by Jayce, Aven
“What the fuck!” I yell.
“Dayne,” Mera says. “That was nasty.”
“See,” he says. “You can’t get through two sentences without swearing.”
“Fuck you!” I scream.
“Yup. Right back at you,” he smiles, taking a seat in the chair next to Mera and across from me. I pick up the drink and swallow a large gulp, exhaling in frustration.
“Well look at you. Aren’t you the lucky one who has two lawyers for parents and was born with a silver spoon in his mouth? You know nothing about me, how I grew up, who I am, what I’m like.”
“Oh, Sophia Jameson,” he smiles, shaking his head. “I know everything about you.”
Mera and Dayne start to blur. I try to open my eyes, but I can’t focus. I’m drunk. No, something else is wrong. The room spins. Crap, how much did I drink?
“Don’t fight it, just close your eyes,” he says.
“W-what did you put in my drink?” I ask in a slow, trailing voice. “You d-drugged…”
“Let go.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
An alarm clock is directly in front of my face and I watch the red numbers change slowly over the hours. I’m unable to move my body from the bed. I can’t figure out how long I’ve been fading in and out of consciousness. My head throbs, probably more from the alcohol than the drug Dayne apparently slipped in my drink. Ten. The clock reads ten. Is that morning or night? I look at the window and it’s light outside. Must be morning. The house is quiet. “Why did he drug me?” I whisper.
I try to push myself up, only to place my hand in vomit on the bedspread. It’s old, probably from last night. There’s more than one spot, some on the pillow, some on my tank, and a lot running down the edge of the bed. Where was Mera when I was sick? It’s not like her to leave me alone. I pull off the tank and toss it on the floor. Someone took my jeans off and placed them on the back of a chair next to the window. I hope that was Mera who helped and not Dayne. I guess it doesn’t matter.
My eyes slightly blur in and out of focus and I can tell that the drug that put me to sleep is still in my system. I shake my head and try to focus like a cartoon character that’s just been hit over the head with a brick. But, I can’t shake it. I stand, waver, and then sit back down for a moment. My legs shake and my head spins. “What the fuck?” I whisper. “This all seems completely unnecessary. What kind of game are you playing, Dayne?”
I decide to explore the room with my eyes until I’m steady enough on my feet to stand and walk over to the bathroom.
My suitcase is still open and next to me on the bed. Fortunately there’s no vomit inside. If I had been able to lift my head high enough I probably would have used it like a trash can. The bed is a queen, and the comforter is a rich, silky gold. My vomit should wash out easily, but the drips on the dark hardwood floor by my feet are another story. I know a watermark will show underneath when I wipe it clean. I’m just glad I didn’t throw-up on the white plush rug that’s only a foot away.
The bed is full of pillows. Too many pillows if you ask me. The ones I slept on are the normal everyday “rest your head on me” kind of comfort. But along the black headboard are red, gold, brown, and grey silk throw pillows, each with it’s own elaborate pattern. Whoever brought me in here didn’t bother to move them when I was placed on the bed. The colors, along with the colors throughout the room are manly, yet the throw pillows have an added touch that implies that a woman should feel comfortable in here as well. My father either has an impeccable sense for design and great taste, or he hired an interior decorator. After I watched him arrange my loft for me, I would say he has a good eye for color and fabric.
Past the footboard is a sitting area with a dark grey small sofa and white side table positioned in front of a white stone fireplace. It all makes for high contrast against the dark grey walls. A miniature glass chandelier hangs above the space between the sofa and fireplace, and a soft white rug matching the one next to my feet completes the area. The room is calm and quiet. The only window is long and narrow, on the wall opposite the bedroom door. There’s a desk and chair underneath it. A flat screen TV is on the entry side of the room, and as I look in that direction I notice a metal roll cart with breakfast has been left just inside the door. I’m too nauseous to eat so I turn back and face the window, easing my body off the bed. I waver again, but I’m able to stand, walking slowly toward the bathroom. I enter a short, narrow hall that has a kitchenette complete with a fridge, microwave, stove, and fully stocked cabinets. I wash my vomit covered hand off in a small sink and notice there’s a wine rack set in the wall, complete with six bottles of red and three white. I understand why Mera wouldn’t want to leave. I wonder where she is and if her suite is similar to this one. Did she bring me breakfast? And what happened to Cove? I’m a little worried about him after speaking to Dayne yesterday. I feel bad for him. No, I shouldn’t.
My legs shake and I hold onto the counter for stability. I can’t believe I had all that vodka. My body is in so much pain. My head, my arms, everything hurts, especially my shoulder and neck. I must’ve slept wrong. I continue past an open closet area and find myself in a large two-story bathroom. The floor is a light brown marble that continues up the walls about six feet. The rest of the space is painted a light creamy white, with small track lights along the ceiling and a row of windows near the second story. It’s enormous to me in my current state and I’m completely overwhelmed. There are two skylights, emitting the warm Nevada sun and the walk-in shower has three showerheads… three… and double glass doors. Raised light green glass sinks rest on top of the double vanity, sparkling in the sun. “Jesus,” I say. “I feel like I’m at a spa.” A half-wall mirror soars above the sinks, reflecting more light throughout the room.
The space glows and I smile.
My eyes follow a set of marble steps up to a clear glass door, locked I’m sure. It must lead out to a balcony. Yes, I really understand why Mera doesn’t want to leave. I’ll explore more after I relieve myself. I’m surprised I didn’t pee my pants last night considering everything I had in my system. I go, feeling slightly better, with clearer eyes and a sounder mind. I’m starting to come out of whatever spell Dayne put me under, and it’s safe to say I didn’t kill off too many brain cells from drinking, and I didn’t die from the drug. I still don’t get it. If he had just told me I was going to sleep in this suite I would’ve said fine. Where else can I go? I wonder if he drugged Mera too. Maybe they didn’t want me around for their evening meeting. Maybe they were afraid I’d hear something I wasn’t supposed to.
I walk over to the sink and wash my hands, enjoying the warmth of the water. The soap is cucumber scented and I splash water on my face, knowing the scent will liven my morning. I need a shower. That will help too. Then I need to see what’s going on outside the bedroom door.
There’s a pinch in my shoulder like I’ve just been stung by a bee. I quickly turn the water off and grab a hand towel, patting my face dry. Suddenly, an odd tingling sensation travels around the area and I grab my shoulder and scratch. My hand touches plastic and the towel drops, revealing the answer to my father’s evening meeting. I slide my hand across the saran wrap and over the tape, feeling the tattoo, rubbing it, knowing that it’s real.
My body shudders, my eyes widen, I step back and let out a long high-pitched scream. My fists clench, my eyes clamp shut… I scream again.
Property of Jameson Industries is clear as the light of day, written in script across my shoulder, giving it some false sense of beauty. I move close to the mirror, touching it again with my hand. I pound both my fists hard against the mirror, wanting it to shatter into a million pieces.
“FUCK YOU DAD!” I yell at the top of my lungs, almost losing my voice. “FUCK YOU!”
I pace and slide my hand through my hair, over and over until my legs finally work with my brain to run to the bedroom door. It’s locked. I pound on it and kick it with my bare feet. I’m locked in.
“Mera
,” I cry out. “Mera, can you hear me?” I smack the door with my palms, frantically trying to escape.
“Sophia,” a voice calls out from the room. I turn around but see no one.
“Who’s there? Where are you? Come out so I can see you.”
“It’s Carl, look at the screen.”
I take a step back and look at the wall next to the door, seeing Carl’s face on the flat screen. He’s in an office, still chewing on a fucking toothpick.
“Tell my father to open this door, RIGHT, NOW!”
“Sophia, calm down. You’re okay, right?”
“NO! I’m locked in this room and I have a fucking tattoo. I’m not staying here. I don’t know what you guys have planned but I’m not doing shit for ANY OF YOU! Open the Goddamn door… NOW!” I scream, kicking it with my foot.
“You need time to cool off, which is why the door is locked.”
“Where are you? Are you in this house? Tell my father he better let me out of here!”
“Like I said, you need time to calm down. It’s Tuesday and everyone’s at work, maybe this evening you can come out and play. And the way you look, you probably need all day to freshen up. Take a shower and put on some clothes,” he grins, looking down at my breasts.
I scream and stomp my foot, putting my arms across my chest. I find a solid black t-shirt in my suitcase and throw it over my head.
“Ahh, that’s too bad. I was starting to enjoy my job for once.”
“Listen, Carl…”
“Sophia,” he cuts in. “Eat your breakfast, shower, and shave, or do whatever you women do to fancy up, keep that tat covered, then fucking chill out and wait. It could be worse. You could be dead.” The screen goes blank and he disappears. I scream and pound on the wall underneath it, wanting to kill all of them.
“I hate it when people say that!” I shout. “It could be worse, your arm could fall off!” I yell, pacing in front of the bed. “It could be worse, you could go blind, or fall off a cliff, or get trampled by a horse. It could be worse, the house could be on fire. Then what? Then what, Carl?” I scream. “Would you let me out if the house was on fire?” I look at the fireplace and quickly kneel in front of it. “Why not?” I whisper. “I’ll burn this house down if I have to.”
And with that, the fireplace blazes in front of me, turning on in a split second before my eyes.
“Sophia,” Carl says.
I hold my middle finger above my head as I stare at the flames.
“It’s electric. Basically an oversized space heater. You’re not going to burn down the house with it.”
I ignore him and watch the flames while I lean against the front side of the sofa. I stretch my legs out across the cream rug to warm my toes. I close my eyes and let out a long exhale, bowing my head in defeat.
“Where’s Cove?” I ask. There’s silence. I turn and look over my shoulder to see that the screen is black once again. “Fucker,” I mumble.
My shoulder throbs and so does my head. I need something to ease the pain. I walk back to the bathroom and run the shower, taking off my shirt and sliding out of my underwear. I search through the drawers by the sink and find a bottle of Ibuprofen. Thank God. I swallow three hoping they kick in soon.
I’m careful not to get the tattoo wet, like Carl said. Whoever did it, did a decent job securing it to my body. I can’t believe I have a tattoo. My first one. That seems unusual for someone my age growing up in this generation. I’m surprised I didn’t get one when I was eighteen like many of my friends. Now, my first one is an advertisement and contract for a porn company, AND it has my name on it. How belittling. I’m sure it’s going to look great when I’m in my sixties.
“This is going to be one fucking long day,” I mumble, rinsing the vomit off my body. I sit on the bench in the shower and let the water pelt down on my face and chest. My mouth opens and fills with the warm liquid. I swallow and take more in, letting it roll out of my mouth and flow down my chin. I shave my legs, armpits, then my bikini area, ending with a coconut body wash over my entire body.
I wonder again what happened to Cove. Maybe they really did take him to Lake Mead. They have the video, what else do they need with him? Then again, why do they need me? I hate all of this. I feel like I’ve been blindfolded for weeks.
I turn off the shower in complete aggravation, dry off and get dressed. Putting my black t-shirt back on and the short black and grey skirt I wore to Wayne and Lydia’s. Won’t they be worried? And Leondra? Of course they will. They’ll be here soon. Paul can’t keep them away. They’ll know something’s wrong when they don’t hear from us. Shit, did I say Paul? I didn’t even call him my father. If I’m his property, I guess he isn’t really my dad anymore. That’s how I’m going to process this. I’m his employee. He’s my boss. What is he going to make me do? Maybe nothing. Maybe they’re all just trying to scare me. Perhaps it’s all a joke, a game.
I walk back to the bedroom and try the door. Still locked. This is no joke. I give in and sit in front of the fireplace with the metal roll cart at my side. Cold eggs, bacon, a spice muffin and cantaloupe. I eat it all accept for the eggs, unable to stomach them with the vodka and vomit still fresh in my mind. There’s also a menu on the cart and a pen to fill in my order. I look over the list, and assume it’s for lunch or dinner, only to see men’s names running down the front along with a description for each one.
“What the fuck is this?” I whisper. “Hey Carl,” I say. “Carl, you still listening?”
It’s quiet. Not a sound comes from inside the house or on the screen. I read the names, finding Cove part way down the sheet.
Larry Lick - Want a happy clit? Larry’s known to have the fastest tongue in the west. Drop your panties for a flicking fun night.
Shooting Star - Make a wish. Our Desert Shooting Star will be your submissive, willing to make your wildest dreams come true. Take control, be tender or brutal, the night is yours to explore.
Rough Rider - Like it long and hard? RR’s our hardcore expert and if you’re not afraid of ropes, he’s the rancher with the rod. Get ready to be mounted, branded, and prodded.
“My God, really? You guys want me to pick a guy off a menu? How pathetic is that?” I say, and throw it back on the cart. I sigh and laugh, shaking my head at the ridiculousness of all of this. I wonder what would happen if I circle Cove’s porn name. Would he really show up here? Would he submit to me? Or is this just another form of entertainment to them? They know I’m not going to select some random stud. Then again, maybe I should. The three of them must have had fun writing these descriptions, and they were probably drunk when they did it. I pick up the menu and circle Shooting Star, and then slide it under the door into the hall. Fuckers.
I want to know what they did to him, if he’s okay. There’s no turning back now. I kind of hope he shows up. I’m not done giving him a piece of my mind. He needs another good slap. Yeah, he can be my submissive. He deserves that, I want him to suffer and have his heart broken like mine. That’s cruel, I know. But it’s not fair that everyone around here gets to walk around and act like love doesn’t exist or matter. This is my first broken heart, and in the movie version, I’m supposed to run sobbing to my mother for love and support, to my father for comfort and security, and to my friends for a shoulder to cry on. Instead I’m stuck with these sick thoughts racing around in my head. This isn’t healthy, being alone in a room with no one to speak to after everything that’s happened. Fuck, I’d even talk to Devery right now. I wonder if she ever called Leondra?
“Hey Carl,” I say, needing human contact.
“Yes,” his voice responds and his face appears, surprising me that he’s still around.
“I can’t just walk around in circles with thoughts from the past few days stuck in my head. I’m going insane. I need someone to talk to. This whole thing with you on the screen is creepy, but it’s better than the silence in the room. Can you hear and see everything that I do?”
“Not exactly, and not by choic
e, no. Paul wants to make sure you didn’t get sick from the drug and that you’re not trying to kill yourself or break out.”
“I did get sick from the drug, I’m not the suicidal type, and I can’t get out.”
“You got sick from the alcohol, he doesn’t know what type you are, and I know.”
“Alright,” I sigh. “Why do you have your sunglasses on inside?”
“Sorry.” He raises them up on top of his head. “I just got back from lunch,” he replies, with his trademark toothpick hanging out of the corner of his mouth.
“I selected a man from the menu.”
“I’m sorry?” he questions, a look of confusion on his face.
“The menu you guys gave me to select a fuck buddy for the night, I made my choice.”
“Oh. I don’t know much about what goes on in the house at night. I’ve only been to a few parties. I’m more of a day runner, watchman, and serviceman for a few sites more than anything.”
“I see,” I say on the edge of the bed, watching him poke at his teeth.
“So did you select the right one?” he asks.
“I don’t know if there is a right one, Carl. I picked the familiar one.”
“That’s probably the right one then.”
“Do you have a girlfriend?” I ask, watching something that looks like a squashed pinto bean get pulled away from his gum.
“Nope, don’t need one.”
“Don’t need, or can’t get?” I ask.
“Maybe I should get back to work and you can go back to being alone.”
“I only meant that maybe if you didn’t pick your teeth in front of people you might get some women.”
“Men. And it’s none of your business.”
“Oh, I thought… well you came on to me, and…”
“Well, I prefer men, but you’re Paul’s daughter, I mean, I’d be famous if I did you, just like Star.”
“He’s famous without me.”
“True.”
