Twisted Little Games

by Dee Palmer

  Months of talking with my therapist are condensed into this pivotal moment. Phobias are irrational, and I need to embrace that to overcome it. It is what it is because I allow it to control me and only I have the power to change my mindset. It’s just one more step, and I need to take it. I’m ready. I remind myself there is nothing rational about love, yet I want that more than my next breath.

  Closing my eyes, all I can see is her face, her tentative smile and the wrinkle at the bridge of her nose when I do something gross or dumb. I can picture her as clear as if she’s standing before me. The way her eyes light up when she’s talking about an artist she loves, about music and books, restaurants she’d like to try, and places she’d love to visit. Places I want to visit too, cities and experiences I’m never going to be able to share with the woman I love if I don’t fucking move. If I don’t save her. If I don’t manage to… My foot twitches, and I hold my breath. The only sound is the blood rushing in my ears and my heart trying to break free of its bony prison.

  The next thing I feel is a cool rush of air as I step forward…one foot then the other. I don’t stop until one hand is resting flat on the doorframe and the other is gripping the handle. It’s not a death grip either; it’s just firm and with purpose. I have a job to do, and fuck this phobia, I’m going to get it done. I pull the door handle down with a jerk, swing the door wide, and with a strength I didn’t know I had, I step outside for the first time in nearly ten years.

  I stand for a moment on the red tiled porch, which overlooks my substantial patch of front garden, now overgrown with shrubs and untamed rosebushes. I stare out over the horizon, down the hill of the street where I’ve lived all my life. Water glazes my vision, and I have to blink several times because, looking at this view, it’s as if I’m just now seeing it for the first time with fresh eyes and fresher air in my lungs. I’m more than a little shocked I can breathe at all.

  I did it!

  My chest expands, drawing an abundance of air, even liking the subtle clogging scent of early morning fumes from commuting cars, which are starting to stack up in the distance. The noise seems like I’ve lifted my noise cancelling headphones off my ears, and I’m being bombarded with a quality of sound and vision I thought would have me on my knees. My stomach is rolling but it’s not with nerves, it’s something else. I don’t think excitement is quite the right emotion but it’s definitely not fear. I can do this.

  I pull the door shut behind me and swallow the dry lump in my throat at the final clicking sound. This is it. I’m really outside now and turn without thinking too much and make my way down the steps. My hand reaches for the solid stone column supporting the porch overhang, when I get a wave of lightheadedness. Sucking in a deep breath, I focus on my goal. The gate first, then a taxi. Shit! I almost laugh aloud at my fucking stupidity. I pat my back pocket and fish for my phone and keys but not my wallet. Dumbass. I’m so used to paying for everything online or Tia paying for deliveries, I rarely ever carry the damn thing, but in the real world, cash and cards are kind of a necessity, especially since I don’t have a car, and I still need to get from point A to saving Tia.

  Turning around just as I reach the gate, I walk back to the door. My heart starts to pound a little harder, and I curse, I’m going to have to put myself through all of that again.

  Fucking idiot.

  I just have to hope it’s not as bad the second time, because walking through that door was akin to walking through the gates of hell. I was sweating enough, and it sure as shit felt like I was going to burst into flames at one point. The keys jangle in my shaking hand until my fist grips them silent, and I turn the lock. The door creaks open, and I relish the feel of relief at being home, even if it’s short-lived. I pick up my wallet from the table by the bottom of the stairs and turn around to face my nemesis once more.

  “Who the fuck are you?” I stride forward at the mountain blocking my doorway and any chance of daylight getting past his vast frame. I’m only vaguely aware I’ve stepped over my safe distance line without hesitation. There is a stranger in my doorway, and he doesn’t look remotely like a deliveryman or in the least surprised at my instant hostility for that matter.

  “I asked a fairly simple question. Answer it and then get the fuck out of my house!” I state with enough aggression to make my point. If I wasn’t all fucked six ways to Sunday with leaving the damn house for the first time, I might’ve picked up on the alarm bells ringing in my head. As it is, they got drowned out with all the other shit going on, and now it’s a little too late.

  “I can’t do that,” he responds calmly, his face impassive, and he stretches his thick neck to one side as if loosening up. He’s built, and I get the sense this is nothing personal. This is professional, and that’s when I realise he’s not loosening up; he’s warming up.

  He starts to reach for something behind him, and I move too quickly to see the result of his search. I barrel into him, sending us both crashing against the doorframe. His meaty hands rain down onto my back in three hammer-like strikes, winding me, but I still have a firm hold around his midsection. The force of my charge has knocked him off balance enough to drop whatever he was reaching for. I glance in the direction of the noise of an object hitting the floor as a matte black handgun skids across the hallway, drifting to a stop under the sideboard on the far wall.

  The distraction costs me, and I crumple to the floor when his knee drives up between my legs. Stars shoot behind my eyes as pain I never believed possible pierces my balls. My hands cup too late, but honestly, I’m feeling for the ice pick, which must be lodged in there it hurts so damn much. I look up to the shadow of the dark man towering over me.

  “You fight like a girl.” I cough and choke out on a strained voice. Catching the glimmer of enjoyment flashing in his shadowy eyes, his lips curl around an animalistic snarl as he pulls back, and I brace for the hefty fist flying toward my face.

  I lift my head up with enormous effort; the pain in my neck is agony. My head weighs a ton, and the shooting pain inside my damn brain makes me wince; I swear it’s going to explode from the tiniest movement. I must’ve been in this position for a long time for it to hurt like this, and the fact I feel dizzy just lifting my head up off the pillow makes me think I’ve been unconscious for a while. I get an instant flashback. Bright sunlight, green open fields next to our tree and the feeling of rage in my very soul. Then the pinprick to my neck and the sudden heaviness as I slumped against Atticus, but that’s all.

  The motherfucker drugged me!

  The throbbing across my shoulder blades is odd, and I try to move my arm to ease the pain. I get a sharp pinch on the skin at my wrist, and squinting my eyes in the darkened room, I can just make out the shine of a handcuff, although I recognised the feel before the image truly registered.

  What the hell?

  My eyes feel raw and strain in the darkness to work out my surroundings. It’s too dark to make anything out; however, the dusty, bookish aroma and hint of long since extinguished cigars is enough for me to figure out exactly where I am.

  I’ve spent more days than I care to remember in this room with Atticus’s grandfather. When he wasn’t well enough to sit in the library, we would be here. It held almost as many books as most public libraries, and with the dressing room, seating area, and en suite it was bigger than most houses. He taught me many things, and I blame myself entirely for ignoring the most important: Never trust anyone. Fuck!

  I tug on the cuff, the chain rattles, and I get a little more movement when the other end slips along the iron railing of the bedpost. It’s not much, just enough for me to pitch up on my elbows and stare into the darkness. There’s not a scrap of light, not even under the door. Carefully turning my head to where I think the windows are, again, there’s nothing. No sunbeams filtering through, or moonbeams for that matter. I have no idea how long I’ve been unconscious, and the heavy velvet curtains are perfect for maintaining my ignorance.

  I let my head fall back on the p
illow and close my eyelids, resting my eyes. They feel sore and tired from straining to see anything at all. Pulling at my restraints just hurts my skin, and even shaking the bedpost to get some movement simply hurts my head too much. I slump back again in defeat. This was not part of my plan. I let out a hollow laugh that echoes off into the darkness, mocking me.

  Stupid girl. Stupid, stupid girl. You couldn’t just keep your legs shut and your eyes on the prize. Worst of all, you had to show your fucking hand before everything was in place.

  How long is it going to take Atticus to find out I’ve been in his office, on his computer. I as good as told him I knew everything, and I’m pretty sure from his reaction to my outburst he must know the truth.

  If that’s the case, he will damn well know my motivation for destroying him is on fucking point. I let out a heavy breath, feeling a wave of sickness wash over me. My tummy grumbles, and I place my hand over the noise as if it will mask my discomfort.

  I need time to think.

  If he knows everything, then why am I still here? Where does that leave us? Because I doubt he was entirely honest about his intentions, given that he’s clearly happy enough to drug me and chain me to the bed. But why am I still alive? I turn onto my side, pulling my knees up to my chest and curling into a tight ball.

  Because he needs the money, you dumb bitch.

  As my eyes drift shut and exhaustion begins to take me under, I wonder why he took this route at all. Not when my heart was so damn close to giving him everything all over again. He must’ve known that; he knows me, all of me, always has. I may have told him that wasn’t the case. I wanted to hurt him, and I needed put the necessary barrier between us, but I’m stunned to think he believed me.

  God my head aches. I can’t think straight. None of this makes any sense, because even if that was the case, surely after everything we did more recently, he must’ve felt the shift between us, so why resort to such drastic tactics? Why couldn’t he just tell me the truth? Maybe I don’t know what the truth is anymore.

  This is such a fucked up mess. I open my eyes in the darkness as my mind flashes to the last time I was in here, just over five years ago.

  The curtains are fully drawn and a harsh, dust-laden light streaks across the room. The particles dance in large, billowing swirls as the gust from the open door dispels the stale air in the room. Oskar’s personal nurse has just left to take her lunch. I passed her in the corridor, and she gave me the okay to visit. I didn’t want to disturb him if he’d finally managed to fall asleep. Oskar has been struck down with a nasty virus and hasn’t been able to get up for days. I’m mid exams so haven’t been able to visit as much as I’d like. My last one is tomorrow, and I need a break. Since Atticus’s brief visit, I have been busting to tell Oskar the news.

  I walk over to the window since Oskar’s eyes are closed, and he looks peaceful, a rare state for him these days. I cast my gaze outward over the walled garden, which is filled to brimming with summer flowers and roses in full and fragrant bloom. I mentally note to make some time to cut myself a bouquet. Mrs Kraus would likely kill me, but since she spends most of her days at their London apartment, I feel safe a few missing stems will go unnoticed. I’ll get some for Oskar too; this room could do with a burst of colour from some fresh cut flowers. His fragile voice brings my focus back into he room.

  “How are they going?” He pats the space beside him. His oversized wrought iron four-poster bed dwarfs his prone figure, which seems to diminish in presence each time I visit. I swallow the lump that claws at my throat and fight the prickle of tears, which permanently threaten to fall every time I see him lately. He’s changed so much. He looks so frail I’m reluctant to even sit close when he calls me over again. The slight movement of the bed causes him to groan in agony, and it’s killing me to see such a great man this way.

  “Oh, you know, exams are always fun,” I quip with a wry smile.

  “For a smart girl like you, I’m sure they are a breeze.” I hold his hand in mine and carefully take my place just where he wants me. His hand feels cold, and the skin is paper thin, mottled with prominent blue and purple veins straddling the protruding bones. His smile is brighter than his weak, chesty voice would credit, and he squeezes my hand with surprising strength. “You study hard enough. I’m more than confident you will get all A stars.”

  “I need all A stars so I hope you’re right.” I snort.

  “Nonsense. And for heavens sake, you can relax Tia. I know you’re not really sitting down, stop hovering girl. You won’t break me.” He tuts and draws his brows into a thick line of a mock reprimand. I’m about to chuckle when he extinguishes any remote particle of humour with his next statement. “I’m already too far gone for you to cause any more damage.”

  “Oh, Oskar, please don’t talk like that.” I shake my head vigorously, unable to bear the thought for a single moment. I sit up and challenge not only him but his damn illness. “The doctor said this is just a cold. You’ve got years left, and you know it.”

  “He was being optimistic; however, I will embrace the notion as best I can. I will also concede this damn infection has taken a little of my sparkle.” He grins, his eyes twinkle, and I laugh.

  “But none of your mischief; I’ve seen the way you charm your nurse.” I raise a knowing brow, and he joins me, laughing lightly.

  “She’s a sweet lady, Tia, if I was thirty years younger.” He hums playfully, and I know at any other time I might be embarrassed at the inappropriate insinuation, but I’m happy he’s enjoying himself. Any distraction from the pain is a good thing in my book. “I’m grateful for the company even if I am having to pay for it. I have missed you.” His voice drops, and I get a twist in my gut at the heartbroken look he is sending my way. I’ve been using my exams as an excuse, and he knows it. It’s just, after he told me about his arrangement with his ‘wife’ and Atticus’s grandmother, I didn’t want to be around him.

  “I’m sorry.” I mean it. He holds my gaze with the weight of that awful conversation hanging between us. “I’m sorry I judged you, Oskar, but Cass isn’t like you. He loves me too much to put me through that.”

  “Really?” He lifts his head and turns fully to face me. The surprise on his face makes me think Atticus hasn’t shared our news.

  “Yes, we spoke last night, and he told me he isn’t going to go through with the engagement. He’s going to come back and live here for good as soon as he can.” I can’t fight the smile that splits my face with saying the words, and I don’t want to. Oskar’s face is impassive, and his response is like a slap to my cheek.

  “I see.”

  “What? What do you mean, ‘I see’? This has nothing to do with anyone other than me and Atticus.” I pull my hand from his and feel the prickles of anger spike through my blood, stiffening my frame, and making my hackles rise to full attention.

  “That’s where you are very wrong.” His brow furrows, causing even more wrinkles to settle above his dark frown.

  “Well, Atticus doesn’t see it like you do. He doesn’t think expanding the company and securing whatever this engagement is supposed to secure is worth losing me. He has all this.” I wave my hand to indicate the room, the Hall, everything the eye can see, for fuck sake. “One day he will have the Kraus Corporation in Europe and Tartarus Hall and all the other properties the family owns; so maybe he’s not greedy. Maybe that’s enough for him. Maybe not breaking the heart of the girl he loves is worth not having few extra pounds in the bank.” I exhale, unloading all the anger with the rush of words. My blood feels like it’s boiling even as I try to calm myself and try to remember I’m hitting a new low for me, attacking a very poorly man with my, albeit justified, outburst.

  “The company will be much weaker for this decision Tia. It is not just your heart at stake. His mother will not approve.”

  “Atticus can handle his mother, Oskar.”

  “In the long run Tia, you need to know this is all insignificant. Atticus will only have all of t
his if he marries you,” Oskar responds with an even tone, unfazed by my rant.

  “Exactly. Wait… What?” I have to do a double take as his words sink in, shaking my head with the instant confusion. “Sorry, what…what do you mean? You want him to marry someone else remember?”

  “Not marry, he just has to remain engaged for a few years. I only ever wanted him to marry you. He has to marry you.”

  “Sorry, Oskar, but I don’t want him to do anything that’s going to make him unhappy. And breaking my heart kind of makes him very unhappy.” My tone is drenched in sarcasm, and I snip the words out with a tight, humourless smile.

  “Tia, you need to listen. God, if you’d only been a boy.” He sighs and my head is just a foggy mess of incomprehension. What the hell is he talking about now?

  “What the what now? Atticus isn’t gay.”

  “No, I am aware of that.” His sniffs derisively. “I am also aware that he is not my true grandson.”

  “No, sorry, you’re going to have to say that again.” I tilt my head like I’m suddenly hard of hearing. None of this is making any sense.

  “I wish he was. I so very much wish he was, but he isn’t.” His smile softens with remorse, and I take his hand. He’s obviously confused, and this is starting to upset him.

  “He has your eyes, Oskar. Of course he’s your grandson.” I cup my other hand over his and squeeze, trying to ease his rising agitation.

  “I only have one bloodline heir, and she has my son’s eyes.”

  “Oskar, are you okay? Have they changed your meds, because you are not making any sense,” I ask, my voice soothing. His eyes are glassy, and I can feel the slight tremor in his hand.

  “It’s important you don’t say anything Tia. You would be in great danger. Until you are twenty-five, until you are married to Atticus, you are in danger,” he whispers, tugging me to come closer. I chuckle at the dramatics, realising I may have lost him to his wandering mind.