Chapter Eight #2
"Yes," he answers shortly, his guarded tone telling me this line of questioning is making him uncomfortable. "They remind me of my mother. I get new ones every week."
The mention of his mother surprises me. It’s a glimpse into his personal life I wasn’t expecting.
"Take your time," he says, obviously wanting to change the subject. "Everything you need is in there. I'll be right outside if you need anything else."
"Um, Silas?" I hesitate, unsure how to ask for what I want. It's a simple request, but I can't shake the feeling that I'm imposing on him too much.
He turns, waiting patiently for me to speak. "Yeah?"
"Can... Would you mind if, maybe, I run a bath instead?" I ask, feeling a bit awkward. "I mean, if that's okay. It's just... I've never seen a bathtub this big before, and I don't know when I'll ever get the chance to take a bath in one again."
Silas considers my request for a moment, "Not tonight, Char. I promise you can take all the baths you want, but right now, you need a shower. And so do I."
I must not hide my disappointment as well as I thought .
His expression softens, "It's a matter of evidence. If you take a bath any DNA that's on you could potentially be found in the jets of the tub. If you take a shower, I only have to worry about bleaching the shower. Understand? It's just a precaution."
"You really know a lot about this stuff. I guess it's part of your job, huh?"
"Yeah." He smirks. "Something like that. Now, go get cleaned up. I'll be right outside if you need anything."
I exit the bathroom, freshly showered. My skin is pink and blotchy from my vigorous scrubbing, desperate to erase any trace of Corey.
I hadn’t realized how much blood was on me until I stepped under the spray of the shower.
I watched as the water turned a pale red, swirling down the drain, carrying away the evidence of what I helped do.
I find Silas sitting patiently on the edge of the bed now with a t-shirt on and a pile of clothes laid out neatly beside him.
"It's all yours," I say, pointing behind me to the bathroom. "I hope you don't mind that I took so long. I had to wash my hair twice to get everything out. I hope there is still some hot water left for you."
"A cold shower is better than no shower. I'll be fine." He holds up a TV remote and gestures to the TV mounted on the wall. "I can show you how it works so you're not bored while I clean up."
I reach for the remote, eager for the distraction from today's events.
"Sure, that'd be..." Before I can finish my sentence, Silas suddenly drops the remote to the floor.
He lunges for me, sweeping me off of my feet and tosses me effortlessly over his shoulder.
I struggle to process what's happening, but the rush of blood to my head from hanging upside down silences any thoughts.
I'm dropped onto the bed, and only then do I notice the handcuff around my right wrist, the cold metal biting into my skin.
Silas moves swiftly, already cuffing the other end to the headboard.
"What the hell, Silas? Why did you just cuff me to your bed? What's wrong with you?"
"I can't exactly have you running off while I'm in the shower." He's so infuriatingly calm about it, as if handcuffing random women to his bed is an everyday occurrence. Oh, fuck. What if it is? I feel a surge of panic knowing that I’m trapped.
"Do you kidnap women all the time!?" My heart is pounding in my chest. I pull at the handcuffs, testing their strength. There is no way I’m getting out of this.
"No, I don't kidnap women! That’s ridiculous.”
This asshole has some serious balls on him.
“Is it Silas?” I shake my hand so the handcuff smacks off the headboard. “Please, explain to me how ridiculous it is that I came to that conclusion. You have a lot of nerve to act like you're the one that has the right to be offended in this situation.”
“You're safe with me, Charlotte. I just need to make sure you don't run off." He seems sincere, but I can't shake the feeling of unease. I'm at his mercy, and the knowledge of what he's capable of is terrifying and a little exciting. Why am I so fucked up?
“I wasn’t planning on leaving!”
"I wasn't planning on having a witness to a murder either," he admits. "But shit happens, and plans change. So, until I figure out exactly what to do with you, you're not going anywhere. "
"So what? You're just planning on holding me captive until you come up with a better idea?” I ask, my voice rising with each word as I become more and more frustrated with his nonchalant attitude. “Why not just kill me now and save yourself the trouble?"
Silas regards me with a mixture of amusement and something I would almost call fondness.
"I thought about it, believe me.” The asshole actually laughs.
“I’ve thought about it a lot. But I don't kill innocent people, Charlotte.
And besides, there is something about that smartass mouth of yours I kinda like.
I think I'd be disappointed if I had to silence it permanently. "
I don't kill innocent people .
I fixate on those five words as I stare at Silas. The sentence replaying in my mind, over and over. He's a cop. He kills criminals in the line of duty when he has to. That has to be what he means.
"You kill people?"
He shrugs. “Only if they deserve it.”
"Oh my god," I whisper. "Tonight wasn't the first time you've... You've done this before. You've killed before. I-I mean, of course, you have," I stammer. "You were too calm. You must have had—" I hesitate to finish my sentence. I'm not really sure of the word I'm looking for. "Practice?"
He gives me a look, a warning, that clearly tells me to stop pushing. "I think you've seen and learned enough about me for one night.”
"But—"
“I wouldn't want you to find out all my secrets and then get bored with me,” he interrupts. “It looks like we are going to be roommates for a while."
"You can't just keep me here, Silas. My mom may not care about me, but she cares about the money I make her. She will want me back and have the cops looking for me when I'm not there making her money every night."
Silas's expression softens, and for a moment, I think I see a flash of pity in his eyes. "Your mom doesn't give a shit, Char. And she isn't expecting you back anytime soon. She made a deal with Corey; traded you to cover her debt."
I jerk back against the headboard like I’ve just been slapped. I shouldn't be surprised. I knew my mother didn't care, but hearing it so bluntly still hurts. But how the hell does Silas know about it?
“How do you know that?”
"I happened to overhear her on the phone as she was making the deal, when I was walking back into the diner earlier.
Trust me, she isn't expecting you back anytime soon.
" His voice is gentler now. He walks over and picks up the TV remote from the floor, offering it to me.
"Look, I'm not trying to hurt you or hold you against your will. I just—"
I huff out a laugh. "Are you serious? I'm handcuffed to your bed! Your actions are telling a different story than your mouth is."
"I suppose that's fair.” He is trying to hide his smug amusement, but it still grates on my nerves. “What I should have said is I don't want to hurt you or keep you here against your will. Is that better?" He raises an eyebrow at me in question, his lips turned up in a slight smirk.
"Yeah, Silas, everything is just peachy," I reply, rolling my eyes. "You know, most sane people would have had this conversation before cuffing me to their bed."
"For one, I think we have already established that sane may not be the best word to describe me.
Secondly, most people don't have someone witness them committing murder," he points out, his tone turning more serious.
"I can't have you running off, Charlotte.
It's to protect you as much as it is to protect myself.
You made yourself an accomplice when you grabbed the head of his dick with a pair of pliers and then shoved it down his throat. "
"He deserved it."
Silas holds his hands up in defense. "I know he did, I'm not disagreeing with you. It was a nice touch. I'm just stating facts and telling you why I'm keeping you here. It's to help you, not hurt you. I won’t have you putting yourself in danger."
I roll my eyes, shaking and pulling at the handcuff chaining my wrist to the bed. "This is your idea of being helpful? Cuffing me to your bed?"
"I’m done talking about this. Be pissed all you want, Charlotte, this is what’s happening.” He grabs his clothes from the bed, walking away. I hear him mumble under his breath, “There are some people who would consider my idea of 'help' to be very fucking pleasant."
“I’m not some people!”
“Obviously,” he tosses back over his shoulder before disappearing into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him.
Left alone with nothing but my thoughts and the remote he insisted I take, I try to process what's happening. I toss the remote aside, the clatter it makes as it hits the nightstand echoing in the otherwise silent room.
I stare up at the handcuff around my wrist. A part of me is scared and confused, not knowing what's going to happen next. But another part, a bigger, twisted part of me feels relieved and welcomes the restraint around my wrist.
It's almost as if the handcuff gives me a warped sense of security and protection. Despite everything, I feel safe with Silas. Safer than I've felt in a long time.
I hear the shower running, the sound of water hitting the tile floor.
I imagine Silas standing under the spray, washing away the blood and filth of what we’ve done.
I wonder what’s going through his mind. Does he feel any guilt or remorse?
Or is he numb to it all? Maybe he's like me, too broken on the inside.
Because I don't feel any guilt. I think I should, but I don't.
But there's something else, something depraved that shouldn’t feel so right. A sense of satisfaction, of power, unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. It's like a drug, a high I never want to come down from knowing Corey got what he deserved, and I played a part in helping give him exactly that.
Is this what Silas feels?
I lean back against the headboard, the cool wood pressing into my back.
I close my eyes, and vivid images start flashing through my mind.
I see Corey, his eyes wild, dragging me through that house.
He throws me to the floor. I feel the dirt and grime beneath my palms. His disgusting face twisted in sick triumph as he assaulted me with his filthy fingers and forced his rancid dick in my mouth.
I can still feel the bile burning in my throat.
And just when I thought I finally would lose the one thing I had managed to keep to myself, Silas was there and saved me.
The sound of the shower stops, and a few moments later, Silas emerges from the bathroom. He's wearing a pair of black sweatpants, low on his hips, and nothing else. His hair is damp, pushed back from his face. I swallow hard, trying not to stare.
"Are you okay?" he asks as he pulls a t-shirt over his head.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. He sits down on top of the covers on the other side of the bed.
"You sure?"
"I'm sure," I whisper, but it's a lie. I'm not sure of anything anymore.