by Box Set
Lifting my eyes, I glower at Charlie. “Of course I know that.”
Why does he have to point that out now?
“Do you want to go back to him?” He reaches for one of my hands, but I don't feel his touch.
His question echoes.
Do I want to go back to Maksim?
I'm not sure it's a matter of wanting to go back to him. It's a matter of knowing I have to. Regardless of how much I want to stay with Charlie, my subconscious works on another level. I'd probably end up returning to Maksim in my sleep, if I didn't willingly go in my conscious state.
Just do your job and come home to me, Maksim said. Recalling his orders seem to put me back two and a half months. I'm Blaire, My Little Pet, again.
There's this weird ringing in my ears and it won't go away.
“Blaire?” Charlie gently tugs my hand, trying to grasp my attention.
I nervously scratch the side of my leg with my free hand.
“Do you want to go back to him?”
“Yes,” I say, though I don't let on that I might miss Charlie. What's the point?
“I don't believe you,” he says softly.
“Why not?” I peer up at him, then I look past him because I cannot stand that intense blue stare of his.
“Because I think you're lying.”
“I'm not,” I say innocently. “I've really come to...I don't know...enjoy being around you, but I've known Maksim longer than I've known myself. My life is with him. It's all I know. It's all I'm allowed to know.”
“He treats you like a dog. You can't possibly want to go back to that?”
“Yes, you're right, he does.” For some unknown reason, I get lost in my explanation, in trying to make Charlie understand me. “He beats me for his own pleasure and pets me for mine. I protect him. I work for him. I study, execute jobs, and that is it. I'm not meant for another life. I won't be able to function properly in another life.”
Charlie takes my other hand and runs his thumbs over my knuckles, but still, his touch doesn't affect me.
“You can have a different life if you want one, Blaire,” he says, his eyes glowing with desperation. “If you want to stay with me, you can, and you won't ever, EVER have to fight or kill to please Maksim again.”
The ringing in my ears intensifies. I start blinking really fast, trying to get rid of that annoying sound.
“Blaire?” Charlie whispers. “Baby, what is it?”
Snatching out of his grasps, I pace my room, raking my fingers through my waist length hair.
If you want to stay with me, you can, Charlie said, like he's God or something.
Maksim told me to complete my jobs and come home. That's what I have to do. I know it. Deep down, I know it. But, why is something in the back of my mind telling me to choose Charlie?
I feel all jumbled up inside. My ears are ringing and my head is pounding.
“Blaire,” Charlie implores, “stay with me. Don't go back to—”
“You think you can offer to keep me, and I'll leap into your arms?” I say through gritted teeth, cutting him off. “You think you can take me away from Maksim?”
“You've enjoyed being here,” he says with caution, “being able to live and being able to feel alive. Why wouldn't you want that?”
“Yes, I have enjoyed the past weeks,” I say hopelessly. “But I cannot stay with you in this make believe life.”
“Why can't you?”
“Because I'm wired wrong!” I yell, pointing at my head. “And I can't do anything to change it. I-I want to please Maksim—he's my master. He's all I know.”
“You've barely mentioned him over the past two months,” Charlie says frankly. “He can't mean that much to you.”
“It's you!” I pull at my hair, needing to feel pain, pacing faster now. “I did forget, but now you've put him in my head with just saying his name...I can't...Fuck!” I stop dead in the middle of my bedroom. “I can't think about anything but him!”
“You can learn to be different.” Charlie closes the space between us. “You can change the way you think.”
“Ohhh, because it's so easy, isn't it?” I cannot keep the sarcasm out of my voice. I go around the room again, holding my head. “I wish you didn't bring him up. I wish you wouldn't talk about him. You make me think of my orders.”
“I'm trying to help you.”
“That's a lofty goal,” I scoff.
“Don't you dare get snarky with me, Cariño.” His eyes narrow. “Not now.”
“Ugh...Charlie,” I sigh his name, rubbing my temples. “You just don't get it.”
“Tell me then.” He reaches out to me like he's praying or something. “Make me understand. I'm here. I'm listening.”
A while passes where I don't know what to say. Then it spills out of me. I ramble on about who I was and who I am now. “I've never even spoken to someone the way I speak to you, and I probably won't ever again. I wouldn't dream of it. But you...you make me feel...everything goes out the window with you!” I wave out angrily. “You're going to get me in trouble because when I go back to Maksim, I won't be the same and he'll torture me for it.”
“Then don't go back to him,” Charlie says. “Come and live with me in Mexico.”
“What?” My face scrunches up. “I can't decide that.” The penny drops, and I stop pacing again. “Is this why you keep asking me questions about living in Mexico? Are you trying to take me from Maksim?”
“No. I want you to decide for yourself.”
“You know I can't do that.” I clench my teeth, trying to keep it together, but I can feel my cool slowly slipping away. “I do care about you, Charlie, that's obvious, but the fact is, I belong to Maksim, and nothing you say or do can change that.”
“You can decide for yourself,” Charlie says. “I don't give a shit about how ruthless and brainwashing Maksim is. You'd rip him apart, and you damn well know it.”
“I can't hit him.”
Hunching down, Charlie meets me at eye level. “Why not?”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“Why can't you hit him?”
“You know why.”
He shakes his head. “I know you think you can't, but believe me, you can.” He scans my face, going quiet for a few seconds. “All you have to do is raise this”—grabbing my hand, he makes me ball my fist—“and swing.”
I don't know what happens to me, but I explode.
“Aargh!” I punch him in the chest, hating the way he's gotten in my head. “Why have you done this to me? Why did you buy me and make me feel things I don't want to feel?”
Charlie doesn't fight back when I punch his chest again. He just stands there looking down at me. I hit him over and over, pounding viciously.
“Why?! Charlie? Fucking tell me why!” Because he isn't answering me, I really lose it. I grab my jacket hanging by the bedroom door, pull out my gun, and put it to my head. “Is all this because Maksim wronged you?!” I scream. It's like shards of glass tearing through my throat. “Are you breaking me down to get some payback?!”
Silence. I can almost hear Charlie’s heart pounding through the tension.
“Tell me”—I click back the hammer—“or I’ll fucking shoot myself.”
Charlie sprints at me and snatches the gun out of my hand. I hear a loud thud—I think he's tossed the gun somewhere—and then he uses his full strength to put me down. I fight against him, scratching to get free, but I'm not in my right mind. Fisting the back of my hair, Charlie drags me across the room and folds me over the bed. He presses a forearm across the back of my shoulders, burying my face in the mattress.
“Calm down,” he says.
“You're a twisted bastard,” I spit out weakly, turning my head to the side so I can breathe. “I'm a cold blooded murderer. I've taken hundreds of lives, some with my own two hands,” I taunt him, my endeavor to make him hate me. “And you want me? You want to take me out on stupid dinner dates? You want me to come and live with you? Be with you?
Do you know what sick things I've done?”
“I don't care,” he says under his breath.
“I once butchered a man, Charlie.” I moan beneath the pressure of his weight. “I cut off each of his body parts while he scream-cried for me to stop, and I bathed in his blood for Maksim. I've blown away entire families. Killed people before they were barely out of their teenage years. I've watched girls get raped and done nothing. NOTHING! Do you still want me now?”
Pressing me further into the mattress, he puts his mouth on my ear, and whispers, “No matter what you tell me, I'll still want you. You're worth saving, and do you know why?”
A huge lump forms in my throat.
“Because you feel guilt for the things you've done.”
“I don't,” I say with pity, barely convincing myself.
“You do. I know you do. I've heard your screams in the middle of the night. You beg for someone to stop the torment—and don't tell me you beg for someone to stop Maksim from hitting you because you say names, and none of them were ever Maksim's. Nothing you say can change the way I feel about you, Blaire, because regardless of all you've done, you're innocent. You want to be guilt free.”
“Stop! Please...Just stop!” I beg, unable to take this.
“No. I won't stop. You need to know that I really, really care about you. You need to know that I won't let you suffer because of what Maksim's turned you into.”
I'm shaking now, tears leaking out the corners of my eyes.
“You're lying,” I say naively. “You don't care about me. You care about your objective.”
“No, baby, you've got that all wrong. I fucking care about you, and I won't sit back and watch you sell your soul to the devil before you've barely become a woman.”
I burst into tears, unable to stop, my entire body wracked with emotions that I just don't understand.
“I-I won't come with you, Charlie,” I snivel. “I won't come and live with you in Mexico. No matter what you say or do, I'll-I’ll go back to Maksim.”
He doesn't say anything to that, so I just cry away my pain.
“Shhh, baby.” He strokes down the side of my face, catching my tears. “S'all right.”
“It's not all right,” I sob each word. “I'm not all right.” I'm lost.
I'm inundated in tears, sobbing like a child, soaking the blanket under me.
When my body goes flaccid, Charlie pulls me down to the floor with him and gathers me in his lap. He rocks me back and forth, telling me again, “Everything's gonna be all right. I promise.”
I bury my face in his chest and cry so hard that my belly hurts, often squeezing out hiccupping whimpers. I don't even really know why I'm crying. Am I sad because whatever is happening between Charlie and me will be over soon? Do I miss Maksim? Am I just angry? Did Charlie's words cut too deep?
I just don't know.
“I'm sorry,” Charlie whispers against the top of my head. “This was never supposed to happen.”
29
I wake alone in bed the next day, and cold, but I'm okay. I feel no anger, no confusion, nor a sense of being lost. Having a little cry seems to have helped because I actually feel okay.
Once I've showered and dressed in the usual, I go downstairs. Charlie isn't in the kitchen. He hasn't made breakfast, I notice, checking inside the oven, so I wander into the living room on a hunch. He's in here, amongst piles of clothes and handbags and shoes. He doesn't greet me with the usual, morning Blaire. He doesn't even look at me. It's as if he can't. He just stands there at the other end of the room, by the huge window, wearing gray joggers—no top. His glossy black hair is freely curling around his neck and face, and his broad, masculine body looks exquisite under the morning's sunshine coming in through the window.
“Morning,” I say, smiling at him.
He doesn't answer me, and my heart sinks a little.
“Did you rob a clothes store?” I laugh warily, grabbing a pair of trainers from the coffee table. They're nice. I turn them over. And my size.
“It's all from a truck robbery.” He glances over everything, his expression dark and almost empty. “I'm holding it all here for a friend.” There's something tense in his voice.
When I peer up at him again, I see two Mexican looking guys lingering by the open doors that lead off the living room, onto the backyard. “Hello, Señorita Blaire,” the taller of the two says.
I force a smile to say hi back. Charlie tells them to give us a minute, and they do, head bowing respectfully to him, and then me.
“How are you feeling this morning, Blaire?” Charlie says, crossing his arms. He stays on the other side of the living room, behind the couches, and I see it's true. He can't look me in the eyes.
“I'm fine.” I dismiss him because I don't want to go over last night. I lift the trainers to show him. “I like these.”
He frowns, staring at the trainers in my hands. “Have them if you like them. Have whatever you want.”
Sitting down on the leather couch, I kick off my trainers and put on the new ones, twisting and turning my ankles to get a good look at them.
“Put them in your bedroom, so they don't get taken,” Charlie says. He still doesn't sound like himself. His tone is flat, a million miles away from here.
“What's wrong?” Putting my old trainers in the box, I get up and roam over to him, pulling the sleeves of my sweater over my hands. “Why do you sound like that?”
He turns his back on me and gazes out of the window. His broad shoulders rise and fall with long, drawn out breaths.
My stomach twists with rejection.
“Charlie?” I touch his shoulder, desperate for his attention.
“You put a fucking gun to your head last night”—he's speaking to the window—“that's what's wrong.”
I'm stunned, and I know I look it. I revealed to him an inkling of what sick, twisted things I've done in my life, and he's upset because I put a gun to my head?
I should have pulled the trigger. The world would be a better, safer place without me in it.
“I'm hungry, Charlie.” I decide not to answer him. Not that he asked me a question, but I know he's expecting me to say something.
“Tojo!” he calls out, making me jump.
A dark-haired guy—the taller of the two who were in here a moment ago—pops his head in through the open back doors.
“Have the housekeeper whip up some eggs for Blaire,” Charlie says.
Tojo nods and leaves immediately.
“The housekeeper?”
“Yeah.” Charlie sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “I sent her away when I brought you here. She's back now.”
“Oh.” I linger by Charlie, picking at my nails. I don't really know what to say.
After a while of silence, he faces me, his arms still folded over his chest. I don't look up at him, but I can sense he's staring at me. He stares for so long that I burn under his gaze.
What is he thinking? Does he think I'm crazy? I am, so I wouldn't blame him if he did.
“The job is happening tomorrow.” He breaks the silence.
Finally, I lift my eyes to his, immediately wishing I didn't. He still cannot hold my focus.
“We need you to shut London down”—he glances away, and then back at me but only for a second, grinding his jaw—“and then you can go home.”
WHAT? But we still have a week left...and he wanted to go out for dinner.
“We'll leave first thing in the morning,” he says.
Out of nowhere, while I’m staring at his face, tears well-up in my eyes.
“You got that, Blaire?”
I nod at him a few times, trying to study his deadpan expression.
He says nothing, and I can't stomach the way he's struggling to look at me, so I walk past him for the garden. I need some space.
Home. I'll be going home tomorrow and all this will be over.
Why the hell do I feel so sad?
“Blaire, I’m sorry,” Charlie says, fol
lowing after me. “Wait.”
I stop on cue, as if his orders affect me like Maksim's do.
“I don't want you to go,” he whispers from behind. I can feel the warmth from his body at my back. It makes me think about how I woke up this morning without him in my bed.
“I want you to stay with me,” he says. “I'll make Maksim give you to me, even if I have to pay him to tell you you're free.”
I swallow down the lump in my throat. That's not ever going to happen. Maksim will die before giving me up indefinitely. I'm his. I know I'm his, and even while he's clearly scared of Charlie—I just know he won't give me up. I don't even want to choose Charlie over Maksim because when all is said and done, Maksim and I are the same. We're both as fucked up as each other.
“Blaire, I want you. I dunno how many different ways I can tell you.” Charlie sounds frustrated, his tone of voice sharp and demanding. “I want you to come and live with me in Mexico. I want to be with you.”
I remain quiet, staring down the garden, my throat swelling up even more. I just don't know what to tell him.
“All right,” he says, clutching at straws, “if Mexico is the problem, I'll buy you a place in England, or wherever you want to be—away from Maksim. I’ll set you up with an allowance so you'll never be without. I'll come see you as often as I can. No one will know where you are.” He goes right into selling a new life to me.
Does he really think Mexico is the problem?
He touches my arm from behind, trying to grasp my attention. “Why aren't you saying anything?”
I scratch my face, searching for the words. “I...I just...Thanks for treating me well, Charlie. It's been...different.” That's all I have, and I say it knowing my fairytale has come to an end.
“Thanks?” he questions, scoffing like he can't quite believe I just said that. “I don't want you to thank me. I want you to say you'll stay with me. Please, Blaire. Or tell me what I have to do?”
I remain staring down the garden. “There's nothing you can do, Charlie. I'm sorry.”
I wander off into the garden, and I'm surprised that he doesn't stop me. I wish he would stop me. I wish he would stop me and tell me that we can have this last week together.
