Dark Wish (A Dark Romance)

by Clarissa Wild

  And judging by my own tented pants, I’m certain I’ve already started. I gaze down at my pants, willing my cock to go down. Soon.

  Just a few more hours … and then she’ll be mine.

  Fifteen years ago

  Sandwiches, snacks, and cups of coffee and juice fill the table in front of me, but my stomach turns at the thought of eating or drinking any of it.

  My hands are sweaty as they briefly touch the table to find something to hold on to.

  I feel uneasy, weak to the bone.

  I’ve never felt like this before.

  Not even after all the many trips my father took to foreign lands, only to return with strangers I’d never met before and would never see again.

  Or when my father disappeared for days on end, forcing the staff to take care of me like I was their child, only to come back out of his basement that I’m forbidden from entering.

  And not even when my mother told me she had never really wanted me.

  None of those made me feel the way I do now. It’s like my nerves are shutting down, buzzing slowly as they stop sensing anything around. No matter how many times someone pats me on the shoulder or offers me a fake smile or a hug, nothing registers.

  All I can do is stare at this frame standing on the table next to me, a hand-painted picture of my mother. The way her hand rests on her lap as though she’s comfortable in her place. But she never was.

  Her eyes always skittish, her body always frail to the touch. Every time I came too close, she would shoo me away. I always thought it would go away with time, but the longer it lasted, the worse it became until she no longer wanted to see me at all.

  And then she got her wish granted.

  I sigh out loud while glancing at her urn, whispering a wish to myself that I’d never say out loud.

  “You want her to stay dead forever?”

  Wide-eyed, I spin on my heels, my hand rising to meet this new threat as I’m overcome with rage.

  But the petite frame of a little girl stops me midair, her doe-like eyes blinking at me as though she doesn’t even know the magnitude of her question. She cocks her little round head, her black hair framing her face as her pink cheeks grow bigger from the cute smile that appears on her face.

  “You shouldn’t wish for those things.”

  I frown, grinding my teeth. “How would you know?”

  She fishes her tiny wallet from her pocket and takes out two small pictures tucked away, rubbing her lips together. “I keep them here with me always. Even when they’re not there.”

  I swallow and clutch the table behind me. “You lost a parent?”

  She rubs her lips together and looks down at the floor while sticking up two fingers.

  “Both?” I suck in a breath. “Wow. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay … It’s been a year now.”

  “Still, sounds rough,” I reply as I look down at my own feet, thinking about what I did. “Especially because they loved you.”

  I said those words out loud. Even when I knew I shouldn’t, I said them anyway because that’s what I felt deep down. Because knowing my mother has been more painful than I think not knowing her would have been.

  Suddenly, the girl grabs my hand. The touch is subtle but intense. Like an earthquake underneath your own two feet that no one else can feel, shaking you to your core.

  And instead of pulling away, like I always do when someone tries to touch me, I freeze and let the warmth of her touch overcome me. The rage coiling around my heart, squeezing it tight, releases its grip, if only for a second until the little girl lets go again.

  “I’m sorry,” she says.

  Sorry.

  Like it could erase the pain.

  Like she even knows me.

  Yet these words of this strange kid make me feel something for the very first time since I came to this funeral home.

  “Even if you hated your mom …” she adds. “She didn’t deserve to die.”

  I lower my eyes as my hair falls over like a curtain to hide my shame as my hands form fists. “I didn’t hate her.” The silence is thick between us as the others mingle and talk, but our silence says more than their words ever could.

  “She hated me for existing,” I say through gritted teeth.

  “Maybe she was just scared and confused,” the girl replies. “Maybe she had all these emotions swirling through her head, just like you, and she didn’t know what to do with them, so she said something she didn’t mean.”

  Maybe. Maybe not. Who even knows? No one. I tried so many times to understand her, but she always pushed me away. And my father? He refused to talk about her.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I say, balling my fist. “She’s dead now. Gone. And they’re all talking and eating like it’s the most normal thing in the world.”

  “They don’t understand,” the girl says, looking at the crowd. “But I do.” She looks back up at me, that same sparkle in her eyes that she had when she first laid eyes on me. “You’re not alone.”

  I turn away, rolling my sleeves up, and growl, “I am.”

  Her eyes flicker down to my arms, pupils dilating, and it dawns on me what she’s looking at. The bruises. Shit. How did I forget so quickly? I cover them up again even though I know it’s too late.

  She grabs my arm. “Who did that?”

  I don’t answer.

  “Was it her?”

  “No,” I bark, wishing I never showed them. “She never even touched me!”

  She takes a step back, rubbing her lips together. “So it’s your dad.”

  I don’t respond. I don’t see the point.

  “It’s okay to be mad.”

  “I have to stay strong,” I reply, fighting the anger. “That’s what my father always says.”

  “And sometimes parents lie,” she says. “Mine told me they’d always come back to me, but they never did.” She steps forward again and grabs both my hands. “I think you just need a friend.”

  I lick my lips and hide the tears forming in my eyes, forcing them to stay at bay. “I don’t need anyone.”

  “Yes, you do,” she says. “We all need someone to talk to. To hug.”

  And she steps forward and wraps her arms around me. My whole body begins to tremble. This girl, who is almost half my age, makes my legs almost cave in on me. And her sudden attachment moves me, stripping me bare of all I thought I knew.

  “It’ll be okay.”

  At this moment in time, when the world I thought I knew crumbles before me, she is there to keep me grounded and tell me things will be okay. Even if they won’t, even if they never can … a tiny sliver of me wants to believe because she says so.

  Because she’s here for me when no one else is.

  “Amelia!”

  She suddenly lets go of me and turns around to look at a lady with gray hair tucked in a bun, the skin around her cheeks sagging so much she reminds me of a bulldog. I recognize the woman from the news. Wife to a very powerful man, one who plays politics. A friend of my father’s. Did they raise her after her parents died?

  “Are you coming?” the lady calls.

  I guess that’s a yes.

  She nods and then turns to face me one last time. “Hate is a sin. Did you know?” She smiles. “My grandma told me. Sins never do anyone any good.”

  “Your grandma is right,” I reply, and even though I don’t want it to, a smile still tugs at my lips. “But I’m not here to be good.”

  “Sure you are,” she replies, grabbing my hand one last time. “Everyone is. You just have to believe in yourself.”

  When she lets go, it feels as though the light leaves with her.

  And for the first time in my life, I feel like chasing that very same light until it blinds me from the darkness in this world.

  Chapter 8

  Amelia

  Present

  My hand still tingles from his kiss. All I can do is stare at the skin on the top of my hand, wondering when the sensation will disappear. But
the longer I look, the heavier it feels, as though his very essence penetrates my skin.

  Enraged, I rub my hand against my dress in an effort to erase his mark. Why would he kiss me? Why would he confuse me like that?

  He’s my captor, a man who took me without asking me if I wanted to be here. And I couldn’t even fight him. In fact, when his lips touched my skin, for a moment, a spark of lightning surged through my body, heating me up from within.

  And I hate it. I hate it more than anything, more than the wealth in this room, more than these opulent dresses, the expensive furniture, and the diamond earrings and necklaces hanging from the boudoir.

  None of this is real. It just can’t be.

  I pace around the room while my mind swirls with turbulence, and I lash out at anything and everything around me. I rip apart the bedding, tip over the dressing table, and pull everything out of the wardrobe.

  When my rage subsides, all that’s left is ragged breaths and salty tears streaming down my face. I stare at myself in the mirror, at the broken girl in the nude dress, doing what her captor wants just so she’ll be treated right.

  Why didn’t I fight? Why didn’t I try to escape?

  The door was open. I could’ve run.

  But who knows what lies beyond this room. How many guards are stationed outside, waiting to grab me?

  This man must be rich and powerful beyond my imagination for him to be able to afford all of this luxury for a mere prisoner.

  But I don’t understand why he set his eyes on me. Why he made me the target of his obsession.

  I thought if I mulled about it long enough, it would come to me. That I would be able to dig into my own brain and find out why I said those words … why I asked him to punish me.

  But the longer I think about it, the less I understand my own motives, let alone his.

  None of this makes sense.

  It’s like I’m in the middle of a nightmare I can’t wake up from.

  A nightmare that began the first time I saw him.

  All I can do to pass the time is read and watch TV, but that gets boring fast when there are only old cable networks, and I’ve already read more than half of the books here.

  At night, someone knocks on my door. I sit up in my bed with curiosity, still wearing that stupid dress, expecting it to be him. Instead, it’s that same girl who first came into my room to clean up the mess I made and give me some pills. She looks at the nightstand for a brief second, the pills still there as a stark reminder that I don’t trust her or anyone else in this house.

  She clears her throat and brings in a tray filled with food that immediately draws my attention away from the mistrust and forces me to remember my own growling stomach.

  “I hope you’re hungry,” she says as she places the tray on a table near the door. “The cooks made this especially for you.”

  Cooks? So the guy is rich, after all.

  “If you have any special dietary wishes, please let me know.”

  Dietary wishes? What is this, a restaurant?

  “Nothing too special, just … if you have allergies or anything.” The way she tucks her hair behind her ear reminds me of myself. “Well, bon appetit.”

  When she opens the door again, I say, “Wait.”

  She pauses for a moment. It’s my only chance.

  “Who is that man? Eli? And what does he want from me?”

  “Eli merely wants to give you what he wants to give all of his guests,” she explains. “Peace.”

  “Peace?” I frown, confused.

  She touches her temple. “Peace of mind.”

  That makes no sense at all, and I fold my arms in protest. “Drugging someone and then locking them up in your house? That’s one heck of a way to give someone peace of mind.”

  She doesn’t blink. She just stares at me as if our conversation doesn’t even faze her. “Eli does what he has to do to give you what you need.”

  What he has to do?

  As she steps out, one foot already outside the door, I call out again. “Wait! Why did he do this? Why me?”

  She glances at me over her shoulder. “Ask him.”

  Then she closes the door. I groan and fall back onto the bed. They’re all so cryptic and never actually answer any of my questions with any explanations. It’s like no one wants me to understand. Or maybe they think I won’t. But then why am I here? He told me this was my punishment, but what does that even mean? What kind of disciplining does he have in mind, or is being locked in here my punishment?

  Not to mention that I don’t even know what I’m being punished for. Or why I asked for it in the first place.

  I rub my eyes in annoyance and then sit back up again. No point in pondering when nothing can give me answers. Not until he comes back anyway, which I’m sure he will. And I’m going to need all the energy I can get to deal with him.

  So I sit down at the table and look at the tray. It’s filled with plates of delicious food—rump steak with sauce, baked and salted potatoes with thyme, and a few veggies covered in cheese.

  I pick up the fork, my stomach protesting against my anger. But a note underneath the cutlery makes me stop in my tracks. I pick it up and read it.

  Eat. Be ready. Tonight.

  Eli

  The fork in my hand shakes as I try to control my fear, rage, and tears. They all hit at once like a wave crashing into the beach. The food in front of me suddenly doesn’t look so appetizing anymore.

  I am giving this man what he wants by eating this. So I shove away the tray and sit down on the bed again, forcing my stomach to curb its appetite. Even though the sweet aromas are tempting, I will not give in. If this will displease him, then so be it. At least I stood my ground. If I’m too frozen to speak or move, at least this way I can show him I don’t intend to play along with this charade.

  He’s going to tell me exactly why I’m here and what he plans to do with me. And then I’ll see what options I have to get out of this mess.

  After waiting for what feels like hours, someone knocks on the locked door.

  “Come in,” I mutter, but I doubt they’d wait for me to reply.

  The door handle is pushed, and in steps that same guy. Eli. The man who took me from the comfort of that library I love so much into this gilded cage.

  I don’t know why he knocks when I’m not the one who decides if he comes in or not. I don’t have a key … he does, so all of this is just formalities, a nicety to make me believe I have power when I have none. My freedom literally rests in the palm of his hands.

  And now I’m going to have to beg to get it back.

  Eli

  When I close the door behind me, she tenses up, which is exactly what I’d expect from a girl like her. Like a lost doe, she’s still willing to fight as though it would ever give her an inkling of a chance to escape.

  I gaze at the food that remains untouched on the table. A smirk spreads on my lips.

  “You haven’t eaten,” I say.

  She doesn’t reply. Of course not. Who would when there’s a monster standing in your room?

  That’s what she thinks of me, and it clearly shows on her face.

  But I am not the monster here … she is.

  She just doesn’t know it.

  But she will … soon. It’s only a matter of time.

  They all succumb to this place, and she is no exception, no matter how much she thinks she is. The harder she fights, the easier it is to get to her.

  But I will start slowly … there’s no rush with perfection.

  I step in closer, and her fingers instinctively curl up the bedding underneath her. Each step I take makes her push herself back across the bed until there’s no more room, and she’s stuck against the wall.

  I sit down on the bed beside her, watching her chest rise and fall with each heavy breath, as though she’s contemplating whether to try to escape. But the door is locked, and no one has the key except me. And I know she knows this. Her eyes already found it the minute I
stepped into this room and tucked that key into my pocket. And if she wants it, she knows she’s going to have to either fight me … or beg.

  And I think we both already know which option she’s going to choose.

  I hold out my hand, but she inches back and grabs the blanket, covering herself with it as though she intends to hide from me.

  “Don’t be scared. I won’t bite,” I say, adding a gentle smile.

  “Why are you doing this to me?” she asks.

  “You know why.”

  I cock my head and scoot a little closer until she can no longer crawl back. I reach over to the blanket she’s clutching and slowly drape it down her body until her beautiful dress is shown to me again.

  “You don’t have to hide from me. I won’t hurt you.”

  She shivers in place, and her eyes flutter from the key in my pocket to my eyes and back again, almost like an injured animal contemplating what to do.

  “You won’t get this key,” I say, lowering my head to meet her gaze. “And if you do, the guards will stop you from escaping.”

  She swallows, and the look on her face changes from determined to hopeless in a matter of seconds. A pure delight to witness.

  “What do you plan on doing with me? Are you just going to keep me here like some pet?” she asks.

  “Perhaps.” I raise my brows. “Or maybe I am not as evil as you think I am.”

  “You stole me away from my home,” she says through gritted teeth.

  “I took you because you asked me to,” I reply, and I lean in to grab her chin. “And don’t ever think I will forget that.”

  She jerks her head out of my soft grip and looks the other way as though it will give her power just to spite me. But I cannot let my arrogance get to me and let her control the narrative.

  “This will be your home for now,” I say, firmly planting my hands on my knees. “And you will do as you’re told.”

  “Why?” she asks. “Why should I?”

  “Do not test me, Amelia,” I retort, the harshness in my tone enough to make her soften her look. “I may look like a gentle man, but I am far from it. I will break you if I have to.”