, Lila, if only you would act this way when you are conscious.

  I light the fireplace and add several logs, making sure the room is warm enough before disappearing into the night where I have to face the ugly truth.

  No matter what I want… Lila will wake up hating me.

  And there is no going back to her ever loving me.

  But that’s the choice I made years ago, right?

  There are sacrifices one must make to serve the greater good, and unfortunately, I can never escape the sins of my past.

  Nor do I want to.

  What woman would love such a man?

  * * *

  Lila

  Crackling nag at my mind, and I shift onto my side, burrowing my face into the soft white pillow that has a weird smell.

  My body is soaking wet. I wipe away the sweat from my forehead, pushing the heavy blanket away.

  I blink at the unbearable heat in the small space, and before my actions register, I get up from the bed and open the window, tugging with all my might. The cold wind almost knocks me on my ass, but I hold on to the windowsill tight. “Oh my God,” I gasp as the view of the beautiful garden is displayed in all its glory, and then I spin around, gazing at the room.

  It doesn’t have much besides a king-sized bed, a bedside table that has water and aspirin, and a fireplace where some logs burn. “The sound,” I murmur, and then return to studying the room.

  Heavy curtains fall either side of two spacious windows, but they have bars, so it makes it impossible to escape, even if one made it their mission. There is a door probably leading to the bathroom, but besides that… it seems dead.

  “The dust.” That’s the odd smell I detected earlier. I imagine he doesn’t spend much time in the house itself, since he has everything he needs in his freaking basement.

  Swallowing back the bile in my throat, I tug on my hair and whisper over and over again, “What am I going to do? What am I going to do? What am I going to do?” I pull at the handle several times, but it’s locked firmly, and there is no escape through the window.

  It might not be the cage, but it’s still a prison without a way to escape.

  Then my ears perk up at the sound of heavy footsteps as someone walks down the hallway. I rush to the fireplace, grab the poker lying next to it, and raise it high as he unlocks the door and enters the room.

  He’s still wearing the same clothes and it’s still dark outside, so it means I haven’t slept long in this hell. “Stay away,” I grit though my teeth, ready to hit him the minute he decides to come closer.

  “Lila, is all this drama necessary?” he asks, going toward the window instead and closing it tightly. “Let’s act rationally for once.”

  Rationally? My bitter laughter shakes even me, but it barely annoys him, if his heavy huff is any indication. “What did you expect? That I’d have tea with you and discuss your latest kill.”

  “That’d be nice, yeah, but I’m not a dreamer.” My brows furrow, so he clarifies, “You’d feel sorry for the victim either way.”

  “Of course! You think I’d ever feel sorry for a fucking killer?” Do serial killers live in some delusional world where they think their actions are right? Do they convince themselves their truth is the only truth in this life?

  A voice from the past echoes in my mind, slamming into me with such force I have to grab the fireplace not to fall down.

  Why are you doing this?

  Because we are bored, Lila.

  Human life is noth
ing but a game for them, an instrument to play; they love and value nothing. “You’re an artist, right?” he prompts, knowing damn well I am.

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “I believe art teaches you to look at things from different perspectives and throws the narrow-mindedness away.” He clacks his tongue, scanning me from head to toe. “Too bad you haven’t learned anything after all.”

  I shake my head from his words, not sure if I’m shocked by what he says, or the way coldness slips into his features, almost wiping away the man I fell in love with.

  Did he exist at all, or was it all a masquerade no one informed me about? “Let me go, Eugene, or I’ll hurt you.” He doesn’t have any weapons, so my odds against him are higher.

  He barely lifts a brow and points with his hands for me to continue, not even one muscle twitching on his face.

  Is it possible to hate someone with a vengeance?

  Twisting the poker in my palms, I raise it higher and step toward him while he just waits there, as if nothing out of the ordinary is happening! “Let me go,” I repeat, ready to strike, but he chuckles, although it lacks any humor.

  “That’s impossible. Like it or not, darling, our lives are forever entwined. Till death do us part.” The last words are a catalyst for me to finally push into him with a loud cry, as I aim the poker at his head, because knocking him unconscious will be my best bet.

  Before I even manage to get close to hitting him, he catches the poker midair, wraps his arm around my waist, and swirls me around, pressing my back to his front, his arms tightening around me, and I feel the hard edge of the poker next to my pulse, lightly touching me… like a feather. I breathe heavily, ready for him to do whatever he pleases with it, but he just brings his face closer, running his nose over my neck, murmuring, “Not very smart, attacking a man who has more experience than you with fighting.” I stay silent, painfully aware of him next to me while I can’t do anything about it, since any movement might knock me into the poker.

  He skims his fingers over my shoulder, sending goose bumps across my skin, and I scrunch my eyes, hoping my body will get the latest memo and not react to his closeness. “Lila, my Lila.” He fists my hair unexpectedly, and my soft whimper echoes in the room. “Mine and only mine.”

  “I’m not yours. You are—”

  “A monster, I know. Kind of repetitive to say it all the time, don’t you think?” Although his voice is bored, he splays his palm on my lower stomach and softly rubs it left and right, as he skims his lips over my skin and then suddenly bites me, earning himself a gasp. “Sensitive, aren’t we? I taught this body to react to my lightest touch and presence.” Another bite as his other hand moves lower, covering my core through the cloth and pressing the heel of his palm right above my clit. “Taught it pleasure like you’d never known before.” He tugs on my hair, pulling my head back so our eyes can meet while I still pretend to act like nothing is going on, even though my body burns from him.

  My betraying body that still wants him so.

  “You can deny loving me or being mine, but this beautiful body of yours”—he hikes my dress up and slips his cold fingers past my panties, entering me swiftly while I try to get free— “knows who it belongs to. And no man on this earth will ever give you what I can, darling. The ones who try will be dead.” With that, he pushes me onto the bed, and I fall with a squeal, placing my hands over my heart, which beats rapidly in my chest.

  He throws the poker to the floor where it lands with a loud thud, and then orders, “Take a shower, because, quite frankly, you stink.” My wool dress is practically plastered to me, digging into my skin and burning me from the inside out. I dislike wearing heavy jackets, so I usually make sure to wear something suitable for the weather under it.

  “I won’t do that.”

  Eugene shrugs. “Suit yourself. But what if you catch pneumonia? If you get a fever, I’ll have to take care of you. Want to be at my mercy?” He throws that out right before shutting the door behind him, and I jump at it, loudly pounding it with my fists.

  “I hate you, Eugene!” My scream, of course, stays ignored, but I listen to what he says.

  I get sick at the snap of a finger, and with the sweat and wind, I cannot allow myself to be weak in this situation, so my health should be my number one priority.

  I run toward the bathroom and shut myself inside, exhaling in relief when I notice the lock. Who knows what kind of plans and fantasies he has in mind? Maybe one of them is rape.

  Something inside me objects to that idea, remembering all the good things he has done to me through all these months. The man I know isn’t capable of such a thing.

  But the man behind the mask?

  I can expect anything from him.

  * * *

  Eugene

  Patience is a virtue, or so they say.

  I’ve used it through all the years of coping with my nightmares. For dealing with my father’s truth and the outcome of it.

  For hunting and killing my victims.

  But for the first time in my life, patience doesn’t bring me comfort.

  Maybe because nothing will ever change with time.

  She will forever hate me, no matter what I do.

  Not that it matters.

  I can give her the world, everything she wishes for.

  But I can never give her freedom.

  My Lila is forever imprisoned in my garden, held under a glass cage, protected from outside forces. And like the beast in the story… I keep watching with dread and hope that someday something might change.

  * * *

  Lila

  With one last glance at my reflection in the mirror, I wince at the flannel dress and high socks that cover my body. The clothes seem so soft and bring so much comfort to my skin.

  But accepting anything of his under these circumstances is disgusting.

  I emerge from the room, drying my hair with a towel, as his footsteps come closer, and I sigh because he didn’t find me in the shower.

  God knows I won’t allow another man to bring harm to me. Better dead than experience that nightmare all over again.

  Although his torture will hurt me more, because it’ll be delivered by someone I love.

  Love, Lila. You loved him. Now you hate him.

  I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince in the moment, but maybe if I repeat the words enough in my head, they will ring true.

  Sitting on the bed, I wrap my hands around my knees, rocking back and forth. Even though the room is filled with warmth from the heat ducts all over the place, I can’t stop shaking, and I dwell on my current situation.

  The minute he left, I checked the windows and lock, but all of them stayed unmovable with my attempts to open them. Even if Eugene never planned to bring me here, he made sure no one could ever escape his castle.

  I want to scream into space, to let all the fear and agony consume me instead of boiling up inside me, but I can’t do that.

  Making myself vulnerable to Eugene is out of the question.

  I hear the lock turn and Eugene walks in, holding a tray of food with him. The smell penetrates my nostrils, and my stomach growls in hunger, but I place my cheek on my knees, ignoring him.

  “You need to eat, Lila.”

  “Go to hell.” Before he can say anything, I add, “Although we are probably there anyway, right?”

  “This dramatic act will end at some point, right?” He fires his own question instead. “Because it’s starting to get on my nerves. And I’m this close”—he shows a small distance between his index finger and thumb — “to snapping and showing you the real monster. So either act nice, or—”

  “Or?”

  “Or you’ll regret it.”

  Is he this delusional? “I already regret every minute spent with you.” I throw a pillow at him, but he ducks, skillfully placing the tray on the table before it can get hit as well. “What are you going to do with me now? I won’t accept this and act like nothing bad
has happened, if that’s what you’re hoping for.”

  “I’m not hoping for anything really,” he says and then walks slowly to me, and I quickly move back on the bed, practically slapping my back into the headboard. “Lila, you are mine.”

  “Stop repeating that!” I scream in his face, but then yelp when he tugs on my legs, so I end up on my back. Within seconds, his muscular body covers me from head to toe, our mouths inches away from each other. “Stop repeating that,” I say again, pushing his chest, but he doesn’t budge under my strength.

  He raises his hand, and I scrunch my eyes, expecting a blow, since he doesn’t have to act nice anymore. But it doesn’t come, and I feel the lightest touch on my cheek, as if a feather dusted across me, and I realize it’s his finger trailing a path from the corner of my eye to my lips where he rubs them gently with his thumb.

  “Did you really think I could hit you?”

  I’m stunned by the intensity of his gaze, and something else.

  Is it self-loathing? “Eugene would never have hit me,” I whisper, relaxing a little in his hold, although still very much aware of his presence. “But I don’t know the man you are, Jake.”

  He cups my chin, lifting it a little, and leans closer, his breath fanning my cheek while I do my best not to lose myself in his hazel eyes that remind me of the man I love.

  He doesn’t exist though, right? Everything was just an illusion of his making. “You are the only one who does,” he says as he rubs my cheek again and then sits back, leaving me alone.

  Instantly, cold settles on my skin and a tremor runs through me, as if my body misses his touch. But how can it miss the touch of a monster?