Callum’s Hell

by Mason, V. F.

  Maybe I can understand his desires and what drives them before figuring out how to use that knowledge to my advantage.

  “Like I said, read the myth.”

  “It doesn’t answer my questions. It’s about a mother’s journey to finding her daughter.”

  He chuckles before facing me again. “Or a god of the underworld taking what was always rightfully his.”

  “That doesn’t even make sense,” I reply, barely restraining the desire to throw a book at him to wipe away that smug look on his face. “Since I’m your prisoner here, I deserve to know why.”

  “Prisoner?” His brows rise. “You can leave anytime you want. Your passport and phone are with you. I can even arrange a plane ride if you want.” He presses the handle a few times. “See? No lock.” I open my mouth to protest, but he wiggles his index finger at me. “Nah, ah. I closed it before, because you might have been hysterical. Don’t need you running around the beach or, God forbid, hurting yourself.” He frowns as if the idea unsettles him, and it confuses me even more.

  Shouldn’t he try to inspire fear in me… instead of all this?

  Just what kind of game is he playing at?

  “I can leave?” I ask again, and he nods.

  “No one is keeping you here against your will.” I jump from the bed, ready to fetch my passport, when his next sentence freezes me. “There are consequences, of course. But I’m sure you’re aware of that.”

  Clearing my throat, I rasp, “Consequences?”

  He grabs the chair, swings it around, and straddles it, the tip of his shoes kicking the legs of it while he rests his elbow on the back of it. “There are people you love. I’m sure you’ll be sad seeing them harmed.”

  Everything inside me turns cold, because I’ve heard these kinds of threats my whole life.

  Should I be surprised he is not far away from my asshole of a grandfather?

  Callum though, unfazed with my reaction, continues, “Darius and Isla…” He clacks his tongue, sighing. “I would hate to hurt them because of you.”

  “You said I’m not your prisoner,” I whisper, finally seeing the traces of the loving man gone, and instead someone else takes over Callum’s body.

  A heartless monster whose stare stays completely blank while he scans me from head to toe. His entire demeanor, from his leather jacket to jeans and boots, gives off a dangerous vibe, a predator ready to strike at any moment.

  “You are not. Prisoners don’t have choices. You do. If you want to leave—” He motions to the door. “—be my guest. But with that, you are sealing the fate of people you love. I will never hurt you,” he emphasizes the last words as if I’m supposed to swoon over them or something.

  I can physically feel how slowly calmness escapes me, and in its place come fury and anger that wash away all common sense. “You are a monster,” I say, remembering the screams of his victims, and cover my ears, scrunching my eyes. “I can still see their eyes full of pain because of you,” I whisper and shake my head. “I can never forget that.”

  There is a long silence before his deep voice speaks again, holding traces of something I don’t catch. “Too bad you had to see that, but well, at least you know the truth.”

  I glare at him, seething. “So that’s your only explanation?”

  “Sorry to disappoint you if you expected remorse.” He lights up a cigarette. “They say never to get your hopes up, after all.”

  He is so smug, so proud of himself, of the deeds he’s done. He plays with my mind, claiming I’m not a prisoner or victim, but that’s exactly what I am. Abusers and killers always try to manipulate their victims, playing with their mind like their personal instrument.

  Callum tries to hide his real nature, staying calm and hoping… what? That I will stay with him like Persephone had to in the myth? Does my lack of hysterics make him think I accept his twisted game?

  Before my actions register in my brain, I grab the jug of water he brought, throw the water on him, and then shatter it on the bedpost, not caring how it explodes on impact, sending shards of glass through the room. I hold the weapon high in my hand, and order, “Stay away from me,” then press the tip against my throat, warning, “Or I’ll cut myself.

  A stormy look enters his eyes, and at once, he transforms into a brutish male, kicking away the chair unfazed by the water that still drips on the carpet from him.

  I’ve awakened a monster and I’m glad. Maybe now it will be easier to hate him, because my traitorous heart still loves him.

  Hades won’t get his Persephone this time though.

  Callum

  Wiping away the water with my hand, I focus on the glass glistening under the harsh light that is dangerously close to Giselle’s feet. “Don’t move,” I bark, stepping toward her, but she shifts a little, pressing the stupid thing firmer to her neck, nicking the skin.

  “Don’t come closer,” she warns, and I would have laughed in her face at such a weak threat, if it weren’t for the fact that she could hurt herself.

  I don’t love her, because I have no idea what love is. But Giselle is mine, and I’ll be damned if anyone, even she, will harm what belongs to me.

  The ringing in my ears intensifies when I notice how close the glass is to her artery and the tips of her toes. One movement and she will step on it, cutting her soft skin.

  Raising my hands, I stop and change tactics, going for kinder words. “Go to the terrace door, Giselle. You don’t want to hurt yourself, do you?” I can handle the weapon once she is away from the glass. Before that, my hectic brain can’t focus on shit.

  That’s why emotions should never cloud our judgment, everything be fucking damned!

  Her bitter laughter washes over me, sinking its claws into something in my chest, and it alerts me to her distress. “Now you care about me? You trap me here and then threaten my loved ones if I don’t comply with your orders.” She waits a bit before adding, “Whatever they might be.”

  I’m surprised she still hasn’t guessed the result I’m seeking from all this, but now is not the time to discuss it. I should have brought her a plastic bottle instead of a fucking crystal jug. “You are mine, Giselle. When you hurt, I am upset,” I say, hoping she can detect sincerity in my words, but it has the opposite effect.

  Fury flashes over her face. She throws her dark hair over her shoulder before placing the broken glass near her ear. “Then get the hell out of my room if you are afraid I might hurt something that belongs to you.”

  “This kind of behavior doesn’t suit you.” Nothing but boredom laces my tone when I study her, sighing, “You are acting like I was about to hurt you or something. You are not a victim.” I step closer while she watches me. “Never have been one. So don’t start acting like one either.”

  “You are such an asshole.” That’s when she jumps to the side, crying out in pain when her foot connects with the broken glass.

  “Fuck,” I hiss, quickly removing the weapon from her hand and throwing it away. I prop her on my shoulder while her fists drum on my back wildly.

  “Let go of me!” she cries out, and I slap her ass, fucking livid with her stupidity.

  “Shut up.” I dart toward the hallway while she twists in my arms wanting to escape, but my tight grip doesn’t let her.

  “Don’t spank me!”

  “If you act like a child, I will treat you like a child!” I inform her, dragging us to the kitchen and then placing her on the counter, where she sits with a loud thud. “Don’t fucking move,” I order, and oddly enough, she obeys, wincing.

  I retrieve the first aid kit from under the sink and come back, lifting her leg up and inspecting it. She cut the heel of her foot, and a piece of glass is stuck inside, but otherwise, nothing else is injured. “You are lucky you didn’t hit an artery.”

  She huffs, crossing her arms. “You mean you are lucky your toy isn’t tarnished.”

  Ignoring her jab, I take the tweezers and pull out the glass.

  “Where is Magnolia?” sh
e asks, looking around, and then glares at me and winces when I apply antiseptic on the wound. “Ouch. It stings.”

  “You shouldn’t have stepped on the glass” is my only reply, and I put a patch on it. “It will hurt for a few days. Glass cuts always do” I murmur, and her brow rises.

  “Speaking from experience?”

  “You bet.” I splay my hands on either side of her, trapping her between my arms, and she tenses.

  “Let go of me.” She tries to slide to the side, but she has no room to move.

  “That’s your gratitude for me playing doctor?”

  Her blue eyes become darker as her upper lip curls. “Let go or I will scream.”

  “There’s no one around, so do try.” I lean forward, and her breath hitches when my lips skim over her chin to her ear, where I whisper, “Don’t hold yourself back on my account.” Then my lips trail to her neck, where I inhale her scent, brushing my mouth over the sensitive spot between her neck and shoulder.

  She shivers under me, her chest rising, and I suck lightly on the skin, wanting a red mark staining her porcelain perfection so she’ll never be able to escape this moment.

  My hand hikes her dress up over her thighs, sliding up over the velvet skin, leaving goose bumps in its wake. I fist her hair, angling her for my assault, and tug on her lower lip. “Is there something you need, Giselle?” I ask, but before she can reply, I cover her mouth with mine, pushing my tongue inside.

  She succumbs, her hands fisting my jacket as she brings me closer, and we get lost in the raw, passionate kiss in which our tongues glide against each other and I can drink from her mouth.

  Giselle is everywhere, soothing the parts of me she has no idea exist.

  She moans in my arms, before tearing her mouth away from mine, and then palms my face, our heavy breathing filling the space between us. “Callum,” she whispers, shifting closer and fanning my lips. “I told you not to touch me.”

  That’s all the warning I get, before she kicks her leg up and knees me right in the groin.

  “Fuck,” I hiss, stepping away, and she hops down from the counter, careful not to step on her injured heel.

  She wipes her mouth, lifts her chin, and says, “Stay away from me, you psycho.”

  “Psycho?”

  “Did you really think I would gladly kiss you after the things I saw in that room?” Pain flashes in her eyes before she hides it with anger. “You destroyed us, Callum.”

  “Nothing’s changed.”

  Her jaw drops open in shock. “Nothing changed? You are a serial killer who kidnapped me to recreate some kind of myth.” She points between us. “We have no future. I want to get rid of you, and I will.”

  “You are not a prisoner.” How many times should I repeat that before it gets through her thick skull?

  She laughs, although it lacks any humor. “Please, Callum, spare me the talk about choices. You gave me none.” She huffs, removing the strands of her hair from her face. “I don’t know what you expect or for how long you want to hide who you are, but I’m not going to get hysterical again and I won’t let you win.”

  If my dick didn’t hurt so much and I wasn’t so frustrated with her lack of common sense, I’d be proud of my woman for keeping her head high at a time like this. A woman like that will never let anything happen to her loved ones. One of the reasons I always wanted her heart for my own, because with Giselle’s love comes loyalty. Something I’ve never fucking had in my life.

  “This is ridiculous.” I can’t believe after everything she learned, she is not crying her eyes out, and instead argues with me in the middle of the kitchen.

  Based on my research, women run away or spit insults; she just asks to be left alone.

  “Deal with it. Do not come to my room.” She pauses and pales a little, her hands fisting. “And if you think you can take me by force….”

  Cold slips into me, anger unlike anything I’ve known before travels through my veins, and in two short strides, I’m at her side, wrapping my hands around her throat while she gasps in fear, her pulse beating rapidly under my fingertips. She slaps my hands, but I don’t let go, squeezing her tighter so she’ll have all her attention on me as she struggles for breath. “I don’t ever take anyone or anything by force.” Her eyes widen while her cheeks heat up, the pulse under my fingertips. speeding up “Do. You. Understand? I never take by force!” When she nods, I let go. She coughs loudly, gulping air and rubbing her neck. “So sleep peacefully. No one is gonna make demands on the body we both know wants me still.” With that, I go to my study, shutting the door so loudly it rattles the walls.

  And then with a roar, I hit the desk, knocking everything on the floor while images from the past play in my mind, reminding me they will never go away, no matter how strong I am.

  Force.

  It’s one thing I’ll never do to any human being, even the evilest kinds.

  The seven-year-old boy begging for mercy on the floor who still lives inside me would never allow it.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Callum, 9 years old

  “What are you doing tomorrow?”

  “We are going to a movie and getting ice cream, duh,” Sam replies, and then they share a laugh as other kids on the school bus join in to discuss their plans for the weekend.

  “My dad and I are going skiing. He promised it will be fun,” someone else shouts, and then Sam nudges my shoulder, snapping my attention from the book on botanical gardening splayed on my lap.

  “Hey, Callum. What are you doing this weekend? We have Monday off too!” he says excitedly, like there is anything to celebrate.

  But then again… not everyone has to entertain their mother’s friends.

  I stay silent, so he nudges me again, this time bringing everyone’s attention to us. “Seriously, what are you going to do?”

  Closing the book, since we are nearing my stop anyway, I decide to answer. “Mom has plans for us.”

  They blink in surprise while Sam rests his elbow on the back of my seat and puts his chin on the back of his hand. “What kind of plans?”

  Why all of a sudden is he interested in that anyway? No one in the class gives a shit about me. No one pushes me around or makes fun of me either. I’m just always invisible, in the background, left alone to enjoy my sanctuary from nightmares.

  School and the library.

  “Her friends are coming over,” I reply before I think, and instantly fear sweeps through me, sweat breaking out on my skin when Mom’s voice rings in my ears.

  Never mention this to anyone; do you understand, Callum? Never, or you won’t like the consequences. You don’t want your classmates to know you wear dresses, do you?

  But instead of revulsion, collective groans erupt to my surprise and sigh of relief.

  Sam pats my shoulder while I barely hold the desire to snatch it away, hating anyone’s touch on me longer than a second. “That sucks! I hate when Mom wants to hang out with her friends and I’ve got nothing to do but watch TV.”

  “Right,” I murmur, then hit my forehead on the seat in front of me when the bus stops abruptly.

  Rubbing my head, I put the book inside my bag and get up to exit the bus. “See you guys,” I say awkwardly, since I’ve never done this before.

  They lift their chins at me in acknowledgment while I quickly run to the steps. “Have a nice day, Callum,” Janice, the bus driver, says, and I wave at her as I hop down onto the grass.

  The door shuts and she drives off, while I trail to the house, my stomach grumbling loudly. Mom never packs me any lunch, claiming I’ll have to work harder for it, so I never ask for it.

  Unlocking the main door, I step inside and shout, “I’m home.” I drop my bag on the floor and rush toward the kitchen, where the mouthwatering smell of french fries and burgers comes from.

  I quickly wash my hands and grab a bite, munching on the meat while pleasure runs through me from head to toe.

  The salty flavor hits my taste buds and I’m searc
hing for a glass of water when Mom comes in, grinning at me widely. “You’re home, baby.” She leans forward to place a kiss on my head. “Well, don’t stand there. Sit down.” My brows furrow at her cheery mood, and only then does the presence of food register in my mind.

  Why do we have meat at the house today? It’s not a holiday or a birthday. Mom usually cooks noodles or pasta on the best of days, or buys me a pack of chips on the bad ones.

  I continue to stuff my mouth, dropping onto the chair nearby, and watch Mom carefully while she hums something under her breath and flips… a pancake on the stove?

  “Is that a pancake?” I ask, my mouth stuffed with food.

  She shakes her spatula in my direction. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, honey. Where are your manners?”

  Now uneasiness sinks into my bones, because she is being so nice; too nice.

  The food that was delicious seconds ago transforms into a bitter taste in my mouth.

  I tear a tissue from the box and spit my food into it when she back turns her back to me. Clearing my throat, I ask, “Do we have a celebration?” I’m not sure why I even bother asking at this point; maybe because, each time, I hope she will prove me wrong and act like a mom.

  But my hopes die like a flower plucked from the soil when she announces, “I made a new deal with Jimmy today.”

  Just hearing the name of the man who haunts me everywhere I go feels like someone kicked me in my stomach, and my breath stops in my lungs. “A new deal?”

  “Uh-huh.” She flips the pancake and elaborates in her so-happy tone. “He paid us triple what we usually get for an evening with you.”

  “An evening.” At this point, all I can do is repeat her like a parrot while desperation runs through me.

  She shifts to the side and places a hand on her hip, pointing the spatula at me while ice laces her tone. “Yes. You will go out with him and be nice. Just imagine what we can buy with that money.” Her eyes shine brightly, as if happiness is right beside her, and my mouth scrunches in revulsion at her words.