Chapter 11
Seraphina
Isit on the couch, staring at the familiar blank space of wall.
That’s pretty much all I do these days. I get dressed according to Damien’s scribbled-down instructions, and then stare at the blank space, and watch what isn’t on it.
There’s no shadow on this wall, no stain. Nothing to mar its perfectly smooth whiteness.
Not like the humidity stain on my childhood bedroom ceiling, the one that I once imagined looked like a polar bear. A polar bear, with its furry, icy paws drawn around me, warming me, protecting me.
That polar bear soothed me when I was a little girl. But by the time I said goodbye to my childhood home for good, it had been a long time since I’d seen anything in it but an ugly, dirty stain.
When I sit here, on this couch, my eyes glued to that white wall, I hunt for the spot that isn’t. There’s no reflection in this pristine apartment to match the stain inside me. A numbing sensation washes over me as I stare at it, a cold veil that makes the solitude and the time easier to bear.
But sometimes it gets to be too much, and that’s when I head over to the balcony, past the potted plants, and tip over the railing, imagining myself falling into nothingness.
The thrill I feel then is indescribable.
-
Today marks two weeks since I was brought to this apartment.
Three weeks since my captivity began. I wouldn’t have thought fourteen days of solitude in a luxury apartment could have compared to the week in the cell, but the weight sometimes feels crushing.
At least the cell looked like prison. This apartment sometimes manages to trick me into believing I’m free, and the fall to reality is that much harder to bear.
So when I hear the key in the lock at eleven a.m. on the dot, I stand up, my heart hammering. It’s not time for the quiet woman to come. She’s more regular than the perfectly regular clock on the mantelpiece. Could it be…?
But no. The door opens onto the saccharine plastic doll, Everest, and my heart sinks.
He’s followed by a buff man in a wifebeater, whose arms are about twice as big as my torso. He could give Igor a run for his money, only he isn’t as short, and he doesn’t have the cruel gleam in his eye that tells me he would like nothing better than to dismember me, slowly.
Still, I wonder for a moment if this man is going to beat me up, perhaps force some false confession out of me. I have vague memories of the mysterious chip Logan spoke of, which was clearly not of the edible variety.
However, this man doesn’t look the least bit dangerous. He wears a sparkling smile that tells me he spends more time on his appearance than on beating people up.
“This is Bradley,” says Everest, and the name, if nothing else, confirms my hunch. “He’s my coach, and he’s going to help you work out.”
I nearly laugh at the idea, it sounds so absurd.
But instead, bitterness chokes me. The embarrassing, incomprehensible truth is that Damien is the only person I want, and the two people standing before me feel like betrayal.
Their presence is a stark reminder of the man who is absent.
They enrage me, especially Bradley and his smug grin.
I wish I had the guts to punch those sparkling white teeth of his, but I get the feeling that Everest, for all his gentle ways, wouldn’t let that happen. He’s still a Devil, after all.
“Come on,” says Everest, directing me to a door that’s always been locked.
I hesitate for just an instant, wondering whether I’m allowed to go in there, but perversity squashes my doubts. If I break a rule, maybe Damien will come. I don’t care anymore about making him angry. I just want to see him.
We go through the door and find ourselves in a very small workout space with just a few machines. Bradley eyes the room disapprovingly, then shrugs. He probably knows better than to object.
Soon, I’m being guided through a very boring workout. Both of them seem surprised at how strong I am. I have no trouble doing the exercises Bradley tells me to do. By the time we’re through, I haven’t even broken a sweat, and my heartbeat remains steady.
“I’ll have to think up a more intense workout for you,” says Bradley, visibly impressed.
I don’t answer, just bite down on the rage that is still strangling my chest. I’ve always seethed with a nearly overwhelming anger, but I’ve mostly managed to keep it under the surface.
In my world, you don’t get very far when you show your emotions.
So I exist silently, carefully, but the anger is always there.
Repressing that anger takes strength. Doing fifty push-ups is nothing.
Besides, something else has been on my mind ever since Everest showed up. A thought I keep pushing away, because it’s stupid, it makes no sense, it’s embarrassing. And yet, the thought gets increasingly persistent as the workout progresses.
So much so that by the time we return to my apartment, and Everest and Bradley head back to the front door, I can’t help but blurt out:
“Wait.”
Everest pauses at the door.
“Yeah?”
I can tell he doesn’t enjoy having to drag out this process. This process of locking the door once more in my face.
“Wait.”
This time, he doesn’t say anything. He just waits.
“Please… please tell Damien that I did want it,” I breathe, then flush painfully.
The words are terribly hard to get out, but I need Damien to know it. Just in case that’s the reason he hasn’t come back since the kiss I didn’t reciprocate.
“I want it. I want him. I want him to come see me.” The words break out of me, and I regret them the moment I see Everest’s confused expression.
I suddenly realize how crazy it is to think that Damien was the least bit affected by my inability to kiss him back.
He kidnapped me, after all. It’s far more likely he regrets the kiss itself.
Everest nods, suddenly understanding.
“I will,” he promises. Then the door shuts and the key turns once more in the lock.
I’m alone again.
-
Hours of boredom pass, mingling with the crushing shame of what I’ve done. I’ve opened myself up, shown vulnerability, to a man who doesn’t care. Who probably finds me pathetic.
By the time the clock tells me it’s 9 p.m., I’m already getting ready for bed. I don’t have much else to do these days, especially since I got that note with the order to wake up at 7 a.m. I know better than to disobey, even though it doesn’t seem to make much of a difference.
So I brush my teeth, wash my face, undress, and lie down in bed. I stare at the ceiling for a while, trying to sink into sleep, but all I feel is boredom tinged with shame. Frustrated, I turn onto my side.
The lights are off and it takes me a moment to see him, standing in the doorway, half-submerged in shadows.
When I do, I inhale sharply and struggle to sit up. I wonder how long he’s been watching me. I never heard the door open.
He takes a few steps toward me, and there’s only harshness in the lines of his face. He looks down at me coldly.
“Stand up,” he orders.
My body shaking furiously, I do as he says.
“Follow me.”
I walk after him, stumbling in the darkness. He stops in the kitchen.
“Turn around.”
I swallow and dare to glance up, searching his face for the space of a second for something like warmth. But he looks down at me, his face a mask, though I detect a dark gleam in his eyes that makes me shiver.
“Go on,” he insists.
My heart hammering, I turn around, facing the counter, my back to him. I try as hard as I can to control my shaking, but I fail miserably.
He doesn’t move for some time, and I sway slightly, feeling close to passing out.
What is he planning to do to me?
Then I hear him shift behind me.
“Everest gave me your message.”
His voice is a little softer, and I detect a note of humor in his tone.
“So, you wanted it, did you? And you think you can order me around? You think I’m going to come at your beck and call? You’ve got some nerve, sending messages to me through my friends.”
I choke down a nervous sob. He’s spoken to me harshly before, but he’s never…
scolded me like this. He seems furious, but there’s something else in his voice.
The glint of humor is still there. Disbelief, also, and I wonder if I’ve surprised him.
But beneath it all is something far darker that makes me tremble in fear and ache for his touch in equal measure.
“I’m sorry,” I breathe.
“I didn’t give you permission to speak,” his voice cuts in.
He moves closer and I shut my eyes, feeling his heat behind me. I wonder what he’ll do. Beat me? Punch me, like Ben used to do?
I jump, startled, when I feel his hand close around my neck. Strangle me?
Is he really angry enough to kill me?
My knees turn to jelly, my entire body petrified with shock and fear. But he doesn’t squeeze hard. Just enough to make breathing a slight struggle.
He draws still nearer, and I feel his breath on the back of my neck, sending chills down my spine. “So, you wanted it, pet.”
It’s not a question. I suck in shallow breaths of air, my clammy hands pressed on the cold surface of the counter.
His other hand slips under the hem of my shirt, and inches up over my stomach.
“Do you still want it?”
I swallow hard, his hand on my neck making me go slightly dizzy.
“Now you may speak,” he growls, reaching up to crush one of my nipples.
“Y-yes,” I stutter, taking short, gasping breaths.
He’s now standing flush against me, and I feel something long and hard press against my back.
His hand explores the bare skin under my shirt with more intent. Then he returns to my breast, palming it possessively, sending a spark of pain through me, making me melt in his hold.
“I don’t give you my permission to want it,” he grunts. “You don’t get to ask. Only to take what I choose to give you. I own you. Got that?”
His words echo dimly as his fingers crush my nipple.
“Got it?” he insists.
“Y-yes,” I moan, darkness edging in as he squeezes my neck harder.
I’ve turned into liquid heat. I don’t understand what’s happening to me, what the strange pressure in my lower stomach means. All I know is I need it so much.
His other hand leaves my neck, and I inhale sharply, my vision clearing, as he flips me around and presses his lips to mine.
I nearly fall from the shock of it, but he holds me up, his mouth still against mine. Effortlessly, he hooks an arm under my legs and carries me over to one of the couches. There, he shoves me onto his lap, still kissing me, his tongue forcefully exploring my mouth.
I don’t want him to leave again. I’m suddenly convinced once more that it was my passive reaction to his kiss that made him go. So I try to press back against his lips, lift a timid hand up to stroke his chest.
At once, he pins my hands behind my back.
“Don’t move,” he warns.
I shiver at the tone, but he doesn’t seem angry anymore.
His other hand once more lifts my shirt, hungrily exploring my stomach, my arms, my breasts. He pauses there, cupping them, twisting my nipples, keeping me in a head-spinning mix of pleasure and pain.
I want to melt into him. I wonder if it’s the same for him. It’s like he can’t get enough, one hand anxiously exploring every inch of my skin, the other fisting my hair before crushing me to him so hard I can’t catch my breath.
He slides a hand into my panties then and I gasp in surprise, even as I arch up to meet his fingers.
“Needy girl,” he chuckles, sliding a finger over my slit.
Then he flips me over on my stomach and drags his hand up between my buttcheeks. I gasp when his thumb finds the ring of muscle there and presses against it.
“You’re good at getting out of punishments, aren’t you, pet?” he rumbles, rubbing it hard enough to make me writhe, part shame, part arousal. “I was furious when I came down. Now all I want to do is…” He interrupts himself, but his thumb’s insistent rubbing leaves no doubt as to his meaning.
I lie over his lap, trapped under his arms, my heart beating wildly. No one’s ever touched me there. I didn’t even know it was possible to get touched there.
Then his phone vibrates.
He removes his hand from my ass and picks it up. He reads a message then mutters, “Gotta go deal with this bullshit.”
But his arm stays pinned over my back for another moment. He puts the phone away, then brings his hand down hard on my bottom.
Then again, equally hard on the other cheek.
I jump, yelping in startled pain, and he chortles. “Just a little taste of what’s to come, if you’re naughty again.”
Lifting me off his lap, he sets me down on the couch. He walks toward the door, leaving me disheveled, my body aching with the sudden loss of him.
Then, with his hand on the doorknob, he turns back to me.
“Are you afraid of me, pet?” he asks, his voice husky.
I hesitate for a second, but I can tell he expects me to be honest. And he’ll know if I lie.
“Yes,” I breathe.
His mouth quirks up into a small smile.
“Good.”
Then he leaves.