one time, but don’t think I’m not keeping score. Next time, I’ll beat the disrespect right out of you. And trust me, pet.” I didn’t hesitate. “I’d much prefer it that way too.”
Juliet
I wanted to be my own hero. My own savior. The woman I was raised to be.
Brave.
Strong.
Intelligent.
Instead, all I kept thinking about was how my cruel captor smiled at me, like he knew a secret I didn’t, like he knew me better than I knew myself, which was frankly terrifying.
Something in his gaze felt familiar, but the more I stared, the more I was sucked beneath his monstrous spell.
I couldn’t break.
I had to stay strong, especially when it came to his full lips and angry comments. “Who hurt you? Who made you this way?” But I figured he wouldn’t tell me even if I held him at gunpoint.
The dye was starting to make my scalp itch as I stayed on my knees on the towel, staring at the plain white ceramic tile, wondering how the hell I got on this man’s radar. Clearly, I wasn’t some ransom. I had so many questions but knew asking them would either get me further punishment or him further aroused. Either way, I was screwed.
My tears dried up out of necessity. He seemed to like it when I cried, so I made myself a promise that I wouldn’t anymore, that I’d stare straight ahead and do what he said until I could escape. Until I could free myself from him or kill him. Whatever came first. Minutes passed as I wondered if he truly was touching himself. When the sick bastard returned to the bathroom, he was the vision of serenity, controlled, neutral.
I didn’t know which one was worse, his calm or his storm…
“Bend,” he muttered so low I nearly missed it as he gently held my head beneath the faucet and washed the dye from my short hair.
My stomach sank, looking down at the drain. My old life was being washed away, and my captor was holding me like it was a comfort when it was everything short of a nightmare.
I immediately tensed.
“They may as well be your sins, Juliet…”
His breath was hot on my face, his lips touching my ear with little zaps of pleasure that made me hate myself.
“Look at the old you being washed right away, and imagine how much more empowered you’ll be now that you know who you are.”
“I’ve always known who I am,” I said through a clenched jaw.
“No.” He ran a finger down the back of my neck. “You were in a cage… I just set you free.”
I had nothing to say to that other than he was a sociopath and a liar.
“I was happy.”
“You weren’t.” He continued caressing the back of my neck with one finger. “I saw you first when you were eighteen. You were playing a concert for a very well-known family in the greater Seattle area. It was Christmas, and you wore a red dress. Every man in that auditorium was pulled under a spell only someone as talented and beautiful as you can create, myself included. You left your heart on that stage, on those piano keys, and I swore to myself I’d never let you be that vulnerable again unless you were by my side. Your father looked right through me that night, and I went home clutching the program with one hand and touching myself with the other, imagining your soft curves, the ruby red lips that matched your dress—you were mine before you even knew it. And now you’re mine for good.”
I felt ready to puke, swaying on my knees. “If that’s who you fell for, then why change me?”
“Such a simple question.” He pulled me to my feet. “Such a complicated answer. You weren’t allowed to dye your hair, were you?”
I gasped. “There is no way you could possibly know—”
“You wanted to cut it at one point, just like you wanted to take ballet lessons, just like you wanted to play the piano professionally. You see me as a monster, putting you on a pretty shelf. I see myself as the one man who knows how to let you be.”
He pulled me back against him, his lips on my neck. “I can’t wait for the day when you look up at me with those gorgeous eyes and say thank you. And truly fucking mean it. Not just because you think I’ll beat your ass if you don’t … which I will.”
I would not cry.
I would