Chapter 3 Starling #2
“Stop calling me that,” I say, interrupting him.
“You broke me so you could put me in a cage, but the cage is suffocating me, Sebastian. I opened the door and destroyed the lock, and now you’re trying to break me into tinier pieces so you can make me your prisoner again.
But I’m not that person anymore, and if you break me again, there’ll be nothing left of me for you to try to put back together. ”
His nostrils flare and his eyes widen in reaction to my words, but he doesn’t speak as I side-step him and head for the bedroom, opening the closet door and stepping inside.
Our closet is a girly-girl’s dream, but for someone who spends most of their life in jean shorts and athletic gear, it feels like overkill.
Sebastian’s side is full of custom-tailored suits, button-downs, and designer clothes.
My side is pathetically empty. We have a personal shopper who comes every few months, but even with the clothes he insists that I buy, I still don’t have enough things to fill even a quarter of the rail.
Heading for the dresser, I pull out baggy sweats and a sports bra.
Not bothering with panties, I dress quickly, then rip the towel from my hair and roughly drag a brush through the strands before I pad barefoot out of the room and head downstairs.
Grabbing my backpack from where I dropped it, I pull out my laptop and open the Kingsacre student portal.
Fresh tears burn the backs of my eyes when, instead of the usual options, the screen has an online student header and links to prerecorded lectures and resources I’ll need to take my classes from my laptop without leaving the house.
Sighing, I find my earphones in my backpack and push them into my ears, opening the first lecture link. Pressing play, I reduce the size of the video screen so I can open my notes app and start typing.
I barely move for the rest of the day, listening to all the available video lectures and even starting the first couple of assignments that aren’t due for a few weeks. While I work, Sebastian watches me, sitting in the chair opposite me, his cell resting on the arm, his attention focused on me.
“Where is your cell?” he asks when I pluck the earbud from my ear and close the lid of my laptop.
Shrugging, I put the earbud back in the case before looking at him. “I dropped it on the beach this morning.”
“Bunny and January have been messaging you.”
“You should inform them I’m a prisoner now, and that they’ll have to ask the warden if he’ll grant me a phone pass,” I snark.
Rolling his eyes, he taps exaggeratedly at the screen of his cell. “I’ll track it, then you can reply to them.”
“I’m not explaining your bullshit to them. You tell them why I’m not at school. Own your shit, Sebastian, admit what you did.”
“We’re having dinner at Evan and Sammy’s tonight,” he says, ignoring my tirade.
“You can if you want. I’m not.”
“What?” he questions. “Why?”
“Because I don’t want to. I’m embracing my prisoner status. I’m staying here.”
“Little Bird,” he says warningly.
“I’m not doing this, Sebastian. This is what you wanted.
You wanted me locked in a cage, and this is the cage you’ve created for me.
So, this is where I’ll stay. I’ll run on the treadmill in the gym, I’ll finish my degree online, and I’ll stay right here with the doors locked so you never have to worry about your little bird flying away. ”
Pushing out of my seat, I start to put my laptop and earphones back into my backpack, then stop and leave them on the couch, putting my backpack in the mudroom before I head upstairs, change into gym shorts, and head to our home gym.
I run until my legs feel like jelly, and I have to hit the emergency stop button on the treadmill and cling to the sides so I don’t fall. Our gym is in the basement, a windowless room that has every piece of gym equipment known to man, far more than either of us will ever use.
Once I’m confident I can stand unaided, I step off the treadmill and grab a bottle of water from the small refrigerator, opening the lid and drinking thirstily. By the time half the bottle is gone, my legs are starting to cramp, and I sink down onto a mat and start to stretch my overused muscles.
Surprisingly, Sebastian hasn’t followed me down here, probably because unless I pull a Shawshank Redemption and dig a tunnel through the walls, there’s no way of me escaping a windowless room.
Along with the gym, there’s a media room down here, similar to the one at Hunter’s parents’ house, that Sebastian forced me to visit when we first met.
Unwilling to go back upstairs to deal with my husband, I open the thick insulated door to the media room and walk down to the front, collapsing onto one of the huge sofas that are set up in rows.
Grabbing the remote control, I turn on the massive screen and click into the menu, selecting an old romantic comedy that I watched almost every night when I first moved in with my dad and I was terrified that Sebastian would break in and steal me out of my bed while I slept.
Pressing play, I pull my legs up onto the couch, shoving a cushion beneath my head as the familiar opening sequence starts.
“Little Bird.” Sebastian’s soft voice lures me awake, my eyes blinking open slowly to find him sitting beside me, his fingers stroking my jaw.
“What time is it?” I ask groggily.
“Eight thirty p.m. You need to eat; you didn’t have lunch.”
“I’m not hungry,” I tell him, sighing as my eyes fall closed again.
“Starling, you ran miles today, you need to fuel your body,” he says, a little more insistently.
“I’ll make myself a sandwich.” Dismissing him, I pull my legs to the side and roll upright.
“That’s not dinner.”
“Neither of us can cook,” I remind him.
“I’ll hire us a chef.”
Scoffing, I shake my head. “I don’t want a stranger in the house.”
“They wouldn’t be a stranger, they’d be staff.”
“And let someone else see how fucked up we are?” I snap, pushing up from the couch and walking slowly from the room.
“We’re not fucked up,” he argues.
Laughing dryly, I shake my head again. “We’re the epitome of fucked up.”
The cramps in my legs have started to ease by the time I make it to the kitchen and find two places laid at the kitchen table, a candle lit in the center, and a creamy-looking pasta dish filling two plates.
“You should have said you were planning to order takeout.”
“I didn’t. Evan’s house manager bought it round for us.”
“Why?”
“Because I told Sammy you weren’t feeling well, and she was worried about you.”
Scoffing derisively, I smirk. “So, you lied to her.”
“No, you’re not yourself today.”
“No, Sebastian, I’m not the me you want me to be, there’s a difference,” I tell him, pulling out a chair and leaning over to blow out the candle before I twist some pasta onto my fork.
Sighing, he takes the seat opposite me and starts to eat, the silence stretching and thickening until it’s stifling. Taking two more mouthfuls, I place my silverware together on top of the leftover food and stand, carrying my plate over to the sink.
“You don’t like it?” Sebastian asks, his brows furrowed in concern.
“I told you I wasn’t hungry,” I tell him, scraping the remaining food into the waste disposal, then putting the dish and silverware into the dishwasher. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“I’ll come with you,” he offers, starting to rise from his seat.
“I’m not going to climb out of the fucking window, Sebastian, but why don’t you have my security team come and watch me to make sure?”
“Starling,” he growls.
“What? You’re either so worried that I’m going to escape that I need a visible team of security guards, or you’re not.
Where are they? Are they outside?” Marching into the hallway, I make a beeline for the front door, throwing it open to find the car from this morning still in the driveway and a suit-clad man standing sentry by the front door.
“Hey,” I say, speaking to the guy. “What’s your name?”
“Tom Underhill, Mrs. Lockwood. Did you need something?” the guy answers, without a hint of shock at me bursting through the front door and speaking to me.
“Yeah, come in.”
Glancing around, he nods and steps into the house. “Is there a problem?” he asks brusquely.
“So many fucking problems,” I snap. “But I need you to come and stand guard.”
“I’m sorry?” he says, glancing around. “Has Mr. Lockwood left the property?”
“He’s eating dinner, but if I want to shower alone, I need to make sure he knows I’m not trying to climb out the window, so can you please come with me? You can check and lock the bathroom window, then stand guard by the door to make sure I don’t escape.”
“Starling,” Sebastian says my name from the doorway into the kitchen.
“Don’t worry, there will be no flying free tonight. Tom over here is going to make sure of it,” I chirp sarcastically, grabbing the fabric on Tom’s suit sleeve and towing him up the stairs toward the bedroom.
“Mrs. Lockwood, all of the windows are secure,” Tom assures me as I practically drag him through the house.
“Honestly, I don’t care. They could be wired to explode if I try to open them, and he’d still believe that I’m capable of learning how to defuse a bomb just to get away. So, this is the way it’s going to be from now on.”
Opening the bedroom door, I push Tom in front of me, pointing through to the bathroom. “It’s through there, but I’m guessing you’re familiar with the layout of the house.”
The security guard’s eyes flash with guilt, confirming my suspicions. “Yes, ma’am.”
He allows me to shove him into the bathroom while I stand in the doorway with my arms crossed.
“Go ahead and check,” I demand.
Reaching for the window, he checks that the lock is secured, then steps back. “All secure, ma’am.”
“Great. I want you to stand guard outside the bathroom door. I’ll leave it open a crack so you’ll hear if I try to smash through the glass.”
His jaw twitches as he nods. “Yes, ma’am.”