Chapter 15
Holden
Ireally wish she would stop touching me.
No. I don’t wish, I demand. She will stop touching me. I’d happily take a bone saw and remove both her hands and feet. The only exception to my rule. To my immense displeasure of blood, will be her.
The phantom foot pressed against my chest lingers. Each breath is more constricting, as if a rope is tightening around my lungs while cool chains wrap around my ribs, squeezing every last inch of air out of me.
She needs to stop touching me.
“I should have put the car in reverse and ended it that night, Mr. Carlisle.”
“How boring would that have been? No challenge, only selfish behavior. You like the chase and reward as much as she enjoys poking the bear.”
He always needs to be right. “Nobody appreciates a know-it-all, Mr. Carlisle.”
A heavy head falls back onto the raised headrest. Thumbs and fingers mindlessly trace the leather stitching around my steering wheel. A million thoughts run rampant. Priorities are getting jumbled. And it’s only a matter of time before Mr. Carlisle loses another eye.
‘Shit will leak out of his asshole, if it hasn’t already. Then, boom!’ Her voice, her words, her sarcastic tone all play on repeat at the forefront of my brain.
Closing my eyes, words come out like a warning.
“Get out of my head!” This is why I paralyze them.
Why I have my rules. Their voices annoy me.
Drive me crazy. It’s all I end up hearing, and I hate it.
I don’t care enough to allow them space in my inner thoughts, but yet they still try to invade. It’s fucking rude, dammit.
Slamming my hands against the wheel, a monstrous roar breaks free from between my lips. Chains break, ropes snap, my body is freed. She will not restrict me. I control my narrative. I control the game we seem to be playing.
And why was she snooping? Leaving greasy prints all over my vehicle as if it were a Honda fucking Civic.
Absolutely no respect for artistry. Imagine getting the Mona Lisa in front of her.
She’d take it out of the frame and use it as a towel when fresh out of the shower, if she showers.
Completely oblivious to the historic relevance and beauty Mona conveys.
Moving on. When I noticed her in the trunk, the plans changed.
Recon work pivoted to torturing the girl who was no longer hidden.
Sharp turns and quick breaks nearly broke her.
Cheeks puffed many times and a part of me wishes she soiled herself in motion sickness.
Ultimately, she’d have to pay the cleaning bill for it, so it wouldn’t have bothered me as much.
“Because, Mr. Carlisle, she has touched me three times. Three fucking times. I’d never allow such things to slide normally.
Her time is coming. And regardless of your opinion, I have requested a trusted third party to assist in finding out more information about her.
And to assess why my devices were being tapped.
This is all very disturbing, and I require answers. We don’t do the unknown.”
Blowing out a sigh, I debate letting him just melt away. “You have one eye left and you still insist on rolling it at me. This is diabolical behavior, Mr. Carlisle. Whose side are you on here?”
Gripping my phone off the dash, I open my music app and scroll until I find “Clair de Lune”.
Pressing play, the beauty of the piece drowns the voices competing in my head.
A calmness washes over me, allowing my body to relax into my seat.
This is exactly what I needed. Eyes closed, breaths even, and a slight hum goes along to the melody.
The phantom feeling lingers, but it’s manageable, for now, until I go upstairs to cleanse.
Frustration attempts to rise as the thought of another ruined shirt crosses my mind. She’s beginning to cost me a lot of money. But I push it down. Because I know, in due time, she will get hers. “Oh yes, she fucking will, Mr. Carlisle. No one touches us and gets away with it, do they?”
It’s rhetorical, but he insists on answering. Such a fucking nuisance and instigator. Yes, I am well aware of his tempting and toying.
“She shook me so hard that my eye fell upon my lap. Sinful. But she intrigues, doesn’t she?
Perhaps she is a challenge sent here to test us.
To be an itch under your skin. As much as we do not condone unknowns.
Coincidences often are not appropriate. She is not a coincidence.
This goes deeper, but just how deep is unknown. ”
“I’m aware. It’s why she’s being looked into.”
Turning up the volume, it tunes Mr. Carlisle out now as well.
His rambles are only repeating thoughts I am trying to evade, if only for a few moments.
People poking makes my skin crawl, heart race, and urges rise.
I am trying to be patient with this one until I know more.
His baiting and mind confusing stances are making me salivate with need and desire to hurt and harm her.
She will be my greatest reward.
Keys of the piano tinkle. I can picture fingertips moving fluidly across the ivories, and I am once again lost in its beauty. It guides me, mind, body, and soul.
Drifting away, plastic tarp lines the cement floor.
The metal chair sits center while I am enclosed in a white hazmat suit.
Yellow gloves are secured on my hands with duct tape layered around my wrists, ensuring no gaps exist. A helmet follows with the clear screen before my face. An oxygen tank rests on my back.
Long, black flowing hair cascades down her pale body. She’s naked. Nipples perked and pain in her eyes. I injected her prior to suiting up. The music box plays and a scalpel dances between my fingers.
Yes, I’ve seen the beauty of the female form exposed before. I’m not a eunuch. I’m not a prude, nor a virgin. I simply just skip the attachment part.
A very well-known individual runs a business which I possibly have an account with.
I simply send a request and in return, I get a visitor.
A piece of paper is provided showing a group of negative test results at the appointment, then the visit commences.
Speaking is kept at a minimum, touching is dependent on how I’m feeling.
Most of the time I have them tied up while I play.
They suck, they take, with safe words available, if needed.
It’s never in my bed, or my room. A guest bedroom serves our purpose adequately.
Upon the completion of our encounter, the visitor prepares to leave with no attachment, which is the most important part as feelings are not something that interests me.
Money switches hands and I carry on with my day.
Supporting independent female businesses has always been important to me.
Believe it or not, judge me, I truly don’t fucking care.
Moving along, back to my fantasy.
Tears well in her doe eyes. Glistening as they tangle in her lashes with every blink.
Free fingers hold her chin high as I take her in.
A creature so vulnerable and at my complete mercy.
It’s a privilege to hold such power. The tip of my sharp scalpel nicks her cheek, just under her eye.
A single tear of blood flows freely down her face, pooling at my fingers still clutching her in an embrace.
Natural tears join in, diluting the crimson that I have released.
Glancing behind her, I find a single member in the audience.
The only one I trust, and would allow to enter my space without further harming, Mr. Carlisle, and he has both eyes intact.
I’m teetering on the edge of sanity.
An F-sharp brings me back. Realization washes over me as I adjust my trousers. I have never slayed a naked casualty. Why is she different? Why her?
I don’t allow myself to pull my hair out in frustration, spiraling, overthinking, and analyzing. Because that is what she does to me. That girl has turned me into one monumental mental state whenever I allow her to invade my mind. Although, one thing was clear in the vision: Mr. Carlisle was there.
Lowering the volume, my head rolls to face him.
“I’m going to allow her to be in your presence.
Her guy can help save you. I can’t have you exploding inside of the car.
It would be completely unacceptable behavior, Mr. Carlisle.
I would be absolutely pissed off, actually.
” Shaking my head at the thought, I continue my speech.
“A fucking mess. It would cost thousands to remedy. And, let’s be honest, you won’t be chipping in to help with the expense.
I’m not a fool.” Pinching the bridge of my nose underneath my glasses, my eyes close as the words painfully leave my lips.
“I will allow her ‘guy’ to taxidermy you. It’s the only way to save you. ”
As the final words leave me, a loud, long, high-pitched screech of gas exits him. A sound follows that I can only describe as if it’s an old car backfiring. And it only further escalates the obscure odor penetrating my nose.
“I have just declared that I will swallow my pride to save you. To give you your dual vision back and immortality, basically, minus the heartbeat. And you decide to shit your pants in response? Am I reading this correctly, Mr. Carlisle?”
Waving my hand, I don’t allow him to respond.
There is no need. I can read the room just fine.
Holding my breath, I lean over him and open the glove compartment, rapidly pulling out a pen and a small notebook.
Using his lap, I flip to a blank page, write a single word, and rip the paper out from the coil binding before throwing the pad and pen back in.
“You can stay in here and think about what you’ve just done. And so help me if you shit any more. Heads will roll, Mr. Carlisle. Roll!” I shout in a heated moment of distress. This is why I don’t do babies or children, or other humans, really. This is truly a vile act.
Turning the engine off, I get out, sliding the paper into my trousers pocket, and briskly walk toward the elevator. We’ve been sitting in the parking garage long enough to draw attention. It was about time I moved anyway. He gave me the nudge I needed, in the most offensive way.
Using my elbow covered by the sleeve of my dress shirt, I press the button for the elevator, and the doors gingerly slide open.
It’s empty. I’m alone. I’m at peace. Stepping in, I lean against the silver handrail attached to all three walls of the confined space.
Feet crossed at the ankles while I crack my knuckles in anticipation.
A nervous habit I sometimes allow myself to indulge in.
I will never be in debt to her. She offered.
I will pay with money, not favors. She will not own me.
I will own her. She just doesn’t know it yet.
The thought alarms me. The possessive feeling is not one I expected. Brow furrows as my mind reflects. First torturing her naked, drawing blood from her pale skin to watch the crimson trickle down. The contrast would be superior. And now this sense of ownership.
Before I can put any more thought into it, the elevator eases to a stop and the doors slide open, revealing an empty hallway.
My hand finds my front pocket where the folded paper is resting.
The beds of my fingers rub against it. Taking one deep breath, I pause before exiting.
Taking a step over the threshold, my eyes glance between my door and hers.
What are we to do, Holden? Decisions, decisions.
The carpet silences my footsteps. There is only one right decision to make.
Standing before her door, the tip of my loafer taps quietly against the carpeted floor as I contemplate if I am doing the right thing.
Something I have never done before, questioning my decisions.
What is she doing to me? My fist slams against the frame while my head shakes in disgust and disbelief.
I can hear tiny footsteps making their way closer to me.
Fuck, she heard me. I can’t be bothered to interact directly with the tiny-statured annoyance that has invaded my life. I need to do this and get out of sight.
Bending down, I rake my fingers through the locks of hair that have fallen on my forehead before sliding the note under her door. My face contorts as I judge myself for allowing this.
So let it be written, so let it be done.
Fine.