His words curl my fingers against his scalp. At the time I would’ve raged if he hadn’t let me leave, but now I yearn for the time we lost. “I won’t walk away this time,” I say through a sigh. “This is where I belong.”
He’s already finding his way back in as if he never left. His body moves over me in long, hulking undulations as we merge again, longer and slower this time. “This part of you belongs to me,” he says hoarsely against the corner of my mouth. “I’d kill you before any other man could have it.”
I moan painfully, capturing his words and swallowing them. They should scare me, but they don’t. They make me feel wanted, needed. Inside, things I keep tight begin to seep out. After my parents’ death, I never dreamed being wanted like this.
His thrusts continue at an even, taunting pace, baiting me deep inside and pulling away before I can catch him. I’ve never felt so thoroughly owned by anything or anyone, not even myself.
His face hovers so closely to mine, the tips of our noses touch. “I can’t change, Cataline. Can you accept me this way, good and evil?”
“Yes,” I answer immediately. “I’ll take whatever you give.”
“Why?” he whispers. “You deserve a prince, not a beast.”
“Because I’m yours. You are my prince and my beast, every painful breath that keeps me alive.”
His next words come with a forceful thrust. “I can still hurt you beyond repair.”
“I don’t care.”
“You think I won’t?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’ll keep you in this mansion forever. I’ll lock all the doors.”
“You won’t have to.”
He grunts and closes the inches between our lips. He can never escape his evil; it’s there even as he makes love to me, with fingernails that dig for blood, teeth that nip at skin, and honest, sharpened words. I crave him this way. My keening for pain is because he lets me show mine, lets me have his. This is why I cut my skin, to feel him again, but when he’s here, he cuts deeper than any blade and licks the blood away. The thought of him slicing me open and drinking every drop of my life crumbles the earth under my feet and I fall. I come harder than I just did as he holds my hair with firm fingers, never lessening the swiftness with which he drives into me. I wrap my arms around his neck and cling to him while he rumbles against me, words lost in our heavy breaths and the smack of our skin. He’s relentless, his weighty balls slapping against my ass and my breasts bouncing. If he needs the same thing I do, I give it to him by clawing my fingernails into his back.
“I’m going to come inside you, Sparrow, so fucking deep.” He doesn’t even get the words out before he buries himself to the hilt and convulses, pumping me full of his cum. His neck is taut, his eyes won’t release mine. He collapses, panting, giving me all of his weight. It’s not long before he tries to pull away, but I won’t let him.
“Don’t,” I plead. “You won’t crush me.”
He will, but I want to labor for every breath because of his body. With him covering me, inside me, I’m closer than I’ve ever been to him, to anyone, and it’s still not close enough. I want to crawl inside of him. I think I might be obsessed.
My hands slide down and grasp his shoulders. “What was I like?” I ask after a while. I close my eyes when I ask, even though it’s dark, even though he can’t see my face.
“As a little girl?”
It’s not what I mean, but I let him answer.
“I wanted to keep you. You were quiet, but there was a whole universe inside you that you never showed.”
My lids flood, liquid threatening to seep out. “How do you know?”
He kisses my temple, the hollow of my cheek. “Were you happy?” he asks. His voice is thick, he wants so badly for me to say I was.
“I was grateful. I had no one else. Bad girls went to bad homes, they told me. I tried to be good every day so they wouldn’t send me away.” I pause, inhaling back tears. “Will you keep me, Calvin?”
He nudges his nose into my hair. “I’m a selfish bastard. Yes, I will keep you, even if it kills us both.”
My heart expands and loosens as if his words were scissors that snipped away its restraints. “Maybe instead of killing us, it will keep us alive.”
I think he smiles against my skin.
“I’m so tired,” I say. “But I don’t want this night to end.”
“Sleep, Little Bird. Nothing is ending.”
Before Cataline fell asleep and I rolled off of her last night, she drowsily muttered, “Maybe we should stay.” I’m choosing to ignore the suggestion that we start our life here, in a place that likely still haunts her days and nights. She blindly tossed in my bed until I pulled her close against my side and only seconds after, her body relaxed into mine.
She’s still here, curled against me, a ball of soft skin and tangled hair. Will she remember the things I said last night as she so willingly let me back inside? In the daylight, will they scare her? They’ve always been just within reach—you’re mine, I own you, I want to possess you like an object. She’s no longer a duty, and her safety is only a fraction of what I need now.
She opens her eyes suddenly as if from a nightmare, but her lids fall half shut and she gives a tiny smile.
I squeeze her against me. “Morning.”
“I forget how it was sometimes beautiful to wake up in this house. It was always so dark that it made the light even more special.”
“You’re poetic in the morning.”
She giggles. When I smile back at her, her eyebrows furrow. “We could stay, Calvin. In some weird way, it feels like home.”
“You aren’t serious?”
She nods, flattening her hand over my chest. My eyes close, and I think I even growl; it feels so good to have her fingers in my chest hair, skin on skin. “We’re not staying here.”
“Don’t you want to?”
“No. I’ll find us something else. I don’t want you living here, remembering.”
“But it’s so beautiful, and it’s your home. It belonged to your parents. You said your dad helped build it.”
I glare at her. “I don’t care. This is a ridiculous discussion to even have.”
She gets up on an elbow, and her eyes meet mine. “Are you sure you want all this? Maybe it’s too soon. Maybe you should stay here, and when the timing is right, I can move in.”
My hand wraps around the back of her neck, and I pull her to me. “When I find a new place, I want you there with me. The mansion is in the past, and, anyway, it’s too far from the gallery.”
“You made the commute, though.”
“That’s different.”
“Oh.” She glances down. With obvious hesitation, she asks, “Calvin?”
“Yes, Sparrow.”
“Was it the K-36 that made you sterile?”
Her question catches me off guard, but I watch her, waiting until she looks up at me again. “Yes.”
“Does that mean you won’t be anymore?”
“I don’t know.”
She bites her bottom lip. “I take birth control anyway.”
“Probably better that way, don’t you think?”
She nods, looking away again, but only briefly. “Do you miss it? Hero?”
I swallow and shake my head. I don’t want to admit to her that I do. Hero is ingrained in me; it’s the fabric I’m made of. I didn’t know until I took off the mask. I didn’t even want the title, but now I don’t know what I am without it. I have no doubt that my decision was the right one, but just because the K-36 is wearing off doesn’t mean I’ve changed. I still have the desire to bring justice to those who deserve it—sometimes in the cruelest way possible. I still harbor dark urges to control, possess, kill. My strength may have lessened, but I remain powerful and exact from years of fighting and training.
I worry about the small sparrow in my hands. No, stopping the injections hasn’t changed me; I’m still selfish, hugging her so tightly that I might end up cr
ushing her.
“I think I’m ready to talk about my time in captivity.”
“That’s great news, Cataline.”
“Please, Dr. Adams. Just call me Cat.”
“I’m sorry. I forget. Go ahead.”
“How do I do this?”
“During our consultation, you mentioned your time was spent in a mansion. Why don’t you start with your first day there? What was it like?”
“I woke up in a strange bed. The room was huge and beautiful, but I was confused. An older man introduced himself as the butler. Eventually I calmed down, and he gave me a tour. It was—is enormous. Everything anybody could ever want.”
“What about your captor?”
“I didn’t know who he was for a long time. I hated that. I wanted to talk to the person in charge, but I couldn’t. When I finally met him, he wouldn’t give me any answers, which made it worse. I never knew if I was going to live or die, or even the reason I was there.”
“Who was he?”
“He was,” I pause to contemplate which words could possibly describe Calvin accurately. “He was a strong man with a bad temper. And very handsome too.”
“Handsome?” he asks.
“Yes. I’d met him before and was attracted to him. I’d even wished he would talk to me or just acknowledge me for that matter.”
“How had you met him before?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“It’s important to be honest.”
“I won’t tell you his identity.”
“You say he was ill-tempered. Did he ever hurt you?”
“No. Not seriously. But there were other forms of punishment.”
“Such as?”
“Whenever I was disobedient or talked back . . . well, once I got locked in the basement for days. And sometimes my tantrums would end with sex.”
“He sexually abused you.”
“I guess.”
“Did you instigate it?”
“No.”
“Did you want it?”
“Not always.”
“Did you say no?”
“Sometimes.”
“So, then, yes, that’s sexual abuse and rape. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that that can be a very difficult thing to overcome. You say you were in captivity for around thirteen weeks. How long did the abuse carry on?”
“It started when I met him.”
“And it ended when you left, I presume.”
“No. I mean, at some point, it was no longer abuse.”
“Pardon?”
“There were times when it was consensual.”
“I see. You began to enjoy it.”
“Not just enjoy it. I wanted it. He’s a very good lover.”
“Is?”
“Was.”
“Do you still see him?”
My eyes move quickly around his office. “Can I get in trouble for that?”
“No.”
“Can he?”
Dr. Adams shifts in his seat, then sets down his pen to steeple his hands over his mouth. “Cat, it’s not unheard of for a victim to fall in love with his or her captor. But now that you’re free of him, you might consider the fact that you’ve been manipulated. What you think is love may actually be an illusion your captor has constructed. You’re no longer bound to him, and if he’s threatening you to stay in the relationship, there are ways you and I can work through that. With or without police involvement.”
“I know how it sounds, Doctor, but that isn’t the case. I want to be with him. We didn’t speak for three years after my captivity. When he walked back into my life, everything fell into place. I mean, it’s not that black and white, but . . . I missed him. I love him.”
He nods. “I’m not judging you. I can see how that might happen, and three years is a long time to be apart. However, this is not the basis for a healthy relationship. The typical profile of an abductor is manipulative, deceitful, and sadistic. Would you say those words define him?”
“I—no.”
“You can be honest here. He can’t hear you, and you and I have doctor-patient confidentiality.”
I smooth my hands over my thighs and refold them in my lap. “Yes. Yes, he can be those things. But he’s trying to be better.”
“That’s a common response from women involved in abusive relationships. Try to extract yourself from the situation and look at it objectively. Can you do that?”
“I can try.”
“What do you see? Do you see a woman in love or a woman who’s been deceived into thinking she’s in love?”
Dr. Adams glances at my hands. My nails are digging into my forearm, so I relax my grip. “I know how you think I should answer, but that’s just not us. He and I were apart for three years, yet we still came back to each other. Without him, I wasn’t whole. I was a shell. We’re different from others who’ve been through this.”
“Cat, are you in a relationship with him now?”
“Yes.”
“And you love him?”
“Yes.”
“Does he love you?”
“Yes.”
“I believe we have our work cut out for us. Can I be frank with you?”
I nod.
“I want you to think about this until our next session: people have difficulty changing. He’s better now because he has something to lose. You. But that may not last. By kidnapping and abusing you both mentally and sexually, your self-worth has been damaged. Now you believe you’re not good enough for anyone else.”
“That’s not true. I don’t think that.”
“Please consider what I’m saying. This relationship may be more harmful than you realize. The hour is over, but we can pick this up next week.”
I stand and shake his hand. When I open the door to the waiting room, Calvin is standing there wearing a solemn expression. His hair is messy, sprouting in different directions. Absentmindedly, he runs his hand through it as we stare at each other.
Dr. Adams clears his throat behind me. “Can I help you?”
“I’m here to pick her up.”
“I see. Are you also considering making an appointment?”
“No. And I don’t appreciate the insinuation.”
“Not an insinuation, sir. Just a question. Cataline—I’m sorry, Cat—I’ll see you next week.”
The door closes behind me, and I take a tentative step toward Calvin. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
I glance over my shoulder and take his arm to lead him out of the office. “Something’s wrong. What is it?”
He shoves his hands in his pockets, an action that pairs perfectly with the suffering on his face.
“Did you hear us?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Calvin. You told me you couldn’t hear anymore.”
“It’s considerably weakened, but if I concentrate and I’m nearby, my hearing is still sharp.”
“How could you? That was supposed to be private.”
He shakes his head. “He’s right. This,” he says, gesturing between us, “is wrong.”
I catch his hand and hold it over my heart. It brands the skin under my blouse with a cold handprint. “You can’t tell me this is wrong, Calvin. Don’t you feel what I feel?”
“You’re justifying my behavior.”
“No, I’m not. I don’t think what you did was right. I think it was cruel. Sometimes I wonder about all the different ways you could’ve kept me safe without locking me up and treating me that way. I can never forget how those months were. But if, in some fucked up way, the Cartel was an excuse to bring me close, to find a way of owning me, it worked. I love you, and for better or worse, this is where we are. Now we can move forward and forget the past.”
He’s silent a moment as his eyes search mine, thinking. “We can’t forget it, Cat. And I can’t erase it for you. Those memories can’t be replaced.”
I drop his hands and take a step back. “You—you can’t leave me,” I whis
per. “You can’t.”
“I’m not,” he says, his voice soothing. He pulls me into his arms, clasping me so tightly his heart thumps against my cheek. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“I’ll stop the sessions,” I say. “I don’t want to come back.”
“No. You’ll continue with Dr. Adams because you need someone to talk to.”
“Then I’ll talk to you.”
“You know it doesn’t work like that.”
How does it work? I want to ask. What are the rules when you’re in love with your enemy? To a psychologist like Dr. Adams, there’s no sense in Calvin and me. But I know we just are what we are. It can’t be explained or rationalized. I hope I never have to try.
I wake up to screaming—but when I open my eyes and bolt upright, there’s only quiet calm. Cataline is warm and breathing evenly next to me. If there was screaming, it didn’t pierce her slumber. The covers are too hot, so I get up and pace the tiny room, trying to silence the ringing in my ears. Bits and pieces of a dream try to puzzle themselves together. Tense and alert, I find my jeans on the floor and pull them on. Next I rummage for a sweatshirt in my small but growing shelf of things in her apartment.
Downstairs, I sniff in the cold night, walking briskly. I roam for hours, straining to hear for anything amiss, but all I get is a mob of rowdy college students. Even they are polite, nodding and smiling as I walk by.
It’s almost five in the morning when I return. The black sky is lightening to indigo, stars brightest before they disappear into dawn. The scuffle of shoes up ahead has me straightening my back and surveying the area. My loss of precise night vision is frustrating and puts me even more on edge. I pause in my tracks only a moment when I spot Cataline in her glowing white nightgown and slippers, treading a path in front of the building. My entire torso seems to swell as I charge toward her. “What are you doing out here?”
“Where have you been?” she cries, shoving her palms into my chest. “I was so worried!”
“I went for a walk. What the hell are you doing out here at this time?”
“Looking for you.” She swipes the back of her hand over both cheeks. “I didn’t know where you were. I th-thought . . .”
Keep Me: A HERO Novella Page 3
