Chapter Thirty-One #2
Great. Like I’m a dog that wants to stick my head out, tongue lolling out my mouth.
He leaves the bathroom, not shutting the door. “This stays open, okay?”
I nod, latching the window back up, to play my part.
When I’ve peed, I head straight back down the hallway. He’s probably on high alert now and thinks I’ll be trying to escape. Time to play the slow game. I grip the banister, carefully walking down the stairs, which are swimming beneath my feet.
The sizzle of the frying pan reaches my ears, and I swallow down the mouthwatering urge to eat the pancakes.
I haven’t eaten since yesterday lunchtime, at least I think it was yesterday.
Despite the groan of my empty stomach, the fear of him drugging me again sits on my chest like a brick.
Deciding it’ll be better to have my strength when the time comes, and the fact that he’s too excited to have me here, I take my chances on the pancakes.
The taste explodes in my mouth, and it’s like I’m transported back to seventeen.
The taste of cinnamon mixed with sugar and blueberries reminds me of slow mornings in his kitchen when his wife was away.
Staying in bed for hours upon hours because he was never satisfied.
One time we walked around naked all day, just because he always wanted to do it.
My small frame tucked against his large body.
I had no shame back then, proud to be naked and in love.
I didn’t see what he did as controlling or manipulative.
I just wanted to please him. I wanted him to be as in love with me as I was with him.
But I was a toy he played with. Something that set him apart from his colleagues.
He had someone younger and forgiving who would do anything he asked.
He always used to say his wife would never do this with him.
She was cold, callous. Someone who was selfish and only took money from him, despite her working all the time.
I don’t forgive her for what she did to me in the aftermath.
I was groomed from a very young age to be his mistress.
I’d known the man since I was thirteen. But it wasn’t her that ruined my life; it was him.
I hold on to the anger now. The only thing he left me with.
I hold on to it so I can use it to fight back when the time comes.
I’ll do anything for the life I built. I’m not going to give it up for anyone.
◆◆◆
After breakfast, I wash the dishes, just like I used to before.
Now that I’m downstairs, there are more exit points that I can investigate.
We seem to be in a small rental. I’m sure if I yelled loud enough, someone would be able to hear me, but I keep quiet.
I see nothing out the kitchen window, just an empty yard that’s been paved over. No grass, no greenery. Just gray.
The long game.
The long game.
The long game.
I repeat it like a mantra.
He won’t respond to disrespect, screaming or arguing.
What have I learned about men like him? The hot water scalds my hands, but it soothes me.
I’m here. I’m alive. I feel pain. I’m in control of that pain.
Not exactly healthy coping mechanisms, but needs must when your ex-teacher/first boyfriend kidnaps and drugs you.
I think back to the notes I made for Alfie.
What had I written about further therapy?
Techniques I would use if he were my patient?
Alfie would follow up with me and discuss possible therapy techniques or where I could have improved my diagnosis.
He mentored me. Even without a formal agreement, he was happy to help me learn.
God, I miss him. I miss his smile, so rare until recently.
I miss the way he takes care of me. Even if the big idiot does the most ridiculous things, like buy someone a house.
He’s mine. And I’m his. We belong together, and that was what I was going to tell him this morning.
And now he’s going to think I’ve run because that’s what I always do.
I run from my problems instead of tackling them head-on.
But I don’t want to do that anymore. A few days apart gave me the clarity I needed.
I want to be with him for real. And now I may never have the chance to tell him I still love him.
If only I hadn’t been so stubborn. If only I’d told him to shut up and deal with his issues.
I should have fought harder, but I gave up, so willing to accept that I’d never be enough for him.
How foolish. Now I have to fight to get back to him out of sheer spite.
I need to fight this bastard so I can tell Alfie he has no choice; we’re getting back together.
What is the point of having a PhD in psychology if you cannot think your way out of an abduction?
Ridiculous. Frankly, this should be on the curriculum.
But for now, my mind is blank. Well, not entirely; my thoughts are running too fast to focus on one.
I see Sean Sanders’s, or I should say Carter Corbin’s, notes in front of me when I close my eyes, but the words are spinning, mixing together so it’s indecipherable.
“Come watch something with me!” Carter calls out from the living room area.
There’s no hallway; it's a small house. The wallpaper peeling down the walls looks smoke-stained. The couch is well used, the cushions lumpy, molding to someone’s butt over the years.
How did he find this place? I glance at the front door.
How quickly could I make it to the door before he reached me?
I lick my lips, stopping myself from acting recklessly.
I join him, taking tentative steps toward him as I struggle with my dizziness.
His arm is wrapped around the back of the worn couch, and I understand that he means for me to sit, tucked into his side.
But I don’t have the body of a seventeen-year-old anymore.
I’m a grown woman—my hips have widened, my curves fuller.
I’m not going to tuck into his side comfortably.
Long game.
Long game.
Long game.
I scream the words in my head, filling my thoughts so I can block Carter out if only for a second.
With the remote in one hand, he flicks through the channels, landing on The Morning Show.
Oh, my God. It’s Thursday. Alfie is going to be on the show today.
My heart leaps into my throat, and I tuck in quickly beside him.
Snuggling in, I do my best not to hurl up my pancakes at the feel of his body against mine.
We watch the show quietly. His arm, which leans on the back of the couch, reaches down to stroke my arm. I feel him getting closer and closer to my breast, so I turn my body into him. He smiles warmly down at me, kissing the top of my head.
“I’m so relieved. I thought you might not be happy?”
Yeah, no shit, you fucking monster.
“Why?” I reply sweetly.
“It’s been a long time. I thought you were starting to forget about me.
” He uses the tone he used to when he would be disappointed in me.
It always led to him spanking my ass whilst I begged him to forgive me.
Then he’d have me get on my knees and suck him until he shoved his cock down my throat, coming without giving me time to brace myself.
“I was surprised. I wish you had approached me differently.” I shrug, letting him know that I’m not happier either.
“But I understand. We were always going to make our way back to each other. But things need to be different this time.” He frowns, not liking that comment, but he allows me to continue.
“You want us to be taken seriously, right? You want this to be real. To last forever. You don’t drug someone and take them to your house if you want something long lasting. ”
Unless you’re going to murder them, of course.
“So, I propose that we start completely fresh. Look at this like we’re getting to know each other again. That way, I get to know you as you are now, and it means I won’t have any slip-ups and do something you don’t like. And you get to know me too.”
I should have been an actress. My voice barely shakes, only a few wobbles, which only gives the impression that the thought of us together again makes me so emotional.
But his face shifts so quickly, I barely have time to react.
Sneering, he pinches my face harshly. “I know everything there is to know about you, Mia. Don’t you forget that.
I’m the one that takes care of you. Not the other way around.
I make the rules and you follow them, because I know best. Understood? ”
I nod, praying he’ll relent on his grip, but he spins my face, his thumb and fingertips bruising my cheeks. He leans in, taking one long, languorous lick up the side of my face. I cringe, desperately fighting the urge to wipe the saliva off my face.
He lets go of my face, settles into the couch and turns the volume up on the TV. His hand grips my body so tightly against him, I know it’s going to feel his touch for days.
We watch silently for a while as Dianne and Dennis discuss an upcoming cooking segment.
I keep the tears that are threatening to fall at bay by biting down on my lip and breathing calmly through my nose.
It’ll only be worse if I cry and I don’t want to give him the satisfaction.
I can figure this out. I can get out of here.
My thoughts are whirring again, desperately trying to complete a timeline of events.
Was the show the reason Carter found out about me being here?
Or was he already a patient by that point?
I can’t remember; my brain is foggy with too many thoughts.
I need to write something down. I need to get the thoughts out of me so I can make sense of them.
“And upcoming, as usual, we have our very own Dr. Angel—Alfie Adams—coming in with a special segment today,” Rick booms. “We’ll be right back after this commercial break.”
Relaxing my shoulders, I sigh, nuzzling into Carter’s chest. I rest my hand on his stomach, and I feel him suck it in.
He must be mid-forties now. Time hasn’t been bad for him.
The salt-and-pepper hair gives him an element of maturity to his face, but he’s let himself go.
Or maybe it’s just the age. He’s softer now.
What used to be hard plains of muscles and a sharp jawline, something the other girls and some boys in my school used to comment on.
He was the good-looking teacher. The one that everyone had a crush on.
But now, he wasn’t a god. He wasn’t even the man that I thought he would be.
He was just close to middle-aged, still trying to hold onto his youth where he felt in control and needed.
As the commercials flick through, he tenses more and more. Shifting himself so he can watch my reaction, I desperately try to keep my psychologist poker face on. But as soon as Alfie fills the screen, I know I’m done for.
He’s weathered. Big gray bags sit beneath his haunted brown eyes. His hair is stiff, like he’s been pushing it back away from his eyes one too many times. It’s clear he hasn’t let them put makeup on him, his skin is almost gray under the harsh studio lights.
He sits bent over, his elbows on his knees, his hands in a prayer position as if speaking to God and not to the daytime television watchers of the Pacific Northwest.
“Alfie, I understand we’re doing something a little different today,” Dennis says gently.
“My girlfriend, Mia, is missing.”
The audience gasps, and so do I. So much for my poker face. He knows. He knows I’m not where I should be. Butterflies erupt in my chest, fluttering madly to the beat of my pulse. Alfie is looking for me. He’s going to find me, I know it.
“To you, the viewers, I need your help—”
He cuts off, the screen going blank. I turn to Carter, I can feel the heat radiating off him and my palms start to sweat.
My mouth dries as if all moisture is trying to leave my body.
My brain signaling down to my extremities that my body is under attack, you must abandon ship.
Carter stands, and I slip onto the couch from where I’d been resting my weight on him.
His body looms over me. Despite his older body, he’s still tall, broad. Terrifying.
“Did you know about this?” he screams, leaning his face into mine as spit sprays from his mouth.
I tighten my fingers into a fist to stop them from trembling. “Of course not. I was as surprised as you are. I’m not even sure why he’d call me his girlfriend. We’re not even together.”
“Don’t lie to me!” he screeches, pushing his pointed forefinger into my face.
“We broke up, I promise. It was last week that I ended it. It was never the same. Not like…not like with you. I kept comparing him to you. It was pointless. He was never going to live up to the standard you set. He didn’t want to take care of me the way you do. The way I need.”
My blood whooshes in my ears and I unsteadily lift myself from the couch.
I tell my racing heart that I’m not going to crumble.
I might be stammering and shaking but I’ve studied men like this, I know how to handle this situation calmly.
Don’t react. Don’t give him anything that might escalate it more than it already has.
I meet his gaze as his labored huffs settle into regulated breathing.
Resting my head against his chest, I wrap my arms around him breathing in a scent of sweat and cheap laundry detergent.
My ear pressed against his heart, I feel him calming, his fingers stroking down my hair as he grips me tightly.
“You’re right. I’m not going to let that so-called doctor affect our reunion. Grab your things; it’s time to leave.”
Things? What things? I almost want to laugh at the stupidity of it all.
Don’t the police always say never let them take you to a second location? Does leaving now constitute a second or a third location?
“Now, Mia.”
I step toward the stairs, looking for anything I may have brought with me, determined to leave it behind as a clue in case they find out about this place. He opens the front door, and I slip off my cardigan, leaving it hanging on the banister.