Chapter Eleven
Scarlett
There’s nothing to do in the cell but stare at walls and think, so that’s what I spend the next hours doing.
I take a brief pause from ruminating to rummage through the drawers in the nightstand, and the items I find make me promptly slam them shut.
Lube, restraints, all sorts of frightening toys…
things that tell me exactly what I’m in for with Monster.
The hellscape that’ll make me wish I’d died back in that cell.
I try to find a happy space to disassociate to, some corner of my mind I can retreat to…
but even the happiest memories I have are tainted with fear and paranoia.
Gardening in my childhood home often ended with a lecture or outright beating from my father.
Spending time with my mother only ever broke my heart.
My brother and I bonded over our fear above all else.
Even in college, my days were chained down with unshakable anxiety.
The realization that I don’t think I’ve ever been unabashedly happy is depressing beyond belief, and draws me down into a black hole.
I have nothing to look back at with fondness, and nothing in my life to look forward to.
I sink deeper and deeper into a state of depression…
until anger takes over. I reach for the collar on my neck and start to jerk on it.
It might be pretty, but really, it symbolizes that I mean nothing—that I’m only an extension of Monster with no measurable value.
With each fruitless tug, I grow more furious, until I start pulling on it so hard it begins to cut into my skin painfully.
The diamonds are well-set, but there are sharp edges, yet the pain doesn’t deter me.
Even the feeling of droplets of blood rolling down my neck doesn’t deter me.
I keep going, eventually letting out a scream of angry desperation and pulling on the collar until it cuts off my breathing.
That’s when the door opens and Monster walks in. He freezes at the doorway, lips parting as he takes in the sigh of me.
“What are you doing?” he demands, swiftly crossing the room. I try to scramble away from him, but I have nowhere to go; he takes my wrists and forcibly removes my hands from my neck. I don’t even bother fighting him—I know I’ll only succeed in exhausting myself and satisfying him.
I blink back angry tears, staring at the floor. “Trying to get this fucking thing off me.”
A soft sigh escapes Monster. “It’s not coming off, Scarlett.”
“I’ll keep trying,” I say, still not looking at him. “I don’t give a shit if I slit my throat in the process. Either take this fucking thing off or I’ll get it off myself.”
Monster settles himself next to me on the bed and draws me in his arms. I try to protest, but with my hands gathered in one of his own and the sheer strength of his presence, I know I won’t be doing myself any favors. Fighting him is futile; it seems like everything is futile.
“It’s not just a thing,” Monster says. He readjusts his position, pulling me onto his lap and circling his arms around my waist, gently cuffing both my wrists in one hand and sliding his free hand up my body.
He pulls at the necklace, presumably to get a closer look at the damage I did, and sighs.
“Flower, please don’t make me take away your ability to freely move your hands. I don’t want to do that.”
“Don’t you?” I ask. “It seems like you want to strip away everything I am.”
“No, Flower. I want to become a part of you, just like you’re a part of me.”
I hate it when he speaks in this calm, almost soothing voice. It makes me feel like the crazy one instead of him—and I’m not. Refusing to feed into his bullshit and resisting him at every turn is the rational thing to do. He’s the insane one here.
“Scarlett, tell me you won’t pull on your collar again.”
“I won’t pull on my collar again,” I echo flatly.
He sighs again. “Say it like you mean it.”
“I don’t.”
“Work with me here, Scarlett. It does not have to be like this. You’re mine and you aren’t going anywhere, but I don’t want to have to rush in here to save you from yourself at random hours of the day.”
“Then either kill me or let me go.”
A long, sad pause ensues. “I can’t do that. You know I can’t.”
I know that’s exactly where this leads. There’s no alternative ending to this story; one of us has to die, and Monster knows this. He’s trying to ignore the truth, and the only person that hurts is me.
“This collar… it should tell you how precious you are to me,” Monster says. “I want to hear you say it, Flower.”
“I was raised not to tell lies.”
“Then you should have no problems here, because it’s not a lie. ‘I’m a precious Flower.’ Say those words.”
I remain silent. Monster circles my throat with his free hand, above the collar. “I’m a precious Flower who Greyson adores.”
“I’m a worthless thing who a monster’s obsessed with,” I mutter. “That’s the fucking truth.”
His hold gradually starts to tighten, beginning to restrict my breathing. I try to break his hold on my wrists so I can reach up and claw at his hands—or his eyes—but I don’t get a chance.
“I’m a precious Flower who Greyson adores,” Monster repeats. “Say it.”
His delusion makes something inside me snap. “No! I won’t feed the lies you’re telling yourself! I fucking hate you!”
“I’m a precious Flower who Greyson adores.
” Monster’s grip on my throat is tight now, so tight that every breath is a wheeze and my lungs start to burn.
I struggle against him in earnest, forgetting the dark depression that got a hold of me and reverting to my survival instincts.
Unfortunately, all my struggles only amount to a stark reminder that Monster is and always will be stronger than me.
He’ll always have the upper hand between us—every—time.
The tears I’ve desperately tried to hold back spill over, and I release a strained scream of frustration.
Even as he chokes me, as he’s on the verge of possibly killing me, the psychotic monster continues to chant the mantra—the lie that I’m precious, and he adores me. My struggles weaken from exhaustion and lack of oxygen, until I go limp in his arms, and black spots dance in my vision.
“I’m a precious Flower who Greyson adores,” he repeats again, kissing my cheek. My eyelids start to flutter, and my eyes roll into the back of my head.
I pass out to the sounds of him whispering lies in my ear and the horrible realization that, no matter what I do, my body really is no longer my own.
But then, it never really was.
I wake up an unknown amount of time later, to the feeling of something covering my hands. Something restrictive, that keeps my fingers together. I blink open my eyes, frowning, and slowly sit up in the bed. Automatic lights flicker on over the room, and that’s when I see the bags on my hands.
No, not bags—mitts. Like wool mittens that children use when it’s cold outside, except these ones are attached to bracelets that are locked.
My breathing and heart speed as I shake my hands, trying to get them off.
It doesn’t work. I grab the sturdy material of the mitts with my teeth and tug as hard as I can—but they don’t budge.
I no longer have use of my hands. I can’t pick anything up, let alone get my collar off. I can’t… I can’t do anything. Monster has rendered me completely helpless with this one thing, and the mental impact is devastating.
I feel like a broken child with no free will of her own.
I feel like I’m back at my father’s house, living under his cruel reign, where I might have been able to use my hands—but only to do exactly as I was told.
Every move, every action, even most of my thoughts were ruled by Luther Sharpe.
I had no voice, mind, or will of my own—I belonged to my father.
Now, I belong to a man who’s equally as bad. One ruled by delusions of love that manifest as torture. I stare at the mitts, feeling so lost and directionless. What am I supposed to do? How can I get out of here if I can’t even use my hands?
“Those are a temporary precaution,” Monster says.
I look up to see him standing in the doorway.
I was so lost in my desolation, I didn’t even notice him come in, but he must’ve gotten an alert of some sort when I woke up.
“They’ll come off very soon if you’re a good girl.
” His lips tip up. “I like them more than I should. I love taking care of you, Flower, and those render you mostly unable to take care of yourself.”
Whatever look I give him—desperation, defeat, exhaustion—makes his smile fade.
“Brighten up, Flower. One of the perks of your mitts is that I’ll be a whole lot less worried about the damage you can do… which means I’m free to take you on a walk today. Show you around the fortress. Would you like that?”
I keep staring at him, lost for words, and slowly direct my gaze at the floor.
“No-no,” Monster chides. He crosses the room and cups my chin in his hand, lifting my gaze to his own. “Look at me,” he urges. “I’m all you need, and you’re all I need. Don’t get lost in your thoughts.” He kisses my head, ignoring my mild flinch. “Come on. Let’s get you dressed.”
Dressed. I don’t know how long I’ve been here, but I’ve been without clothes for most of that time, and I miss the feeling of material covering my skin.
I’m too shy to ever enjoy blatant nudity, but my likes and dislikes, my personal preferences, seem to have no bearing whatsoever on Greyson’s decision-making.