by Sienna Blake
My instincts are crying for me to run, but my heart is breaking because it wants to stay and be comforted by the man I love. How can I still want to be comforted by the man who just hurt me?
“Tell me you know that I love you!” he screams, his body shaking visibly from the force with which he shouts. My teeth rattle as his hands shake me violently.
“I know that you love me,” I whisper. Part of me so wants to believe this. It wants to so badly. He did this for me. Because he loves me.
“And you love me, don’t you, baby?”
“Yes.”
“Say it, then.”
His face blurs behind my tears – it’s one small mercy.
“I love you.” I almost choke on these words. They taste bitter like poison.
I hate that I do. I still love Jacob.
Chapter 13
The present
I don’t stop running from Cha Cha’s until I get home and my deadbolts are on. I drop my bag, run to my bedside table and pull out my gun. The cold steel on my fingers is like a key that unlocks this dam. The numbness floods over me. I slide into a crumpled heap on the floor next to my bed. I’m shaking and my teeth are chattering. I start to cry and rock and I tuck my arm around my knees. Silent tears. I don’t dare make a noise. My ears are pricked, listening for someone at my door.
I have never felt so weak and helpless in my life. Because all the training, the workouts, the boxing, and all my time spent at the gun range isn’t worth shit. Because just seeing Jacob’s photo still makes me crumble. All the strength that I’ve built is nothing but scaffolding – superficial, and it won’t hold me up when Jacob comes to tear it down. He’ll find me. Eventually. I know it.
He won’t stop till he finds me.
Because I belong to him. He doesn’t let anything that belongs to him get away.
“Your body, your blood, your life…belong to me.”
I had the tattoo removed as soon as I could. But now my ass burns where he marked me that day. Oh God. It has returned. It has come back. The mark carved forever under my skin has come back to the surface. Somehow the mark will give Jacob a way to find me.
I yank my pants down and strain my neck to look back but I can’t see. I can’t see. I need to see. I push myself up to my feet, still clutching my gun to my chest. The steel is cold against my skin, but I leave it there because I feel like it anchors me. The steel anchors me. It lets me know what’s real. I bolt to the bathroom, my heart beating so hard, I swear the gun is bouncing up and down with it.
“You understand, don’t you, baby? Why I have to mark you. So that everybody knows.”
I stand in front of the full-length mirror behind my door. Who is this girl with round red-rimmed eyes staring back at me? It can’t be me. I buried her. I turn to the side and pull down one side of my pants. I see the black ink across my skin. No, it can’t have come back. I scream and a hand flies towards my mirror. My hand. It punches the glass and it cracks into a spider’s web. Pain flares across my knuckles.
I blink. A hundred eyes blink back at me. My ass is bare. All of them. Bare and milky white. There’s nothing there. Nothing there. A small cry of relief escapes me. This resurfacing fear is making me hallucinate. I start to laugh. Hysterical laughter. Ha ha, I have finally gone mad, I know it.
Or perhaps the madness has always been there, underneath, hiding, since the night I finally, finally left Jacob…
Chapter 14
Five years ago
It’s eight weeks after Jacob gives me my tattoo. It’s healed. But I can feel it; when I walk, when I sit, when he grabs my ass to pull me onto him. It burns my skin. Like a brand.
When I am with Jacob I’m horrified at how my body still reacts to his, how he can make me come apart with his fingers and how much I still want him to kiss me and tell me that I’m beautiful. There is a small sick part of me that likes the fact that I have become his.
Me.
His.
Out of all the women in the world, he picked me. That makes me feel loved. Special. He loves me so much that he goes insane with jealousy. He needs this tattoo on me to warn off all other men.
But inside I know being with him is wrong.
I feel unbalanced, like my gravity has shifted to the top of my head making me easily swayed. So side to side I totter. I love him. I hate him. I need him. I need out.
Since the Winston incident, his jealousy is like the third person in our relationship. She drapes her long limbs across Jacob and I can feel them both staring at me when they think I’m not watching. She follows us, sometimes quietly like a shadow, then other times she can’t stop whispering in his ear. I’m coated in suspicion. Like a snow that continues to fall over me, it gets thicker and it doesn’t matter how hard I try, I can’t shake it all off and I can’t keep it from falling from the sky.
Where have I been? Who spoke to me? Who looked at me?
The sex becomes more violent.
I yank against my wrists which are held together in chains, bleeding from the rough cold iron. The blackout curtains shut out the world, the only light coming from the dimmed wall lamps of Jacob’s bedroom. My face presses into the black sheets that smell like sweat and sex. My knees are bent, ass in the air, pussy exposed for him. My hips are bruised from Jacob’s fingers, my nipples bleeding from where his teeth have torn my flesh. My ass and thighs are raw and slippery from cum.
At the moment Jacob is fucking me with the handle of the crop. At least he has stopped hitting me with it.
“Jacob, please,” I beg. “I can’t come anymore.” I know he wants me to.
His thrusting stops. The crop is yanked from me. I flinch as it slaps against the wall when he throws it. He wipes his forehead with the back of his arm. I can feel the anger rolling off him. I have hurt his ego, I know it. I can’t come and it’s my fault. I want so badly to please him. But I can’t.
“Get up. Get the fuck up.”
I can barely move; my body aches and the chains grow heavier which each movement. I push myself up and stand next to the bed. Thank God it’s over. Jacob stands before me.
“On your knees.”
My heart sinks. I feel one of his hands pushing me down. My knees hit the floor. I can barely see Jacob through my matted hair as he stands over me.
“Jacob, please,” I croak. My mouth is dry. I need water. My stomach is tight from not having eaten. “I can’t take anymore.”
“No.” I can hear the scowl in his voice. I try not to whimper as he wraps his fingers through my hair and pushes his cock past my lips. “I will tell you when you’ve had enough.”
Strangely, the violence is not the thing that makes me to want to leave. It’s the weight of this suspicion that crushes me so that I can’t breathe. It’s the continuing exhaustion from being on my guard at all times. It’s the gradual wearing down of all my edges.
I start to obsess about how I can escape. I dream about leaving town, about catching my first plane out of this country to… anywhere. Anywhere but here. Because this is the Tyrells’ country. Anywhere I go here, I’ll still be in his territory.
At the university library I do an internet search on how to apply for a passport. I don’t dare do it on my laptop. The laptop he gave me. Just in case Jacob finds it in my browsing history. Or has some sort of key tracking device installed. I almost weep when I realize that I would have to apply in person because it would be my first passport. I know that Jacob is keeping track of me and I would never get away with applying for a passport without him knowing.
I can’t even ask for help. I damn anyone I involve. Look at what I did to Winston. I am completely alone.
I withdraw into my studies. I sit by myself in lectures to let Winston keep our friends. I know he won’t go near me anymore. He doesn’t deserve to be the one who sits by himself. So I go, willingly. It’s the least I can do.
Jacob makes me spend every night at his apartment now. I only go to my dorm between classes or to pick up more clothes.
One night, I wake up in the middle of the night needing water and the bathroom. Jacob isn’t in bed next to me. When I run my hand out I can feel the sheets have gone cold.
It’s not unusual for Jacob to wake up and leave in the middle of the night, so I think nothing of it. I grab a dressing gown and wrap my naked self up. Jacob doesn’t let me sleep with clothes on. Even when we don’t have sex, which is becoming more and more frequent. Like earlier tonight. Earlier tonight he was too distracted and I crawled into bed without him, feeling thankful and rejected at the same time.
I use the ensuite. Then I patter through the living area towards the kitchen in search of water. The moonlight filtering through the open curtains gives me enough light that I don’t need to turn any on. A noise causes me to glance at the door on the other side of the living area.
Suddenly I’m more curious than thirsty. I shouldn’t, but something inside me pushes me forward. A small piece of defiance. I slip silently towards the door that leads from the living area. As I creep closer I recognize the muffled sound of yelling. I get closer. I hear Jacob’s voice, and he’s angry. Angry is a sound forever etched into my skull. I would recognize it in my sleep.
Who is he yelling at? Why is he angry?
The gap under the door is dark and the voice is muffled so I know that Jacob isn’t in the smaller formal living area directly beyond this door. From this room are two doors. One leads to an ensuite. The other leads to his office which is connected to the ensuite.
I test the door handle to the formal living area and find it unlocked. A thrill of fear and adrenaline runs through me. I slip inside but keep the door ajar just in case.
In here, the curtains are partially drawn, so there’s less light. My skin prickles as I stand in the dark, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dimness. The darkness recedes into lumpy shadows. I can see a line of light from under the far right door. Jacob’s office. The voices are definitely coming from there.
I should turn back now. It really is no business of mine who Jacob is yelling at and why he is angry. I hear the slap of flesh and the soft cry of another person. A woman. The hairs rise across my skin. Jacob’s hurting her. Or he’s fucking her.
My stomach clenches. I feel a sick flash of jealousy. Jacob only hits me because he loves me. Does he love this other woman, too? Is she why he was so disinterested in me earlier tonight?
I need to see what is going on.
I creep to the door that leads to the ensuite, praying it isn’t locked. It isn’t. I cautiously open the door to the ensuite and peer in. I pause and my breath catches. The sliding door, the one that leads to Jacob’s office is slightly open. I can see the line of light shining from around the door. My mouth goes dry and suddenly I feel naked. This dressing gown isn’t enough clothing.
I can hear Jacob’s voice through the gap as I step into the ensuite. “…me to the fuckin’ pigs.”
What the hell is he talking about? I take another step.
“You leave me no choice, Adele. It’s over.”
Adele? My heart clenches. Who is Adele? And what is she to Jacob? What’s over?
“I’m−” But I don’t hear any more. Jacob’s voice is drowned out by the sound of music being turned on and up. I don’t recognize the song, but it sounds like an Italian opera. Jacob plays Italian opera music sometimes when he’s holding meetings in his office.
I feel blinded by the melody reverberating through the walls. I can’t hear what’s happening. My heart starts to thud in my ears and it races to beat to the tempo of the music. I step forward, the light drawing me closer like a moth to candlelight. I feel like I’m moving without consciousness, like I’m being drawn against my will to press my eye to the gap. I can start to see movement through the space.
Almost there.
One more step.
I lift up my fingers and press them to either side of the gap between the door and the doorframe. Lightly, softly. Don’t make any noise. Don’t push too hard to cause the door to wobble.
I press my eye to the space.
I can see Jacob. He’s standing and facing the far wood-paneled wall and he has his back to me. I see Snake standing on one side of a woman, holding her in place by the sheer vice-like, white-knuckled grip he has on her slim upper arm. Snake is facing the girl and the girl is facing me.
This must be Adele. She’s blonde, but the straw fake-blonde of over-bleached hair. She is wearing a red dress that could hardly be called a dress. More like a belt. I would hate her completely if I couldn’t see the blood running down the side of her mouth. My insides prickle with tension. Even from here I can tell she has been crying. Even from here I can smell the stink of her fear.
She starts to struggle, but Snake twists her arm back hard, and she can’t tear away. My arm aches for her.
I don’t see the gun in Jacob’s gloved hand until he lifts it to point at her. This isn’t real. I’m just watching a film. See, even the lady’s singing knows that it’s time to crescendo into a high note.
Adele knows she is going to die. I can see on her face the moment she gives up. Her shoulders collapse and her pink mouth screws up.
No! I want to yell at her. Don’t give up. Never give up.
As if Adele hears my thoughts, I swear her eyes find mine from across the room, two hollow pools. For a moment they lighten as if they are signaling me for help. Or perhaps it is just the shine of light against her tears. I can’t see anything else except for her eyes.
They roll into her head and she slides down the wall, Snake having let go of her. The rest of the room comes back into focus. I see the blood splatter across the wood panel. I see the dark red hole in her forehead before she slumps completely to the floor. I see Jacob, my Jacob, my lover, lowering his gun.
The lady keeps singing like nothing has happened. Like the world hasn’t shifted. I can’t take my eyes off the blood on the wall.
I flinch when Jacob moves to hand the gun to Snake. The horror of what I have witnessed wraps around me, crushing my lungs, and I can’t breathe. Snake moves out of my sight. Jacob pulls off his black gloves. Everything starts to spin.
The music is cut off. That’s when my world rights again.
The silence is throbbing in my ears along with the glub glub of the blood rushing through my veins. Blood in my veins. Blood on the wall.
I just witnessed a murder. Somebody shot Adele. At the moment I can’t mentally connect Jacob to this sentence. I can’t believe it. I can’t believe he just killed someone.
My Jacob.
What... What if he comes in here to wash his hands?
I have to get out of here without being noticed. I have to pretend I didn’t see anything and then…
Nothing comes after that thought. I just need to get out of here.
I back away from the gap across the cold bathroom tiles, not wanting to take my eyes off the space. I bump into something and almost scream. I slam my knuckles against my mouth to silence myself. It’s just the edge of the toilet. I have to keep going. I have to watch where I’m going.
I force myself to turn my head away from the door to Jacob’s office. Immediately my neck protests by shocking my hairs into standing. Don’t turn your back on Jacob. Never turn your back on Jacob. My ears are perked up and waiting for the sound of the door to open behind me and expose me.
I slip through the door into the formal living space. In the dark it looks like a forest. The tables and couches and chairs all seem to have grown trunks and limb-like branches. The other door, and my safety, seems to disappear into the dark beyond.
Can’t look back. Can’t stop. Keep going. Live.
I creep, hunched over, to the main living room door, fighting myself to stay calm and quiet although all my muscles are screaming at me to run. Run, God damn it, run!
And my heart. My heart wants to run away, too. It slams against my ribs and threatens to tear out of my throat. Keep calm. Quiet. If you want to live.
I weave my way in and out of the furnitu
re. Almost there. My foot catches the rug. I lurch forward. My lungs seize up as I flail for a second. I manage to catch myself before I fall but I make a small thudding noise. Shit. Did someone hear it?
I can’t wait to find out. I run to the door and slip through it. I tear through the living room and into Jacob’s bedroom. His room smells like his cologne. The smell makes me nauseous. My shoes, my clothes. I need my wallet, my keys. Oh God. What first? I grab a shirt from the top of my bag.
No. The cold realization wraps around my bones. I can’t go. I need to pretend like I’ve been asleep all along. I can’t leave now. Jacob will know that something’s wrong. He’ll know that I saw him. I need to pretend like everything is okay until Jacob lets me go home. It’s the only way I’m getting out of this apartment alive.
Oh God. I stare at the bed that I share with Jacob. My stomach twists and I have to clasp a hand to my mouth to stop from throwing up. Or crying out. My other hand grabs at my stomach. Oh God. The same hand he used to kill her is the same hand that he uses to make me come. How could I fall in love with someone like this?
I can’t get back into bed with him. I can’t.
No, a voice inside me cries out. You can and you will. Do it now because Jacob is coming back any minute.
I don’t know how I manage it but I take off my dressing gown and crawl back into his bed. My skin reacts like it is breaking out in a rash against these sheets. I force myself to stay there.
I smell him – us – on the sheets and the waves of nausea keep coming. I don’t move. I lie on my side and stare at the wall in the dark and will my breathing to steady and instruct my heart to calm, calm, just calm down. I don’t know for how long I lie there.
I hear the door click.
The sound causes every nerve ending to scream. I hear Jacob enter the bedroom and pad across the room to the bed. I close my eyes. If I give away that I saw him, he’ll kill me. And I want to live. I want to live. So breathe. Just breathe.
