Chapter 8
I slipped into the bedroom without a sound, closing the distance between us. His words echoed in my head. The regret lacing them landed harder than anger ever could. It was like an intense lashing with a cane. I choked back a harsh sob.
If he had actually used a physical cane, it may have been easier to handle. I could have at least braced for it. The intimacy of the shared moment, the intensity of it, shattered when he realized what he’d done.
Stupid me stayed in the haze too long after he pulled out. It had taken me entirely too long to catch up. And now all that was left was regret and a hollowness I’d never felt before. The way he stated he never wanted kids crushed me. If I had even thought about sharing, I knew better now.
My throat tightened as tears stung my eyes. I stared at nothing, willing myself not to cry. I should have known better. Hope was nothing but a liability.
When will I ever learn?
With trembling fingers, I reached for the zipper of my dress and tugged it down. The fabric slid away, pooling at my feet. I stepped out of it and picked it up. Dirty wasn’t the right word. Disgusting or filthy was more appropriate.
His cum had leaked out and covered part of the dress. It would need to be cleaned. His essence coated my thighs, and it brought an incredible, overwhelming sense of shame. A shower—that was what I needed.
Feeling numb, I tossed the dress into a service bag along with the knickers and ripped the bra off. I stepped into the bathroom to start the shower. The hot water washed away any evidence of him.
He referenced what happened between us as a mistake. I couldn’t blame him, honestly. My ribs felt too tight, as if my body was trying to contain emotions too big to hold. Finally, I let out a small sob, hearing his words over and over in my head.
Kids aren’t something I’ve ever wanted. Ever.
It was now more imperative than ever to keep my secret. I’d give anything to have a rewind button to undo…My thoughts stopped there. I couldn’t bring myself to say that if I had that power, I’d undo our encounter six years ago.
Declan was the only thing keeping me going. I’d only rewind the last few hours…Okay, maybe the last few days. Seeing Andrew, giving in to him, made the tiniest part of my foolish romantic heart want things it shouldn’t.
And as much as I tried to kill the part of myself that romanticized Andrew Marcel, it was the only thing that kept me sane while locked away. How many nights had I lain awake dreaming of running into him on the street, falling in love, and presenting him with a son?
Like all romance novels, it ended up with us hand in hand watching our son play football, or seeing him graduate, get married, and give us grandchildren. In my fantasy land, no matter the journey we took, it always ended with us together and happy.
I finished my shower, got dressed on autopilot, and then combed my hair out. The mirror caught me off-guard. I froze. There was an emptiness behind my eyes. Haunted. That was the word. As I always did when one fresh hell was eating at me, I allowed the self-loathing to take the reins.
Somehow, without even intending to, you’ve screwed up once again. What a disappointment you are.
My grip tightened on the brush. For one wild second, I imagined hurling it at the mirror, shattering that woman’s face and telling her to shut the hell up. Instead, I set it down with careful precision. I couldn’t afford to break. Not now.
I crawled into bed and pulled the covers over my head, sealing myself away. Sleep didn’t come. It never did when my thoughts were this loud. A dull, gnawing settled in my stomach, paired with a crushing weight in my chest.
Damn, it hurt to breathe. I took several deep breaths anyway and forced myself to refocus. Over the years, I’d learned to control my thought patterns. Since romanticizing the fucked-up situation I was in wasn’t an option, that only left one avenue.
Nightmares. I could invite one in. It was easy to do. Just a matter of summoning them by allowing my mind to drift in the direction I wanted it to. It was a defence mechanism. A twisted form of control.
After all, I’d survived that time in my life, so I could easily rationalize that if I survived the Mask and the Collector, I could survive anything. The logic had carried me this far. I closed my eyes and let go, picturing myself as I was that day.
Eleven years old. All knees and no grace. If I wasn’t sitting at the piano, I was useless. The castle took shape. I was outside on the playground. Castles were supposed to be beautiful—storybook places filled with warmth and magic.
But the one we lived in was nothing more than cold stone, overgrown yards, rusted toys, and locked doors. That day started with the sweetest sound. An innocent little giggle.
Focus on the sound. Let it play repeatedly. The nightmare took shape.
I was sitting on the seahorse, wishing it were a real horse instead, one that I could gallop away on. The four of us were outside for our daily playtime. X was by the swings, pushing Winter.
Autumn was drawing on the ground with the end of a paintbrush, and Spring sat on the grass. The sound carried across the meadow, snapping my head up. It wasn’t something we heard much—laughter.
“Where on earth did you come from?” Spring’s small voice rang out.
I blinked, unsure of what I was seeing. There was a tuft of orange hair and a loud meow. The scrawniest tabby cat I’d ever seen had climbed into Spring’s lap. She touched noses with it, and my heart caught in my chest as she, once more, giggled like the little girl she was.
Winter was the first one over, followed by me, then Autumn.
X stood nearby, looking nervously between us girls and the hatch door we used to go outside.
Our instructor was due back any second. By this point, X was allowed to accompany us outside alone.
I picked up on her anxiety. It rose in waves, and dread filled me. But Spring spoke again.
“What’s your name? Oh my, look at you! I once had a cat just like you. It was a stuffed animal, but still,” she said, lost in the moment. “Look, it’s a pet,” she said proudly.
X came rushing over, pulling her to her tiny feet. She shook her head violently and pointed to the door.
“But it chose us,” Spring whined, as the cat weaved in and out between all our legs.
X clamped her hand over Spring’s mouth and again shook her head.
The little girl shrugged free. “And I’ll bet it’s hungry!” Spring exclaimed, not letting it go.
X reached out and slapped Spring across the face, hard enough to startle her, but not enough to leave a lingering mark. We stared at them, shocked, the understanding virtually lost to Spring, who clutched her cheek with hurt filling her eyes.
The message was clear, at least to me and Winter. Autumn once more looked at the ground. We couldn’t keep the cat. Tears sprang to Spring’s eyes and fell down her cheeks.
X grabbed her by the hand and dragged her over to the hatch door. She ripped it open and pointed down the steps. The crushed look on Spring’s face haunted me that night, so I’d decided at that moment that I would save a little bit of my lunch each day and bring it to the cat.
For a solid two months, we had a pet, and as stupid as it was, we even gave it a name. Autumn one day surprised us all by printing two names in the dirt with the end of one of her paintbrushes. Hercules or Tiger.
She gave each of us a smooth stone, and we voted by placing it beside the name we liked best. Unanimously, we all chose Hercules; even X had relented. If our instructor or the two men had noticed, they hadn’t said anything. Each day I continued to bring Hercules food.
One particularly hot summer day, we headed outside like normal, unless we got to the top of the hatch and X opened the door, rough hands immediately yanked her out.
A low growl and hissing sound could be heard, and once all of us were standing outside, the Collector stepped forward.
He was holding a bag that was moving, and we could hear our beloved Hercules hissing in fear from inside.
The Mask dragged X over to the lake, and the Collector indicated we were to follow.
“I want to know whose cat this is. You’re supposed to be watching them, following the rules. How many others have you broken, bitch? I want to know specifically who has been feeding it,” the Mask screamed at X, slapping her to the ground. “Answer me now!” he roared in her ear.
Flinching away from the sound, she bowed her head. “It was me, Sir.”
Every instinct inside warned me to let her take my punishment.
It would be easier. She was more accustomed to them than me.
I’d only ever had the shower encounter with him and didn’t want a repeat.
In the seconds it took for him to reach down and grab the buckle on his belt to use it against X, I pushed forward.
“It wa-wa-wasn’t her, i-it-w-wa-was m-m-me,” I choked, feeling the nausea rise.
I dug into my pocket and brought out the wrapped chicken from lunch. He shoved X away from him and motioned for the bag from the Collector.
“Then step right up because you brought this on yourself. Did I tell you that you could get a pet? That you could feed it scraps from my table? That is your food that I ensure you have on your plate, and you repay me by feeding a mangy, flea-ridden cat? Answer me,” he seethed, spit flying in my face from the holes in his mask.
“I’m sorry,” I cried, feeling his other hand, not holding the bag, dig into my arm.
“With this being only your second infraction, I think I’ll go easy on you.” He shook the bag, making Hercules even angrier. “Dogs or water.”
“Please don’t hurt him,” I begged, horrified by both options. The back of his hand cracked sharply across my face.
“Autumn, please grab a stick. Go on now, don’t be shy, dolly.”
She visibly shuddered at the nickname, but did as he asked.
“Now write in the sand for me like you did before. Don’t worry, I’m not angry with you.”