by Linnea May
“Good.”
I bite my lower lip, suddenly overcome with fear when he yanks at the rope again, beckoning me to follow him as he walks toward the door. I was so set on getting out of this terribly bleak cell that I never wasted a thought on what could await me outside.
Freedom? No. I know he won’t let me go just like that.
He can’t. He wouldn’t.
There’s something behind all of this, something deeper and more profound than me just being locked away in a dark cellar. He’s not done with me. But whatever he has planned can’t possibly be worse than being locked up down here.
Can it?
As I hear the door opening, I’m suddenly overcome with doubt and terror. What if he were merely protecting me from something? What if whatever is waiting for me out there is far worse than this?
It’s too late now. He yanks at the rope, causing it to cut into my wrists with painful ferocity when I hesitate to follow him through the door.
“Trust me.” He says those words with such nonchalance, as if it should be the most natural thing.
Trust him.
How can I after all he’s done to me?
The door snaps shut so loudly that I jerk up in shock. My heart continues its nervous hammering as we walk farther, slowly moving away from the cell I despise so much but that I’m now afraid to leave. He’s staying close to me, very close, and I can feel his eyes on me even with the blindfold shielding me from reciprocating the look.
We reach a set of stairs, slowing our pace even more when we start to make our way up. It’s a narrow staircase, not leaving enough room for him to walk next to me, even though I can tell he’d prefer that. There’s another door at the top, another lock to make sure I couldn’t go anywhere even if I had managed to sneak past him through the door downstairs.
The heavy blindfold is fastened around my head so tightly that I can’t tell whether it’s light or dark wherever we are right now, but my ears aren’t blocked quite as much. I can hear a rushing sound in the far distance, so faint that I’m not even sure it’s there at first. When I turn my head, following the indistinct noise, he yanks at the rope again, moving a lot faster than before as he pulls me.
As we continue walking, I realize there’s one thing I know for sure: we’re walking on tile now. Warm tile, revealing the existence of floor heating. It feels so different against my bare feet, so much more comfortable than the cold and rough concrete from downstairs. The air around me feels different, too. It’s airy and fresh, and with a hint of something I can’t quite place. It’s not an actual smell, more of a... taste.
Salt, maybe?
He drags me along, walking in even quicker and wider steps as if he were afraid of something, or as if we were being followed. We reach another set of stairs, my bare feet meeting yet another new surface. Wood, I believe. Sturdy wood steps that creak as we walk upstairs. He’s walking next to me now, holding the end of the rope in one hand while placing the other at my back, adding a gentle push to his guidance.
“No lingering,” he warns when I hesitate as we reach the top of the stairs, trying to find my bearings.
“I’m just—”
“Hush.”
This time his yank is so strong it evokes a groan of pain from me, and I hurry to keep up with his fast stride, if only to minimize the pain in my wrists. We’re moving to the right, then to the left, and to the right again, leaving me guessing how far we’ve actually moved away from the stairs when he stops so abruptly that I bump into him. It’s not until I hear a door being closed behind my back that I realize we must be inside a room.
He lets go of the rope, and I lower my hands in anticipation, breathing heavily as I turn my head from left to right, feeling his presence behind my back. I flinch when I feel his hands on me again, resting on my shoulders for a moment before he moves them up to untie the knot of the blindfold.
“Welcome home, Petal.”
The words embrace me like a heavy cloak, providing an ominous sense of premonition while he removes the dark velvet from my face in a solemn gesture. I’m finally allowed to take in my whereabouts, hope and fear blending into a wild mix of emotions before they are replaced by something else.
Disappointment.
Because just like the cell downstairs, this room also lacks a view to the outside. It’s much bigger than the basement, and there are two big windows at the wall opposite to the door, but both of them are shielded, boarded up with wooden planks, not letting in a single ray of light, making the room just as dark and hopeless as the one downstairs, with just a single light bulb at the center providing a source of light that allows me to see anything at all.
However, other than that, this chamber couldn’t be more different. I’m standing on a thick carpet, feeling soft against my naked feet that have known nothing but concrete for as long as I can remember. The entire room is kept in bright colors, white, light beige and blush pink accents scattered across the interior. It looks like the bedroom of a princess, with a big canopy bed standing against the wall to my right, adorned with a superfluous amount of pillows in blush pink and white; matching nightstands on both sides of the bed and an upholstered bench at the foot of it; plus a small round table surrounded by two chairs at the other side of the room. There’s a glass vase on top of it with a single long-stemmed white rose inside. My eyes linger on the rose for a few moments, comforted by the sight of its bright and healthy blossom. It’s beautiful, much too splendid to carve out a miserable existence in this plush prison.
Still, I can’t stop myself from smiling. It may just be a plant, but it’s still a living thing, someone to share the room with. My deep yearning for company shows in the way I instantly feel less alone at the prospect of sharing this chamber with a pretty flower.
There’s nothing else, but I notice two doors, one on the left wall and one to my right, next to the bed. Both of them are closed, and if I should guess, based on my experience, probably locked.
“So,” I hear his dark voice behind my back, foreboding as his gesture as he reaches for my shoulder to turn me around to face him. His gaze is hard and unyielding, faint creases appearing between his brows as he regards me through narrow eyes.
“I didn’t hear you say thank you.”
Chapter 19
J
A taste of rebellion scurries across her pretty face in response to my words. It doesn’t surprise me. I knew she would rediscover that trait of defiance once she recovered from a climax that robbed more of my own sanity than hers. She has never been a weak person, even if others may have seen her that way.
I never did. I always saw what she was capable of, and I knew she would test me like no other.
“Thank you for what?” she asks, casting a cute little frown at me. “We had a deal. I kept my end, you kept yours. Kind of.”
“Kind of?” I let out a dark laugh that causes her to tense up in defense. “I told you I would let you out of that basement, didn’t I?”
“Yes, but—”
“No but,” I cut her off. “I did exactly what I promised. As did you.”
Even in the dim light, I can see her blushing as I step closer, stroking along the side of her face, relishing the heat that’s still radiating from her even now. It’s nothing compared to the fire that was burning inside her when she lay before me, squirming with need in spite of herself. The rapture that took over her entire body was more than even I could have ever imagined. I’m less surprised than her to see that she’s this responsive to my ways, but the extent of it still astonishes me.
“You have no idea how beautiful you were,” I say in a low voice, reveling in the way her eyelashes flutter nervously as I speak.
“Please,” she breathes, unable to reciprocate my gaze. “Please tell me what this is about.”
The tremor in her voice is a harbinger of the tears that are to come. But as much as I enjoy seeing her cry, it’s not what I aim for at this very moment.
“This is all about you, Petal,�
� I say, reaching up to caress her pretty cheek again. But she jerks away, evading my touch while casting me a furious look.
“All about me?” she snarls, adding a cynical laugh that she will regret later. “You won’t even tell me who I am! You... kidnapped me, drugged me, locked me away and there’s... there’s something wrong with my head!”
She’s shrieking now, making room for all that enraged fear and frustration that’s been piling up while she carved out her miserable existence downstairs. She points at her temple, twirling her finger in hectic circles in a universal sign for madness.
“You... something happened to me,” she stutters, her voice trembling as much as her lips while her eyes begin to water. “I got erased. All of me. There’s nothing left of me. I have nothing! And—”
“Yes, you do,” I interrupt her, speaking calmly but loud enough to make her stop. “You have me.”
Her eyes widen and she looks at me as if she can’t believe I just said that.
“You,” she breathes. “I don’t know who you are either.”
She stops, a crooked smile gracing her face as she shakes her head. “All I know is that you’re a monster.”
I laugh darkly. Maybe she’s right. I am a monster. A monster she called for.
Our eyes lock onto each other, hers narrow and flickering with dismay, while I’m sure she can read nothing in mine as I try to hide my inner turmoil before her.
It still gets to me. Having her here, in my house, seeing her look at me like this, with such undivided attention. It’s something I’ve been craving for years. She has never truly been mine, she never could. There were always others keeping us apart, keeping her safe from me. And maybe it was for the better. Maybe all the things that happened had to happen before she could become mine.
She still has those same vibrant eyes she had back then. There was always so much life behind them, so much strength and a fierce attitude that was just waiting to be freed. Her relationship with other people has always been complicated. If it weren’t for Malia, I’m not sure there’s ever been a person she could call a friend. She was lonely, an outcast in her own way, while still being a member of the small community she grew up in. The pain she endured during all those years has left its mark on her, casting that characteristic sorrow over her features. It was part of her beauty, that sadness, but it stabbed me right in the chest every time I saw it.
Not that any of that matters now. She doesn’t remember any of the ghosts that have been haunting her for her entire life. She doesn’t remember them, and she doesn’t remember the only two people who were willing to help her put an end to it: her only friend, Malia, and me.
I can’t expect her gratitude. Not now. Maybe not ever.
But I can expect her obedience. She has been molded to comply her entire life. But her submission has been to the wrong man, the wrong will, the wrong path.
This journey is less natural than the one she was forced to follow before, but it’s the salvation she seeks and deserves. And it’s my job to guide her through it.
“It doesn’t matter what you think of me, Petal,” I say, crossing my arms in front of my chest. “Hate me if you want to. The only thing that matters to me is that you remember my rules—and comply with them.”
“Why?” she probes. “Because you’ll send me back to the basement if I don’t?”
I nod. “Correct. That’s where we’d start.”
She can’t hide the terror that washes over her at the prospect of being subjected to something worse than the basement cell. Visibly fighting to maintain her composure, she swallows hard, taking a deep breath before she says, “And if I obey, I get more... treats?”
She spits that last word as if it were an insult, wrinkling her nose to add to her display of disgust.
“That’s how it works,” I agree. “Though I would argue that some of the things I ask of you aren’t all that bad. Ain’t that right, Petal?”
She blushes in an instant, understanding exactly what I’m referring to. Her orgasm was real. And not only that, it was intense and breathtakingly beautiful, not just for her. I could feel her muscles spasm out of control, clenching around my finger while her climax took over, culminating in a rapture that was more than even I had expected.
It was everything I could ever ask for. She was so lost, so detached from everything that surrounded her, so elated and dazed with unbridled bliss. I wonder if she’s ever come like this before, and it torments me that I will never know.
Seeing her like that drove me mad to a point that was almost unbearable. My cock was so hard that the tension grew painful as it stretched its fabric cage. I’m still hard, my entire being still throbbing with desire for her, and I know it won’t go away until I’ve finally had her. I need her sprawled out beneath me, crying and calling my name as she explodes again and again, wrapped around my cock in various positions.
But not yet. Not as long as she still looks at me with that confused fear.
She needs to grow addicted to me as much as I’m already addicted to her.
She needs to want it.
“You tricked me,” she whispers. “You put something in my food, that’s why—”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I cut her off, closing the distance between us and grabbing her so quickly that she has no way of evading me this time. I hold her face between my hands, making sure to keep her ears uncovered so she can hear me. “Don’t try to find a lame excuse for what happened downstairs, Petal. You came on my hand like a good girl, you drooled all over me, you lost it—you completely lost it. I was there. I saw it. Don’t try to blame it on anything other than the truth.”
“The truth?” She furrows her eyebrows, pouting as I tighten the grip on her pretty little face.
“Yes, the truth,” I confirm.
“Which is?”
A smirk plays at the corner of my mouth, a sign of gleeful anticipation as I’m getting ready to disclose something to her that she may not be ready to hear.
Chapter 20
Petal
“That you are mine. Mine to train, mine to play with, mine to please my every desire. And you fucking love it.”
That’s what he said. And he said it with a confidence that is nothing but appalling.
I just stood there staring at him in disbelief while he took the chance to steal another kiss from me. I didn’t fight him on it, but I didn’t reciprocate the kiss either. I just let it happen.
I just let it happen.
Apparently that has become my MO in almost everything he does to me. I obey, I follow, I do as I’m told.
And he just assumes I love it. That I love being his little pet, his toy to play with whenever he wants.
He said that. And then he left the room. Not another word, not another command, not another touch. He just left me in a bewildered stupor, trying to figure out how I feel about the things he said.
I remained frozen on the spot for a few moments, as if I were expecting him to return to me right away. But he’s never done that. Once he’s out the door, it always takes a painfully long time until I see him again.
Painfully long?
What am I saying? Has it really gotten that bad? Do I prefer the presence of a monster to the solitude that’s been forced upon me? At least no one is hurting me when I’m by myself.
Or touching me. Or playing with my head. The latter I can do by myself. Every living thing goes nuts eventually if you lock them up in a confined space with nothing to occupy themselves with.
Time is still a mystery to me. The windows in this room have been boarded up so thoroughly that it’s impossible to tell whether it’s light or dark outside. Or so I believe. They were the first thing I checked after he’d left the room and I found myself able to wake from my paralyzed state. I scurried over to the windows, taking my time to examine the frames in search of a gap or any kind of fault that would allow me to draw conclusions. Anything at all. Even information as mundane as the time of day would get me somewhere. I think
. It would be something to hold on to, a first step to get me closer to sanity and some control over my existence.
I didn’t find anything that would help me get there, but I set out to keep an eye on the windows to see whether there’s even the slightest hint of change over time.
I wander around the room, seemingly aimlessly. The white rose is a recurring visitor in my sight. I walk up to it, tenderly grazing the white petals with the tip of my finger as if I was caressing her.
“What do you know?” I whisper, tilting my head in question. “I wish you could tell me what you’ve seen, what you know about him.”
Just like everyone else in this house, the rose remains silent, its blossom bobbing faintly when I let go of it.
I continue my room tour over to the bed, testing it to find out the mattress is so soft it almost scares me. It’s too good, too comfortable. I don’t want to live in a fool’s paradise, but this is exactly what it feels like. Everything in this room is lush. The bed is soft and inviting, the linen smelling of fresh flowers. Too good, too nice. So staggeringly different to the only other world I know, the concrete cell downstairs.
I don’t have to try the door he walked out of to know it’s going to be locked, but I’m curious to check the other two. However, just as I walk over to the one right next to the bed, I’m stopped by the sound of the lock. I spin on my heels, facing the door that’s about to be opened and sink down on my knees. It’s much easier to comply with his demands when my knees are met with soft carpet instead of that atrocious concrete floor. The light-colored carpet is so welcoming and tender that it’s almost pleasant to kneel on it in submission.
My hands are placed on my thighs and my head lowered, but as soon as the intruder darts through the room I know it’s not him I’m greeting.
It’s the girl.
Her steps are much smaller and quicker than his, and she doesn’t carry the same presence my ominous captor brings every time he steps into the room. My suspicion is confirmed when I dare to peer up, careful, just in case I might be mistaken.
