a release for me, but more than that, it saved me from being the social pariah. I always knew they felt that way about me. But having Vince say the words...fuck, it hurts to know it’s true.
“You know what I mean, Anthony.” He straightens his back and meets my gaze head on. I have to hand it to him, he deserves to be boss. But I can fucking smell his fear from here.
“I bought her, and now she’s mine. That’s what happened. End of story,” I say flatly.
“It’s not the end. You also agreed to one month, and that’s what they were told,” he says.
“I didn’t--” I start to answer, but he cuts me off.
“You did.” He says the words with finality. I never should’ve said it was his call. It pisses me off. I shouldn’t have trusted him. It wasn’t his decision to make.
“I have work to do, and I need to get home to check on her before bed.”
“Check on her?” he grunts a humorless laugh and it takes everything in me not to plant a fist on his jaw. I can hear Aunt Linda in the kitchen and the kids playing not twenty feet from us. I clench my fists at my side, but hold back. I finish the beer and grab my keys off the table.
Checking on her is my job. This isn’t about getting laid, it’s not about fucking her or using her, or demeaning her. That’s not what I want. This is more than that. It’s deeper than Vince could possibly know. It’s about having someone need me. And she does, whether Vince likes it or not.
“I mean it, Anthony,” he says to my back.
I don’t answer him. I still have time with her. It may be best that I don’t get too attached though. I close my eyes as I open the door and step out into the night.
The cold air whips against my skin. She’s in a cell for trying to get away from me, for fuck’s sake. I shake my head and feel torn. I thought this would be perfect, but it’s not.
I’m just damaged goods. That’s all I am.
Perfection doesn’t exist. Neither do fantasies.
Catherine
I wake to the faint hum of the lights being turned on in the cell. I’m so fucking cold. The only thing he gave me besides the chair was my chenille throw. At least it was freshly washed. Not like that matters now though, since I've got it bunched up underneath me as a makeshift mattress. It fucking sucks.
The lock clicks and the doorknob turns. I quickly get into position. I’m mindful of keeping my hands exactly how he likes them.
My heart flutters in my chest. Last night he didn’t stay. He left me with dinner and watched me eat it in silence. An air of disappointment and distrust surrounded him. I don’t understand why he’s angrier with me now than he was when he put me in here. I feel like I’m failing, and I don’t know what I’m missing. I wish I could go back in time. If I could, I would.
He walks in front of me and stops. I look up at him, hopeful that today he’s in a better mood.
“Good morning, kitten,” he says simply.
“Good morning, Anthony,” I respond.
He puts a bowl down on the floor. It’s oatmeal with strawberries and cream. It’s my favorite. I had a shit-ton of it at my house and I find myself wondering if he went back there. I want to know if he was able to find the earrings, but I don’t ask. I stay in my position and look at the bowl and then back at him. He didn’t feed me dinner last night like he did before, and I didn’t think much of it. But this morning reminds me of the first time we met, of him feeding me.
He shakes his head no and walks to the chair to sit down. “You don’t get my touch in here, kitten. That’s part of your punishment.”
My heart sinks as I pick up the bowl and watch him cross his arms. I feel fucking sick. He’s so fucking angry with me, and I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to take it back. I had to try though, didn’t I? No, I chose to.
“I got your earrings. You won’t get them until you’re back in your room.” His voice has a hard edge.
“Thank you.” My voice cracks, and I have to take a deep breath to