Chapter 1 #2
Both words she’d known despite being six years old the first time she’d been put in there to, quote, “build character”. Poo and pee weren't acceptable words in her family. Too babyish, and God forbid anyone be allowed to be a child when they were quite literally a child.
Today, however, there was no mud, no stench. If anything, the room she was in actually smelled too clean. Like it had very recently been bleached from top to bottom.
Why would someone bleach a room from top to bottom?
There was no additional fragrance mixed with the bleach, so she wasn't in a bathroom someone had recently cleaned. Not that she could think up a logical reason why she would be in a bathroom.
Not that she could think up a logical reason why she should be anywhere that wasn't her bed.
Gasping, Rose jerked up.
The man.
Standing beside her bed.
She’d been kidnapped.
It was a clear indication that she was messed up inside because her first reaction wasn't terror, it was anger. After how long she’d spent fighting to get away from her family’s clutches and forge her own path in life, she sure as hell was not going to let anyone mess with that.
If the Bedroom Man thought he’d captured himself a wilting little flower, then he was about to find out he was sorely mistaken. She was a rose, and she came with thorns. Thorns she wouldn't hesitate to use any way she could to make him sorry he’d ever chosen her house to break into.
Fear did hum in the background, though, particularly as she looked down her body to check if she was still wearing clothing.
Thank goodness she was.
Despite the room she was in being one step away from pitch black, Rose could feel the soft flannelette material brushing against her skin as she moved. Her favorite pair of bright pink unicorn pajamas was still in place. So she likely hadn't been raped.
Relief made her lightheaded for a moment, or maybe it was whatever drugs she’d been injected with against her will.
Definitely the drugs, she decided as she placed her palms on the ground, knowing she needed to check out her surroundings to gather as much intel as she could if she wanted a chance at surviving whatever fresh hell Mr. Bedroom Man had conjured up for her.
Damn. She was so tired of people wanting to hurt her.
Why couldn’t she just be left alone to live out her life in the way she chose?
And why the hell did bad stuff always happen to her at Christmastime?
It was no wonder she despised the holiday.
Joy and peace? Nah, pain and suffering, that was her experience with Christmas.
It was why she refused to celebrate the overly commercialized holiday.
She’d even been known to issue the famous Charles Dickens quote when someone wished her a merry Christmas.
Bah humbug.
Beneath her palms was something hard and rough. Concrete. As her eyes adjusted slightly to the oppressive dark, she could just make out four walls and a door in the wall furthest from where she’d been put.
It must have been the door locking that roused her from unconsciousness.
For a moment, Rose almost wanted to laugh. If leaving her in a concrete cell without any light and no furniture was the best her abductor could do, he was going to have a hard time breaking her.
Torture was as natural a part of her childhood as cartoons were to most kids.
Not that anyone in her family would ever call it torture. Nope, to them it was merely character building. Or at least trying to mold her character into what they thought it should be.
The joke was on them because she’d spent her life doing the opposite of what was wanted of her.
Same thing she’d do now.
Pushing herself up, Rose hated that she had to throw out a hand to catch the wall so she didn't crumble right back down again.
Damn drugs were making her woozy, and she hated that feeling.
Medication was not permitted when she was a child.
Pain was to be toughed out as a character-building exercise, and unless you were close to dying, antibiotics were also prohibited.
There was no cough syrup if she caught a cold, just a cocktail of vitamins that were supposed to help her develop into the best version of herself she could be.
Sorry, Mr. Bedroom Man, but if you think I'm going to sob and cower at your feet, you took the wrong girl.
Knowing her determination to do the opposite of what anyone expected of her—something that had been finely honed throughout her twenty-three years on this earth—was going to drive her captor crazy, made her smile as she started her search of her new home.
If she was given some light later, she’d do a more thorough one, but the best time to start collecting intel was now.
Waiting could get her killed.
Or hurt.
While she could endure any amount of pain, practice definitely made perfect with that particular skill, Rose had spent her life craving the opposite.
Tenderness, affection, warmth, care … love.
Everything she wanted and everything she’d never had.
Although she craved every one of those things, she did her best to avoid them. Allowing anyone to get close enough to feel anything for her was just asking to get hurt. Having someone love her and then yank that love away, that would leave real scars behind.
Real scars?
An almost hysterical laugh burst out of her at her stupid thoughts.
What do you call the massive physical and psychological scars you already have? They’re not real enough for you? You need more?
Shaking her head at her internal dialogue, Rose shoved away any thought from her mind that wasn't pertinent to her mission.
Trying to find any weaknesses that could be exploited to get her the hell out of this windowless basement cell and back to her life.
It was lonely, but it was hers. Even if she wasn't doing anything she truly loved, she was making her own choices and that meant everything to her.
So exploration time it was.
Making her way cautiously around the room, she almost lost her balance when her foot plunged into a hole in the ground.
Her toilet, she quickly deduced. Another almost hysterical laugh fell from her lips.
If they thought having to do her business in a hole in the ground was going to break her, she’d love to tell them how she had to stand in her own waste at six years old in what was supposed to be a lesson to teach her that she controlled her mind, it didn't control her.
Ditto the dark. That couldn’t break her. Darkness had been her friend as a kid because at least when she was locked in the dark, whether it be in a well, a closet, or her bedroom, it meant she was alone and nobody was going to hurt her.
The concrete floor would be her bed, but since she’d grown up sleeping on a hard wooden bed with no mattress and no pillow, just a thin blanket for warmth, she could sleep absolutely anywhere.
That childhood room had contained just her bed and a dresser for her clothes, but no toys because she was supposed to be honing her mind, not wasting time playing silly games.
It was a good thing she was content to sit in the dark and enjoy the peace and quiet.
Sucks to be you, Mr. Bedroom Man, because none of this is going to break me.
Rose was vaguely aware she was sounding more than a little psycho herself, but she didn't care. Just because she’d fought hard to break away from her psycho family didn't mean that a little of their insanity hadn't rubbed off on her.
It was nothing to be ashamed of.
As her fingers found the smooth steel of the door, she noticed something else. Something she would have missed if she weren't trying to be as thorough as the dark allowed her to be.
Up in the corner was a tiny red dot.
A camera.
He was watching her. Bet he’d been expecting sobbing and screaming, begging and pleading. It filled her with immense joy to know she hadn't provided that for him, and she wiggled her fingers at the camera, hoping it would capture her wave.
Welcome to my particular brand of crazy, Mr. Bedroom Man. I hope I ruin every single one of your plans for me.