24. The Mad King
Chapter twenty-four
The Mad King
Astoria
Julian's gentleness feels like a dream but I know I'm awake. Even when the soapy loofa rubs over my pussy, I can tell his intention is only to take care of me. It's confusing.
What the hell did he do to me after he knocked me out? I'm so exhausted and have thick bandages on my belly. Every time he moves, I anticipate him becoming the monster I know he is and my world quakes with fear. I can't allow myself to be fooled into thinking he can stay being nice to me when I know sooner or later, he will unleash hell on me again. But he did bring me out of the basement. Something turns off in my brain and my curiosity takes over. While he washes me, I slowly raise my wet fingers and reach for his painted face. The water on my finger tips clears a little of the paint from his jaw.
“Don’t!” he yells and pulls away. The rage appears uncontrollable, as if he could kill me right now.
Startled, my back hits the tile behind me. I gasp, swallow hard, cringe away, and freeze while my heart races, expecting the worst, flinching. There it is, everything I fear, Julian's rage. “I-I’m so sorry. Sorry, I don’t know what I was–”
He sighs, almost rolling his eyes. The expression on his face when he lifts his gaze to mine again is like night and day. He's cool and collected now. “It’s okay. Just remember, Astoria, curiosity killed the cat. Okay?”
Jesus, what am I supposed to do with this? He's like a nuclear bomb. I nod with a giant wave of relief that this is not what's going to get my head slammed against the wall, or what's going to get me locked up down stairs again. “Why don’t you want me to see your face?” I whisper.
“Because a skull is a better representation of who I truly am.”
I nod and stare at the soap bubbles popping one by one on my feet. “May I ask you something else?”
“Why not?” He sighs, letting me know this is not something he’s thrilled to do.
“Why me?”
He chuckles. “You could be asking me a million other questions and that’s what you ask? The question that I’ve answered a million times already?”
My eyebrows and forehead scrunch in confusion.
“You're perfect for me–”
“Because? How? Because I’m so fucked up? Because I’m a cheap whore who comes when she's being raped? How did you even know that would happen when you first saw me? Where did you even first see me?"
“I knew you'd come every time I fucked you, because I know how to make a woman come. It’s not you, pretty bird, it’s me.” He pauses, his eyes studying every detail of my face. It takes everything in me not to whimper at the heat that spreads through me. Does he realize what he just did? He took away all the self blame and shame I’ve been feeling since he first touched me. I don’t know why, but my eyes fall to his white-painted lips. When they return to his eyes, his smile makes my cheeks burn.
As he wraps me in a towel and holds my arm so that I can step out of the tub, he explains, “I first saw you dancing at that club, then followed you home. I knew you'd been waiting for me all this time when you left every door and window unlocked for me. I knew you'd be perfect because I saw it in your eyes. I saw my pretty bird hiding from the world by allowing her friend to shine with perfect hair, make-up and clothes, while she always wore something sub-par in comparison. You were hiding behind her from other men. But when you’d get drunk, your true self snuck out, you’d dance like a fucking whore and flirt as if your life depended on it." He helps me sit on the marble bench next to the tub, then dries my legs and feet. "You were fearless and so hungry for me. That’s the side of you I fell in love with.”
“Love?” The question slips out of me. How could he call any of this love? The lack of self awareness to his psychotic cruelty gives me goosebumps and sends a chill through me. I shake my head while he nods and raises an eyebrow.
“We belong together, pretty bird. The sooner you accept that, the sooner we can start finding a happy medium, the less you’ll suffer. I knew you were mine when you masturbated the very next morning after I taught you how to and marked your whole body with my come. I mean... you screamed my name.” He raises his eyebrows, smiling while I tighten my hold on the toweland wince at the memory. It wasn’t my best moment.
Julian unclenches my fingers from the towel, uncovers me and slowly pulls on the tape to remove all the plastic protecting the incisions. The tape is brutal, pulling at my skin. I grimace, moan, and grip on to the edge of the marble. "What did you do to me?"
"Almost every night of my childhood was spent watching videos of my father's medical procedures. I was raised to be a doctor like him. It was expected. I went to medical school, completed my residency, but there was a malpractice lawsuit that lead to me losing my license." He shrugs. "You had tissue growing on the exterior of your uterus. It's known as endometriosis." We both say the last word together.
"Yeah. I removed it. Everything else should be…" he pauses and there's a peculiar look in his eyes. He wants me. "Everything else is intact."
"Y-you're a doctor?"
"Not for a few years now–"
"W-what's your last name?"
He sighs, frustrated by my curiosity. "Matheson." After pulling hard on the last bit of tape, he stands up and offers me his hand. I look at his black eyes, remembering Dr. Michaelson had the lightest, most beautiful eyes I'd ever seen. I'm exhausted and with the pain the tape caused me, my body is covered in sweat again.
He places me on the edge of the bed. "I'll be back"
“Julian?" He turns around, the door covering all of his body but not his face. "Are you going to kill me?”
“I hope I don’t have to, little bird.” The lock clicks, letting me know that even if I had the strength, I wouldn't be able to escape the bedroom.
For the time he's gone, I sit, gripping the towel to my chest, taking in the room and the glass wall behind me. I take a deep breath and look up at the ceiling, which is covered with a mirror. In fact, every wall in here has mirrors. I focus on holding on to the relief of no longer being in that hell hole down stairs. If I get better, and regain my strength, maybe I can find a way to escape.
The thought shatters when he returns with the collar and chain. The sadness drowns me. I know he can see it in my eyes, in my entire body that I don't want to wear that thing again, but he locks the chain to a thick iron hook on the wall behind the bed and lays the collar right beside me. My heart hammers a little too hard and fast. I swallow deep, wanting to protest, to say something but knowing it won't change anything.
Out of a drawer, in his dresser, he takes out a short, white nightgown, exactly like the first he gave me, and dresses me with it, as if I were some little girl. By the time the lock clicks closed on the collar around my neck my eyes are full of tears and my breathing is heavy. He studies my face while I try to keep my emotions hidden and fail miserably. A tear falls and without a word, he wipes it away with his thumb. The last thing I see before he covers my eyes with the blindfold is the tip of his tongue dragging in between his lips as if he's finding my pathetic, helpless state delicious. I might as well be downstairs. No. I can't let myself think like that. I decide to keep him talking. “What do I have to do for you not to take me back down stairs?”
“Just don’t try to escape. Okay, pretty bird?"he raises my legs to the bed and pushes my chest so that I lay down, then covers me with the sheets. "Now. Be a good girl and go to sleep. You need to rest."
His bed and pillows are like a cloud after sleeping down stairs for I don't know how long so it doesn't take long before I''m out cold.
Something caresses my arm. I moan, finding it hard to wake up from such a deep sleep. "Astoria? Are you awake?"
"Hmm?" I clear my throat. "Yes?"
"I brought you some food."
I turn to lie on my back then slowly sit up. Julian places the tray on top of my legs. The chicken soup smells amazing, especially after I don't know how may days of eating oatmeal.
He walks around to the nightstand at the other end of the bed and hits a button on a remote control. A TV slowly slides from the ceiling, a couple of yards away from the foot of the bed. “What episode do you want to watch?”
“Of?”
“Of Bridgerton. I know it’s your favorite show.”
“First episode of Queen Charlotte.”
As he climbs onto the bed, next to me, he mumbles, “Always the mad king, huh?”I look at him but don’t respond. "You should probably put the glasses on."
"Aren't you going to eat too?"
"I already did."
I try to watch it without them but my eyes fill with tears even before the show begins. "Fuck."
"What's the matter?"
"My eyes."
"It will go away soon."
As the night advances, somehow I get used to sitting in bed, watching a romantic series with my captor, my torturer, my rapist, the biggest nightmare of my fucking life, the devil himself. My thoughts don't improve when he takes the tray away. Several times, he catches me staring at him. He asks if I’m okay the first few times, then stares back in silence.
Near the end of the episode, I wonder if he knows I’ve never done this with any other guy? Neither of my boyfriends ever gave me the satisfaction of watching romantic movies or shows with me. What the hell is happening? Suddenly this monster has a soft side? A softer side than both my past boyfriends? What am I doing? I push my hair back, frustrated and exhausted beyond belief with myself. What about Romeo? I haven’t even asked if he killed him? I haven’t… even thought of him. My breath quickens as the guilt tears me apart. I can’t think straight. What is wrong with me? Not just now, but overall.I wipe the tears from my face but he catches sight of my state.
“Astoria, what’s wrong? Is it hurting?”
Oh and now he's concerned about me being in pain? “Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“Stop being nice to me. Just stop.”
He pauses the show and studies my face full of rage, confusion, and anguish. “You're tired. Let's get you comfortable to sleep."
"Fuck you! I'm not tired. What are you doing? What is this? Stop it."
"This? This is all for you. I’m definitely not the kind of guy who binges this crap. Be careful what you wish for, little bird.”
I don’t know what to say. I need him to be mean so that I don’t feel guilty, but I can’t possibly bear his callousness. He cups my face and wipes my tears.
“Did you kill him?”
“Who? Jeremy?”
“No. Romeo.” His gaze shifts from one of my eyes to the other. I can see the rage filling his and regret my question immediately.
“That’s who you’re shedding tears for?” he asks through his teeth. Slowly, he shakes his head while making a tsk tsk tsk sound and narrowing his eyes into slits.
“It’s not–” The fear steals my voice.
“Oh, Astoria…” He chuckles. “Let me give you two pieces of advice. You're a terrible liar. Don't even try it with me. And, don’t you ever say that name in my presence again.”
“That’s not–”
“Shut the fuck up, Astoria!" He yells then sighs at my horrified state. "You need rest.”
The TV turns off and disappears into the ceiling after he slams the remote on the nightstand. I don't say another word.
When I wake up, the darkness engulfs every solid thought and shred of my sanity. I can’t see. My heart runs and my breath tries to catch up. “No. No. No. I was good. I was good.”
“Astoria,” he calls as he wakes and tries to catch my hands.
“I'm sorry.”
“What?” He turns on the light and the terror that is my cell disappears, leaving me open-mouthed, shocked, scanning the room, not believing this is real.
“I’m-I’m sorry. I thought–”
“You thought I’d taken you back down there? I told you, as long as you don’t try anything, I won’t.”
“Is it okay if we leave the light on?”
“Sure, Astoria.”
Julian get up, walks over to the bathroom, and turns the light on there, leaving the door only a little bit ajar.