Chapter 18
POV: Gabrielle?
What the actual fuck?
What the actual fuck was wrong with me!
I was acting like some love struck girl—a love struck girl that shouldn’t be into her kidnapper, and yet was.
I was fucking insane.
And I guess we’ve established that by now. But so was he. So, technically we both were insane. But I still think I take the cake here about being insane. I’m the victim. I’m the prey. Yet I feel things I shouldn’t feel.
And it was driving me fucking wild.
I couldn’t stop thinking about the way his touch cascaded across my skin. The way it made me feel. The way it made me dream.
And the truth was I liked it.
When I should have hated it, I liked it.
And the worst part was the slew of insults I spat at him that I didn’t really mean.
But I did it for the same reason he did.
I liked seeing him irritated. I liked seeing the flash of emotion cross his face. I liked teasing him and taunting him. And I guess in that way…we both were the same.
I should have been scared shitless. But I wasn’t.
Instead I liked it. I liked the way he made me feel. And instead of fearing it, I enjoyed it. I wanted it. And that made me hate myself.
I sank down on the floor, curling myself into a ball and burying my face into my thighs.
Gab, this isn’t right, and you know it. And you should feel more alarmed when he touches you, or more like you’re a prisoner here instead of friends or worse…
potential lovers? You’re fucked up beyond belief, Gab, and you can’t even understand that.
Because right now instead of thinking about him, you should think about escaping.
But I wasn’t.
I hadn’t thought about escaping in well…days.
So, I did the only thing that I could do.
I screamed.
The scream didn’t echo, it almost died out in the small space.
So, I did it again.
This time, unwrapping my body and pressing my back into the floor as I stared up at the ceiling and I screamed, again.
That’s when the tears began falling down my face in perfect unison. Even my body knew I was fucked.
I screamed so loud that it finally echoed.
Eventually the screams turned into perfect sobs.
So I lay there, screaming and sobbing, while lying still perfectly flat, and eventually the sobs and screams died out in my throat.
I laid there on the floor—a mess, a contradiction, a mixture of a mind that’s fucked up, yet perfectly clear, and I knew this was getting worse as each day went on—my interest in him.
I fell asleep like that, soaked in tears and tired out and thinking of him.
POV: Dane
My girl.
My sweet, sweet, angry girl.
I watched via the camera feed, clenching my fists as I did, clearly preoccupied from her outbursts.
I wanted to go in there, pin her wrists, push her against a wall, and kiss her again—this time, longer. I wanted to take my time. I wanted to give her what she needed.
But I didn’t.
Because the truth was—this was still a test. This was one of my most essential tests.
I needed to see what she could take. I needed to test the limits and test her restraint and see what she did with her feelings for me.
And I watched it all unfold, over a camera feed, knowing that it was the safest option. Because if I went inside that room now when she was falling apart, crying, and confused, then I knew I’d lose it too. I’d lose at my own test.
So, I watched.
I watched her cry and scream for what felt like hours before she finally tired herself out and fell asleep.
Watching did something for me, it made me realize that I could barely contain my restraint for her.
That there was something about her that made me slowly unravel.
That she had a hold on me, when it should’ve been the other way around.
That I knew this was it for me. That she was it. I wanted her to be my wife.
But it was too soon to let her see that—the truth that I had already decided.
Because she hadn’t decided.
And when she did, she still could decide to erase me, anyway.
The thought fucked with my mind.
So I decided fuck it, and as irrational as it was, I decided that I needed to see her. Up close.
I cracked the door open and peaked inside and saw that she was still laying on the floor, curled up in a ball, her soft cheek on the carpet as she breathed at a slow pace.
I took a single step inside, careful not to wake her.
I walked over to her bed, grabbed the comforter off of it and crouched down beside her, and continued watching her sleep.
She looked beautiful. Quiet and calm and tempered for once.
If only, I thought.
I smirked as I draped the comforter over her body then got back up to my feet. Standing in the entranceway, I admired her—soaking in the sight of her peacefully sleeping.
Because I knew that trying times were still ahead of us.
And who knows the next time I’d see her like this.