Chapter 19
Seraphina
Twelve hours. That’s all I have to wait. But it seems so long.
I pace around the room, my hands clenched in frustration.
He’s never promised me two visits in one day.
That thought should be enough to quench my inexplicable need.
But it seems the more I see him, the more I want him.
And ever since I fell asleep in his arms twice, my raw hunger has become tinged with something deeper.
A yearning desire to know he cares about me in the same way that I realize I’ve come to care about him.
Dark intrusive thoughts battle it out with desperate hope.
And through it all, a constant thread of incomprehension.
What the fuck is wrong with you, Seraphina Connor? He’s your captor!
But captivity has become an abstract concept. Or rather, my messed-up mind doesn’t equate it with him. Only with time, and loneliness.
The hours have never passed so slowly. I wonder if he’s planning to eat here, or if I’ll be allowed to leave this apartment. Maybe we can have dinner at his place. Maybe—my heart thrills at the forbidden thought—maybe we can go out to a restaurant.
I’ve never eaten at a restaurant. Not even at a fast-food place. Fifty-cent ramen packets are cheaper than even the cheapest burger and fries.
The trays the quiet woman brings me are always filled with tempting food, far more delicious than anything I’ve ever had before. But I don’t have much of an appetite. The idea of eating at a restaurant entices me because of the experience, not the food.
I think back to when I lived with the Monster. He spent his time watching TV, and I sometimes caught glimpses of the shows. The restaurant scenes always intrigued me. All those tables draped in white. The shiny plates, knives and forks. The uniformed servers who’d come to take your order.
I can’t imagine someone waiting on me.
Well, I guess the quiet woman does, but it doesn’t really feel like it when she refuses to even meet my eye. Leaving the tray on the table wordlessly, then leaving. Coming back about thirty minutes later to take it away again.
The trays might as well appear by magic. That’s how invisible she is.
Invisible. Like me.
I’d never thought of her much before, but now my mind latches onto her. I’m curious. I realize I don’t even know her name. I wonder how she came to work here. What her story is.
I also feel a pang of guilt as I realize how little I thought of her before. And yet, I was once in her exact place. Torn between the desire to remain invisible and the need to be seen.
-
Five o’clock. Somehow, I’ve managed to while away the day, but these last few hours feel longer than ever.
I sigh and plop down on the couch, then remember Damien disapproves of TV.
He wants me to read. Gritting my teeth, mostly at myself for caring so much about what he thinks of me, I walk over to the bookcases.
I read the title of one book after another, trying to find one that Damien would approve of, but that isn’t too long.
I’ve never read an entire book. I told Damien I’d read Peter Pan, but it was a storybook.
Pictures, and just one sentence on each page.
I have a feeling the real Peter Pan is a lot longer.
At last, I choose the shortest book I can find.
We Have Always Lived in the Castle. I flip through the pages, struggling, at first, to keep my attention on the words, but soon, I’m deeply immersed.
Something about Merricat reminds me of myself.
The fear around crowds, the silence… the blood on her hands.
I don’t know how it happens. One moment I’m reading, the next, my eyes are shut, my body rigid with fear.
“What the fuck, bitch?”
He stares at me, confused. Then, as he crashes down, his head tilts up at the ceiling, at the bear. Only now it’s not a bear. It hasn’t been for a long time. It’s just a spot of humidity.
I look down at my hands, and see they’re red.
Blood.
My hands are bloody.
What have I done?
I wake up gasping, my entire body seized with fear. I hadn’t had this particular nightmare in a long time. And now, I’ve had it twice in one week.
Maybe it was triggered by Logan nearly drowning me. But as soon as my mind tries to wrap itself around that theory, I realize it’s false. Logan didn’t trigger anything. It was the intrusive thoughts afterward that are responsible for these bad dreams.
Damien didn’t know. Or did he?
I just can’t seem to shake the fear.
I look up at the clock and gasp when I realize it’s five minutes to eight. I spent a whole day waiting, and now I’m going to be late. I hurry to the bathroom, try to comb my hair in a way that doesn’t undo the curls Damien seems to like, wash my face and pinch my cheeks to look a little alive.
I rush to the closet and search for a dress. He didn’t tell me what he wanted me to wear today, so I look for one that doesn’t scream, “I expect you to take me out to the restaurant,” but that also wouldn’t look out of place if that is what he’s planning.
All my doubts melt under the thrilling anticipation.
I’m going to have dinner with him. Like a date.
Or maybe I’m reading too much into it. But maybe it is a date.
Like the ones I’ve seen other people on.
The kind where you say how many brothers and sisters you have, and pets, and what your favorite subject was in school.
I try to calm my excited breathing. I hope he doesn’t pry too much, because I know my answers might scare him. But I want him to pry just a little. I want him to be interested in me.
And I don’t know the first thing about him. Well, he’s thirty-seven. The CEO of Devil. Not quite as clean-cut as he looks. But what about his interests? His family? His… favorite color?
Is that really something people ask each other on first dates?
Finally, I choose a short black dress. I look good in it—well, as good as I can look. It wouldn’t be out of place in a restaurant. But if we stay in, it might give him other ideas. I hope.
I finish getting ready and go sit down on the couch, my body tense with nervous anticipation. It’s already 8:10. I’m glad he’s running a little late. It gave me time to get ready.
8:15. He’s more than a little late. But maybe work ran over.
8:20. I chew on my lower lip, nervously glancing at the clock. Where is he?
The hands of the clock keep ticking. 8:25. 8:30. 8:40.
By now, I feel sick to my stomach. Was this all a cruel joke? Is he laughing as he watches the camera feed? Does he want to punish me for being so needy?
By the time the clock shows 9 p.m., I’m sitting crisply on the couch, staring at my favorite part of the wall.
Only now, between the pitch blackness outside and the lamplight within, stark shadows dance upon it.
When I tilt my head just a bit, I can imagine I see a polar bear.
A warm, furry bear with a heart of ice. It can sink its claws into the enemy, chew off its head.
Crush the bones between its teeth and drink its warm blood as the enemy stares in horror, its lifeforce seeping into the frozen ground.
I’ve all but given up on seeing Damien tonight when there’s a sudden knock on the door.
I inhale sharply. That’s not like him. He just unlocks the door when he comes to see me. But maybe he wants to be more formal for our date.
Still, a chill runs down my spine. Something’s not right.
Whoever it is doesn’t wait to be invited in. The knocking was just out of courtesy. The key in the lock turns, and I stare at it, my heart hammering.
Then the door opens, revealing Logan.
I stifle a gasp, then jump up and edge toward the bedroom door, my hand grasping for the knob. But he doesn’t come near.
He enters the living room, carrying a tray of food. I stare at it in confusion.
“Lucy’s been… detained,” he says, keeping his eyes averted. “Here’s your food.”
He sets it down on the table.
I lick my dry lips. “I’m not supposed to get a tray tonight. Damien… Damien is eating with me.”
He lifts an eyebrow, registering slight surprise. “Damien had to leave on a business trip. He won’t be here for a few days.”
I find myself shaking my head. “No, that’s not true. He promised me he’d eat with me.”
“I’m sorry,” he says curtly, still avoiding my gaze.
“Stop lying to me,” I say again, my voice louder. “You’re lying! He promised! Liar!”
The last word is a scream, ripped from my lips in spite of myself. He looks up, shocked anger distorting his features. Then he takes a few steps toward me, and I jump backward, my back hitting the door of the bedroom.
“You need to be careful who you raise your voice around,” he says quietly, stopping a few inches away from me. “I doubt Damien would accept it. And I certainly don’t.”
I nod, swallowing hard, and his face relaxes as he notes my fear.
“Believe me,” he adds, his voice warmer, “he wouldn’t break a promise unless he was forced to. This trip is necessary. He’ll be back soon.”
I nod again, willing him to leave.
“Are you afraid of me?” he questions after a moment’s pause.
I keep my eyes down, focusing on my breathing, hoping he’ll go away.
His voice grows quiet, so quiet I can barely hear it. “I give you my word I won’t harm you again.”
I barely hear his words, my body tense with awareness of his presence. He waits a while longer, apparently hoping I’ll say something, but when I don’t, he turns around.
He crosses the living room and I pray that he means to leave. But he retrieves something from the hallway and returns. It’s a very large package wrapped in gold foil and a velvet ribbon.
“I have something for you,” he says, leaving it in the middle of the living room. “Damien’s orders. I have no idea why he asked me to buy this stuff, but I guess you do.”
Then he leaves, locking the door behind him.
I take a deep breath as soon as I’m sure I’m alone. I’m torn between anger, disappointment, and curiosity. The latter takes over, just for a moment, and I sink to my knees in front of the package. There’s a card, and it reads:
Rain check. – D.
I toss it aside angrily, but I’m too curious about the package to ignore it.
I tear off the wrapping paper. Underneath, there’s an old leather book with gilded letters.
Peter Pan and Wendy. Beside it, a wooden figurine of a polar bear.
And underneath, a massive circular tank in which floats a live jellyfish.
For a moment, I stare at it all in confusion. I wonder what it means. A gift? An apology? A taunt?
Whatever it is, I don’t care. Anger takes the place of all else, nearly throttling me. I’ve dealt with so much shit in my life. It’s absurd to think that what breaks me is a canceled dinner date.
But absurdity doesn’t matter to me right now. The endless days of captivity, the lonely nights, every moment punctuated by the hope he’ll come see me. My starving heart latching onto any sign he cares. All of it suddenly feels unbearably stifling.
He doesn’t care. That much is obvious.
He’s just another Monster, another Beast, but I’ve been too blind to see it. I probably amuse him. I bet he thought it would be funny for Logan to throw me in the water. And now, he’s probably laughing his ass off as he watches me on the cameras, devastated at his broken promise.
Anger boiling in my veins, I grab the polar bear and hurl it at the stretch of white wall, making a tiny bear-sized hole in it.
Then I lift up the leather-bound novel. My two books were always sacred to me, but now, I don’t care.
I want to hurt. I tear out the pages blindly, scattering them about the room.
At last, I turn to the jellyfish tank. I hesitate for a long time. I’ve never hurt an innocent creature before, but this isn’t an innocent creature. This is me. The sad, invisible girl who lets others walk all over her. The pathetic jellyfish. She doesn’t deserve to live.
I slide open the glass doors, feeling a thrill as I step onto the forbidden balcony, and lift up a potted plant.
It’s the heaviest one I can find, and I keel under the effort of bringing it inside.
Then I make my way over to the jellyfish tank and, after another moment’s hesitation, let the plant fall on it.
It crashes into tiny shards of glass, and the jellyfish finds itself on the floor, spasming helplessly.
I stare at it numbly until its lifeforce has drained.
I guess Damien didn’t know it before, but he does now.
His pet, his captive, his girl. Her name is Seraphina Connor, and she’s a coldblooded killer.