Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12
STEPHANIE
One Week Later
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
The sound of my alarm pierces my brain, dragging me out of the dredges of sleep. Irritation rolls down my spine as the delicious image of Daddy Rothsbourne vanishes, leaving me alone in my bedroom. With a frustrated grunt, I pull my hand out of my underwear and flop over onto my back.
In the background, I still hear the annoying beeping but try to ignore it as I attempt to recapture the image burned into my brain. He loomed above me, one hand on my throat and his other playing with my pussy. It was rough, raw, and the best damn pleasure I’ve ever had… even if it was fictional.
But it’s gone.
Like a puff of smoke, it drifts off into the ether, leaving me feeling confused and guilt-ridden. I shouldn’t be thinking of him like that. I should be lusting after Brody. My boyfriend Brody. Not his father. Ugh. When did everything get so complicated?
Well… not like it takes a genius to figure that one out. From the moment he spanked me about a week ago, I’ve been a wreck. And now, every time I’m in his space, all I can think about is his hands on my body again.
It’s an insanity so intense I wonder if I need to find a therapist again. I’m sure Mr. Rothsbourne won’t mind paying for that. He seems certainly content with paying for everything else.
I crack my eyes open and peer about the room, groaning as I fumble for my phone to turn it off. For a split second, I debate glaring at the thing, but that won’t do me any good. Even though my body begs for me to go back to sleep and think delicious thoughts of Daddy Rothsbourne, my mind is a whirl.
Definitely not a good sign. Things had quieted down for a bit, but now, my brain just can’t shut off. Try as I might, I continue to go about in circles until my breath catches in my throat and my muscles seize up. Am I bad enough for my pills?
It’s the question I ask myself every time I go into a panic spiral. I only have so many left. Once they’re gone… I’d like to think Mr. Rothsbourne would help me get an appointment and more meds, but I don’t know him well enough to trust him like that.
It doesn’t matter that he’s buying me everything I could ever hope to want to have. In my mind, they’re all rather expensive strings tying me to him. But why? That’s what keeps me up at night. What makes him want to take care of me like this when even Brody doesn’t seem to care?
Shaking my head, I glance about the room, my stomach in knots. Though so many things in here are familiar, it’s still not the same. It’s not my old apartment. The south wing is monumentally bigger than where I lived before, overshadowing it by far.
Some of the things in here are mine, but most aren’t. Mr. Rothsbourne only allowed me to grab the things most important to me. It’s sad how little in that small apartment actually felt important. Photographs and small memory tokens only take up so much room.
The bed isn’t mine. The sheets aren’t mine. For the most part, the clothes aren’t mine.
But who am I to complain? Who in their right mind would be upset about leaving meaningless junk behind? The problem is, it’s my junk. It’s what’s familiar. I can certainly live without it, but now that it’s all probably trashed and discarded, I find that I miss it.
He did his best. He asked me to list everything I left behind so I could get something newer and better. The hulking Alpha claims everything in here now belongs to me… but these things still don’t feel like mine. They will probably never feel like mine.
A ragged cry drifts from my lips as I fist the sheets in my hands. The thread count is so high, I usually hate even sleeping on them. Unfortunately, it’s the only thing in reach. If I chew my nails, he’ll know. If I claw at my skin, even if it’s hidden by clothes, somehow, he’ll know.
I’m trapped in a gilded cage with no lock on it. Yet it’s confining all the same. Turning to my side, I stare out the window, watching the sun play against the leaves. The shifting colors give my mind something to latch onto, something that’s not destructive.
By the time my phone buzzes, my breathing comes a bit easier. Nine AM. Like clockwork.
Rex
Good morning, Stephanie
Do not forget that you have your massage appointment at 12. At 1:15, you have your manicure and pedicure. I will be out for most of the day, so feel free to just relax and enjoy yourself. We will have dinner promptly at 6. If you require anything, one of the servants will attend you.
A soft smile tilts up my lips as I run my finger over the screen. As much as I hate being confined like this, it does help to know that Mr. Rothsbourne has me in his thoughts.
Gone are the frantic days of rushing out the door to be somewhere. Gone are the times where I’m almost late just because things slipped by without me noticing. Now, he’s prompt to remind me, allowing my brain to relax and not have to worry about what I’m forgetting.
Stephanie
Thank you. Is my car repaired yet?
Where do you need to go? My driver will take you after he drops me off at work.
The smile quickly turns into a frown. This is certainly one of the main downsides.
What if I wanted to go somewhere scandalous? I’d prefer my own car for that.
Again, where would you go? Perhaps it’s somewhere I know. I can get you VIP seating.
Ugh. So not the point.
Forget it. I’ll just hang out here all day. I guess.
For several moments, his end is silent, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
Are you happy here with me?
Where the fuck did that come from?
Sure.
Convince me.
Heat floods my face as I picture myself showing him just how happy he can make me. “No, dammit,” I cry out to the empty room. “I have a boyfriend.”
I’m as grateful as a person can be. You’ve certainly rescued me from a horrendous fate, and I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.
I guess that’s the best I’ll get from you. Is there anything else that will make you happier?
A job?
Besides that. You need to focus on rebalancing and healing. Rest is paramount.
“Right,” I grumble under my breath. “And you’d probably be happy with me being barefoot and pregnant, too.”
If you must know, I’m a bit bored. Without something to keep me occupied, I’m kinda floundering here.
I see. I must remedy that then. After your manicure, I’ll have some clerical work for you to do. Because I’m so busy with my businesses, I have neglected my house. If I remember correctly, part of your job was expense reports. Correct?
Yes.
Excellent. I would like those reports by the time dinner is ready.
My stomach flops about as I scan the room. Can I even do what he asks? Without seeing the amount of paperwork he has, I have no idea if I can do it or not. Already I feel set up for failure.
Ugh. Why am I like this? I should be ecstatic about having something to do besides looking at the walls. As pretty as they are, it doesn’t make me feel useful.
Before I can stop myself, my hand creeps up to my lips. My teeth glide along the growing nail of my thumb. Not biting, but just pressing down. He can’t fault me for just pressing down, can he?
It tickles that part of my brain that makes me happy but doesn’t fully satisfy the itch. I keep teasing myself, almost as if I’m just edging myself. Finally, I give in. Besides, I have a manicure today. It’s not as if I’ll chew them down to the nubs. Also, it’s just my thumb. No one cares about a thumb.
Try as I might to justify it, I can’t stop with just the thumb. Once that’s chewed down, I start on the others until I’m back to ragged, jagged fingers. What once were pretty nails with perfect pale polish are now chipped and ugly. With a soft sob, I plant my head in my hands as that feeling of hopelessness creeps over me.
Next to me, on the bed, my phone buzzes again, and for a moment, my breath catches in my throat. How can he know already? But when I look at the screen, relief floods my system. It’s just Brody. Daddy Rothsbourne might be many things, but neither clairvoyant nor omniscient are one of them.
Brody
Hey doll. Weirdest thing.
Seems like I got a summons by the governing body to be married tomorrow. Guess that means our fun times are cut short. Bummer, I know. I’m just as shocked as you probably are.
But hey, if you got one too, maybe it’s you. If not, then I guess my wife and I will be seeing you around the house. Please don’t make it weird. I’m going to block this number just in case it’s not you. Can’t have my future wifey getting jealous of my high school sweetheart.
Look. Odds are, it is you. In that case, can’t wait to knot you properly. See you or not down the aisle!
Time stops for a moment, where I just can’t breathe again. It’s not as if I saw forever with Brody, but seeing as I haven’t received a text, that means it’s done. Over. What do I do with my life now?
My fingers fly over the keys, desperate to reach out to him just one last time. It can’t end like this. It just can’t.
Stephanie
Wait!
The person you are trying to reach has blocked this number. If you feel as if this is in error, please have them contact a servicing station for a systems scan.
No! Wait!
The person you are trying to reach has blocked this number. If you feel as if this is in error, please have them contact a servicing station for a systems scan.
Tears blur my eyes as I toss my phone onto the bed. What am I going to do? Brody was the only thing keeping me tethered to this place. With him marrying someone else, what will Mr. Rothsbourne do? There’s no way he’ll keep me here with another Mrs. Rothsbourne flitting around the place.
What will they say? That I’m an ex who got evicted for possible drug use, so she’s using the south wing as a halfway house until she can get a real job and get the fuck out?
Tears gather in my eyes, blurring everything until it’s a mass of color and noise. My fingers make their way to my mouth again, and I don’t give a fuck that I’m about to damage them even more. Wrapping my free hand around my waist, I rock back and forth as the last bit of rug gets yanked out from under me.
Again, my phone buzzes, and in the haze, I pick it up, thinking maybe Brody had a change of heart. But no. It’s not him at all.
Unknown Number
Hi! We have found you a mate. To ensure proper preparations for your big day, be at the Corner Haven Civic Center by 12pm sharp. Please do not be late. Your happiness depends on our ability to transform you into the bride of your dreams. Your presence is non-negotiable. If you are not here at the designated time, officers will be sent to your location to retrieve you. Enjoy your day to the fullest!
I blink down at the screen. There’s no way I’m reading that correctly. Wiping my eyes, I squint at the small lettering.
Hi! We have found you a mate. To ensure proper preparations for your big day, be at the Corner Haven Civic Center by 12pm sharp. Please do not be late. Your happiness depends on our ability to transform you into the bride of your dreams. Your presence is non-negotiable. If you are not here at the designated time, officers will be sent to your location to retrieve you. Enjoy your day to the fullest!
The message doesn’t change. Does this mean I’m marrying Brody after all? What’s the chance that we both get a text to be married tomorrow and it’s to two different people?
Now, my anxiety kicks in for a far different reason. I’m marrying Brody. I’m going to officially be a Rothsbourne. I should be happy. Honestly, I should be thrilled to death. Now, I won’t have this weight hanging over me. I can’t really owe his dad when I’m his daughter-in-law.
Rising from the bed, everything dips and sways for a moment. My head throbs and aches as I look around the space. I suppose I won’t be staying here anymore. I’ll have to move into the guest house with Brody. He certainly won’t want to live under the same roof as his father.
I reach out to smooth a small snag on the comforter, but it doesn’t lie flat. My brain buzzes as I fixate on the tiny snag, pulling on it until it unravels. In its wake, a small tunnel where the thread is missing screams out to me. Pull and tug as I might, it doesn’t fix itself.
The dull ache in my head turns to a full roar as I yank on the covers, shifting them to where they need to be. Not right. Nothing about this is right. I can’t put my finger on what’s wrong, but it feels like everything is just off somehow.
The pictures hang just a touch crooked. The pillows are far too askew for my liking. Great. Now I have to add OCD to my list of issues. Tipping my head up to look at the ceiling, I scream, hoping that will quell all these riotous emotions running through me.
But it doesn’t.
My limbs shake as I walk into the bathroom and head toward the cabinet. My suppressants sit out front where anyone can see because I don’t care who knows I’m on them. I pop one and swallow with some sink water.
But that’s not the pill I need. Only one thing can make all this go away. Only one thing will let me breathe without extra effort. My fingers tremble as I pull the bottle out from its hiding place.
I just need enough to get me through the ceremony. After I’m married, everything will be alright. I just know it. It has to be.
Tears stream down my face, blurring my vision again as I clutch my bottle of anxiety pills to my chest. The bottle feels far lighter than I remember. But then, I probably took quite a few as I got used to things in the Rothsbourne household. It’s probably why he’s insisting on a massage.
The pills are light, though, so I’m probably okay. I hold the bottle up to the light, and everything freezes. Three left. Just three. I thought I had at least five or maybe ten if I was lucky. But no. Three.
Three fucking pills to get me through my marriage. I can’t survive on just three. There has to be something else. There just has to be.
I can’t ask Mr. Rothsbourne to purr for me. Besides, he’s probably already left. This leaves me all alone with no help. Nothing.
With shaky fingers, I run my hand over the small lump in the back of the cabinet. To anyone else, it might look like a small makeup kit. But it’s anything but. Can I do this? Can I just do a line or two?
I won’t fuck up like last time. I won’t cut so deeply that I’ll end up in the hospital. I know better now.
Holding the kit in my hands, my body trembles as I lower myself to the floor. Just one cut. Just one little flash of burn. Something to focus my thoughts and keep me from spiraling.
I pull the silver box out of the velvet liner and open it up. The unused razor blades gleam up at me in the bright lights. They call me, demand I take hold and give in to the pain I know will shut off my mind.
With a deep breath, I set the kit to the side and pull down my pajama pants, revealing the pale scars on my inner thigh. There’s still plenty of room. Besides, I’m not going to do that many.
My breath comes in shallow pants as I take out the alcohol wipe and sanitize the area. The acrid, medicinal smell fills my nose, making my brain start to calm down. It knows what this is. My body knows what’s about to happen.
It’s cool against my fevered skin, making me shiver despite the warmth in the room. One cut. That’s all I’m going to do.
The moment the razor slices through my skin, I groan. No longer do my thoughts spiral out of control. I’m fixated, concentrating hard on keeping the blade shallow.
Crimson drips down my skin and plops onto the floor. Luckily, it’s tile. So easy to clean up. So easy to hide the evidence.
A ragged groan buzzes in the back of my throat as I blot the wound. It shouldn’t feel this good. It shouldn’t make everything finally quiet down. Just like Mr. Rothsbourne’s spanking.
Only, this is something I can control. I decide how deep I go. I decide how much pain I inflict. It’s the one bit of control I have in a world where I can’t seem to command anything.
One line turns into two. Two turns into three. My body screams out in relief as I meticulously do line after line. What is it now, ten? I should probably stop.
Even now, the pain dulls to the point where the cuts prove ineffective. But they did their job. My mind clears as I start the ritual of cleansing my skin and staunching the bleeding.
With each swipe of alcohol, I want to scream out, to cry, but this is part of the process. It’s that final bite of pain to get everything else to shut up. In stark contrast, the long bandages feel like nothing as I place them on my skin.
My breaths are calmer now, even and smooth. That itch under my skin, though still there, dulls to a manageable roar. All that’s left is to prepare for the wedding.
Rummaging around the bathroom, I find a large bandage to place over the smaller ones. Just an extra bit of precaution. It’s big enough to cover the strips and keep me from getting blood everywhere if it gets too bad.
Which it won’t. I made sure to keep each cut shallow, just at the surface. I won’t fuck that up again. The only downside is, I’ll need to have the massage therapist concentrate on my neck and shoulders instead of a full body session.
No one needs to know what happens in the privacy of my own bathroom. Besides, the few times Brody saw my legs, he thought they were stretch marks. A few more won’t draw his suspicions.
Filling my lungs with as deep a breath as I can manage, I put my kit away and plan out the rest of my day. Hopefully, it will stave everything off until I can find a way to get more meds.
Disgust burrows its way into my heart as I give the kit one more look. It’s trading one addiction for another. Either the pills or pain. Which will I succumb to first?