Chapter 13 Elowyn
ELOWYN
Warm light filters through my closed eyelids. My limbs are sinking into the bed.
My breath turns shallow; my lungs refuse to draw air in.
My mouth is sore from…
“Fuck.” The word slips out in a whisper, filthy and wrong. Everything my family raised me not to say.
But that’s the smallest of my sins.
I’m ruined. Tainted. In love with the devil. With a fallen angel.
Who might be here in this room. Now.
Despite the heaviness I feel, my eyes snap open. My mouth parts as I’m about to tell him he’s so much better than this…
Only to realize I’m alone.
He isn’t here, but he was. The covers, I didn’t wrap myself in them.
My stomach dips with the knowledge that Duncan visited me while I was asleep. It had to have been him, not Mary or Herbert.
Because something tells me he didn’t come to my room just to pull the covers over me.
The wall. Look at the wall.
The wall I cleared last night. After I showered, I figured putting on the dress he brought me would carry his smell. That it’d ground me somehow.
I was wrong.
Rage bubbled in me the longer I replayed our night together.
I didn’t mind that he used me. With him, it was hot. What should’ve been demeaning felt like a homecoming. Like sliding a key into its perfect lock.
Then the damn citrus, the cotton.
My chest, how it ached.
Later, my body channeled that pain, that hurt, to the wall. I tore all the photos off without bothering to take down the pins. I shredded a few and stomped on the others too.
After that, I raked what I could with my hands, shoved it into the corner, determined to clean it in the morning.
Now, there’s a new picture pinned to the center of the wall. It’s me, that much I can tell, but unlike yesterday’s photos, something is written in red on my skin.
It’s too small for me to read from my bed, this message I should hate. This violation I should scream and revolt against.
Wish I could.
Duncan’s attention makes it impossible. If I truly meant nothing to him, he wouldn’t have tried to do this, whatever this is. I can feel him reaching for me even through the vilest acts.
Knowing he cares enough to keep circling around me is all the assurance I need to get out of bed and rush toward the wall.
My breath catches as I read the words Duncan painted on my stomach.
I OWN YOU
Emotions, warmer than before, swarm through me. A grin tears at my lips.
My hands fly to my stomach to feel the dry paint. To thumb Duncan’s commitment.
“What?” I ask, my tongue heavy.
There’s nothing there.
There are no bumps on my skin, no declaration of ownership.
My eyebrows pinch as I look down. A nearly invisible layer of red paint is smudged on my stomach.
Other than that, I’m… “Clean.”
What kind of cruel game is this?
“You don’t!” I scream, ripping the picture off the wall. “You don’t get to play with me.”
Crushing the photo beneath my foot doesn’t give me the release I hoped it would. At least it’s hidden now. It can’t mock me and my bare stomach anymore.
God, I feel foolish. Empty.
Air doesn’t flow freely into my lungs. The pressure against my ribs is the result of years of pain, all of it bearing down at once.
After the first sob finally tears out of me, more follow. I cover my face, weeping into my hands.
Any other girl wouldn’t have agreed to this, any of this. She’d have a backbone. She would’ve straightened her spine ten years ago and moved on.
That girl would’ve been smart. Wouldn’t have believed in silly ideas like fairytales and soulmates.
Apparently, I’m neither strong nor smart.
“Stupid.” I keep crying. My hands are soaked. My shoulders shake. “Pathetic idiot—”
A knock on the door silences me. “Miss Montgomery.”
Mary.
I don’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed that it isn’t Duncan.
No time to think about it, because there she is, slipping inside. On one hand, she balances a silver tray. Between her free arm and her body, she clutches a black box.
Herbert is out in the hallway, closing the door behind her without looking at me.
“Your breakfast.” She rounds me, careful to step over the few shredded photos that slipped free during cleanup, before placing the tray on the dresser, as she did yesterday. “And a box. Tonight’s outfit.”
I should be offended by how she ignores my sobs. I don’t. Her job is to deliver packages and my meals, not to wonder why I’m crying.
And she is compassionate, in her own way. I’m grateful for that.
While Mary pours coffee from a French press into a porcelain mug, I notice her attention flick toward the pile by the bathroom.
“Please don’t clean up after me,” I say, guilt churning in my stomach. “If I could have a trash bag to pick it up, I’d get to clearing this mess.”
“All right, Miss Montgomery.”
“Thank you.”
With that, I head to the bathroom and close the door behind me.
Shower first. Brushing my teeth and hair comes later.
By the time I wrap myself in a robe, I feel more like myself. Better, even.
With a small smile on my face, I step out and into the room, fully expecting to be alone. After all, I proved myself to Mary and Duncan yesterday by not ignoring his damn box.
“Ah, you’re back,” Mary greets.
“Jesus, you scared me.” My heart’s racing as I turn to find her standing by the dresser. Why does this place never let me relax? “Is everything okay? What are you still doing here?” Just as fast, my eyes sweep across the now clean floor, my heart twitching. “Mary, you shouldn’t have.”
“It was nothing.” She gives a sweet, dismissive wave. “I stayed because I wanted to see if there’s anything you’d like changed with your meals. Making you comfortable here is important, and I figured food was a good place to start.”
I’m speechless, and with good reason. The last time anyone asked me what I wanted was years ago.
Duncan did, a few weeks before he vanished into thin air.
It was late at night, and he was sitting on one of the living room sofas. Something low was playing on the television.
Just the sight of him, alone, without my brother beside him, made my heart rate pick up. Static hummed beneath my skin.
Sure, I was hoping for this, but now he was actually there…
You’ve got this.
Gathering what little courage I had, I edged closer to the sofa, hesitating.
My steps were muted by the rug, and yet somehow, Duncan noticed me coming. I wasn’t ten feet away when he looked over his shoulder.
His gaze skimmed from my pajamas to my face, steady and appreciative.
My toes curled into the rug. All I managed was, “Hey.”
“Hey,” he said back and patted the cushion beside him.
On uncertain legs, I moved over to the sofa and did as he said, sitting a careful distance away. My lips tingled as we studied each other for long moments that felt like a lifetime.
Then he shook his head, half amused.
“What?”
“Here.” He surprised me by handing over the remote. “Put on whatever you want. I’m going to the kitchen to grab us a snack. What would you like?”
I nearly melted then and there.
Somehow, I pulled myself together and whispered, “Peanut butter and crackers.”
His smile warmed me from the inside out before he disappeared into the kitchen. It widened when he returned to find that I’d put on a rerun of I Dream of Jeannie.
Then we had our snack and watched the show in complete silence until I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore, no matter how hard I tried to make that night last forever.
Those rare moments when I wasn’t someone’s daughter or someone’s sister were magical. I didn’t have to shrink, adjust, or perform.
Thanks to Duncan, I was just a girl on a sofa, and he was a boy who paid attention.
I won’t cry. I won’t cry.
I will. Not. Cry.
“Oh. Um, thanks.” I bite my lip, hard. The sting helps keep the tears at bay. “Everything you make is delicious. I wouldn’t change a thing.”
“Thank you.” The corners of Mary’s lips tick up.
When she doesn’t leave, I ask, “What’s going on?”
“I heard you earlier.” She gives me a look full of empathy. “It sounded like you might need someone to be here for you. So, if that’s all right, I’ll stay here. Just to see if you might need me.”
The way she says it makes me think she might not fully approve of what Duncan is doing either. Maybe she’s hoping he’ll stop playing these games too. That the real him will push through the thick walls he’s built around himself and find true happiness.
And that means she’s a good person. One who doesn’t deserve my sulking.
I swallow everything else I want to say, square my shoulders, and step over to the bed where the box lies. My hands stay steady as I lift the lid and peel back the tissue.
As I do, I wish, stupidly, that it’s a real dress. Or lounge clothes.
I pray that at the bottom there’ll be a note saying I crossed a line. I want to talk. To start over.
That hope shatters the moment I take it in.
Yes, it. This thing is even less of a gown than yesterday’s garment.
A narrow collar with a clasp at the back holds dozens of ribbons that spill from it, trailing all the way to the floor. They remind me of plaster bandages, their edges curling slightly, uneven, as if cut by hand.
My stomach hollows. The gaps between the strips will leave my body fully visible when we meet, proof of how little I mean to him.
If he cared that I’d left the gallery crying, he would’ve sent real clothes.
Sex—dirty, rough, whatever—we could’ve done it after we talked.
Instead, this is what I get.
A frustrated scream tears out of me, so loud that it ricochets off the walls.
Mary startles, jumping back, a hand flying to her heart.
“Miss Montgomery,” she whispers after a second, once she’s collected herself. “It’s okay. Everything will be fine, I promise.”
The plea in her voice cuts off my scream.
I’m nowhere near calm, though.
Breathing hard, I hurl the thing onto the bed and whirl back to face her. “Take me to him.”
“He’ll be waiting for you at midnight.” Another one of her apologetic looks. I want to scream all over again. “He’ll see you then.”
“No. No, no, no. To hell with midnight.” My throat is raw, my hand reaching for the note at the bottom of the box as I crumple the damn thing without reading it.
“He can’t leave me alone like this for hours.
It’s not right. I’m a human being. I have feelings.
I”—I pull my lips in before letting a foolish I love him slip out—“deserve at least a shred of respect.”
Mary shifts on her feet. “He’s my boss.”
“Mary.” My voice is steady this time. “I want to see him.”
I don’t mean to prowl toward her, but it’s not like I can help it. I’ve been pushed past my limits, reduced to this wild, angry version of myself.
“I…” She steps back. I don’t stop walking forward until her back bumps against the wall. Given how strong she is, she can probably shove me away. She doesn’t, simply looks at me with wide eyes. “Fine.”
Too easy. This has to be a trick. Some kind of trap.
I cock my head. “Why?”
“You’re right.” The regret tainting her voice tells me she isn’t lying. “You deserve to be treated with respect. More than just a shred of it. Let’s go.”
As she guides me through the halls, my mind reels. My thoughts don’t have a straight line. They’re more like colors, like the red, black, and white paintings lining the walls, wild and furious.
I’m lost inside my head, forgetting to take note of where we’re going. We’re still on the second floor, I’m sure of that. Thing is, did we take two turns to the right? Or was it one left, one right?
My lungs deflate. It’s too late to figure it out.
We’re already here, standing in front of another heavy, black door.
“This is Mr. Rourke’s main studio,” Mary announces.
“Okay, I—dammit.” I rub the back of my neck, glancing down the hallway. How the hell am I supposed to find my room later? No way I’m asking her or Duncan for directions. This isn’t the right time to be weak around either of them. “Dammit.”
“Miss Montgomery.”
I lift my gaze. “Yes, Mary?”
“The way back to your room is…” As if reading my mind, she turns me by my shoulders, gently, like it’s okay to lower my guard around her. “Right at the wilted-flowers painting, then left at the swamp painting. From there, turn left, and you’ll find your bedroom door open.”
“Thank you,” I sigh, hug her, then let myself in.