The King - S.R. Jones Page 0,62
he can walk and talk at the same time. God, Konstantin is a prize prick. My self-loathing at my desire for him reaches a peak, but I hate him more.
If it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to make him pay for the repeated ways he’s humiliated me.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Cassie
I avoid nearly everyone for the next two days by staying in my room. Konstantin came to see me once, and only once. He brought me a phone and told me I could use it only to call my grandparents. Their number was programmed in. He said if I used it to call anyone else, he’d take it away, and I’d lose the privilege of speaking to them. Yep, I’m a prisoner alright, and he’s a bastard of a warden.
At least I can speak to my grandparents, though, which is the one thing in this keeping me going. I had a long chat with them and had to tell them a fairy tale about why I couldn’t see them because of my marvelous job, and I think they bought it. Afterward, I cried for an hour.
The only time I’ve come out of my room is to eat, and even then, I call down and request stuff if I can, or I go forage and bring the food back to my room, not wanting to see anyone.
Today, though, is day three, and I feel a little crazy staring at these four walls. The idea of seeing Konstantin makes me sick, but I can’t sit here any longer or I will go insane.
Two days ago, I wrote a list of things I needed and handed it to Derek, and this morning I got it delivered to me. I had made it simple and listed two pairs of jeans, two t-shirts, a summer dress, a nightdress, underwear, and some sneakers. Along with a swimsuit and toiletries, as well as a few books.
What’s arrived today is not what I requested. I’ve received four pairs of designer jeans, and they all fit me perfectly. Three t-shirts. All plain, one in white, one in navy, and one in black. Then there are three t-shirts with prints on them. They are all Versace. They’re not my taste at all, but I bet Liza would love them. I have a sundress from Ralph Lauren. A slinky evening style dress from Dolce and Gabbana. And where the hell does Derek think I’ll be wearing that particular item? One of the things I do love is a pair of sneakers from Stella McCartney. They have a platform and are wicked cool. A pair of low-heeled sandals from Tory Burch, with a gorgeous pattern on them if I do say so myself, finish off the shoe side of things. Accessories include sunglasses from Chanel. Two bags from Gucci, and a huge hold-all from Louis Vuitton. Not my style at all. Just nope. I wouldn’t dare touch the bags, and they’re so girly. Not the hold-all, that’s pretty cool and looks sturdy and well made, but the bags? They’re all gold chain straps with gold G’s on them, and that’s not me. Plus, where am I going to go to use bags? The whole thing is weird.
Then there is the underwear. Where do I even begin! I requested white panties, a pack of six, and two plain cotton bras.
I have received four black thongs. Two pairs of red lacy panties. Two black bras that are balconette style with discreet padding, which give me a ridiculous cleavage. I never wear padded bras as my boobs are too big as is. I tend to wear bras that flatten things down up top, not accentuate it. Another bra that is red, and like something out of a saloon bar, or so I imagine, with its frills and lacy bits. And then there’s some sort of slinky bodysuit thing that I’ve not done more than glance at before putting it back into the soft tissue it came wrapped in.
To finish everything off, I’ve been given a hundred percent silk nightdress and soft cotton pajama bottoms with a matching strappy top. The swimsuit is black, which is good, but it’s by Gucci too, and it has a low slit at the front. Still, it’s all there is, and I don’t think it’s polite or kind to make Derek go back and buy me a new one. He’s the one, after all, who is doing this grunt work, not Konstantin.
Oh, and I got the three books I asked for