He’s not finished. “You’ll live here with me for the next year. Naked in my bed every night. In the daytime, you’ll go to classes or be with the Sisters.”
“Where?”
“Our sister sorority next door. The women stay there during the day. Any bonded women come here to their men in the evening.”
“Separated by gender? Really? What is this? The 1950s? That’s archaic.”
He raises his shoulders, then lets them drop. Nonchalant. “It’s our way. It’s been like this for hundreds of years, since our forefathers claimed this land long ago.”
I scrub a hand over my face, overwhelmed with all this new information.
“One more thing.” He adds, “I have to warn you. There are others who wish me harm. Anytime you leave the Sisters’ house or this house, one of the brothers will go with youas security.”
I stare at him, my mind racing, sorting through everything he just told me. “What you’re saying is that for the next year I’ll have no privacy. I’ll either be with the Brothers, Sisters, or you? Is that correct?”
He nods, eying me silently.
“I have to obey you and pretend we’re sleeping together and that you’re fantastic in bed?”
A grin spreads across his face, infuriatingly smug. “Iamfantastic in bed, so don’t worry. No lying about that part.”
I roll my eyes, trying to ignore the shiver I just got as I flashbacked to the sensation of his tongue swirling over my fingertips, slow and sensual, as if he enjoyed the taste of me.
No. Don’t think about that. Wipe it from my memory.
Carrson checks his watch, like he has better places to be. Like he already knows my answer, and this is all a formality.
“No,” I tell him, lifting my chin. “I won’t be your Bonded or whatever you call it. I don’t want any of this. I didn’t ask for it, so let me go.”
Slowly, his gaze shifts to me. I shrink back, scared by the depth of his displeasure. He narrows his eyes. “I tried to play nice, to give you the easy way, but no, you deny me.Fine. Enjoy your confinement, Laurel. Try not to think too hard about the classes you’ll miss or about how your dad is doing out there all alone, without you to take care of him.”
Without another word, he stalks away. The sound of the door locking behind him is louder than a gunshot. I race to it and twist the handle, but it doesn’t budge. I hammer on it with my fist, screaming to be let out on and off for the rest of the day, but no one answers. No one comes.
I’m alone.
A prisoner.
Chapter seven
Laurel
It takes Carrson eleven days to break me. Eleven days and nights, I’m alone locked in his bedroom. The only person I see is him when he comes to bed late at night, but he won’t say a word to me. The only meal I get is the dinner he brings me, always something I can eat with my hands. No utensils. No knives or forks I could stab him with. Plastic cups that can’t be broken. The amount of food I’m given dwindles every day, until I lay awake at night unable to ignore the angry growling of my belly.
On the third day, I wait by the door, holding a wooden chair I got from the sitting area high above my head. When Carrson enters theroom, I use my whole body and slam into him. He staggers once, then turns and grabs the chair from me. He tosses it into the hallway along with any other furniture that’s light enough for me to pick up. The twin nightstands, the ottoman at the end of the bed, the shoe rack in the bottom of the closet, they all get chucked out of the room. He gets into bed, rolls away, and goes to sleep. It’s not until he’s left the next morning that I see the blood that stains his pillowcase, and I grin, happy I hurt him.
On the seventh day, I attack him with a plastic hanger that I broke into pieces, sharpening the tip until it’s a spear. He dodges as soon as I make my move and deflects easily, avoiding my attempt to stab him. He drops to his knees and sweeps a leg out. Like a ninja, that leg catches me in the back of my ankles, tripping me so I fall onto my face. I lay there panting, stars dancing in front of my eyes, the wind knocked out of me. For that I lose all the hangers in the closet, along with the clothes. I’d been wearing my dirty pizza shirt and occasionally Carrson’s shirts, which are so big they hang like baggy dresses down to my knees. All that is taken away, so I’m left naked all day and night long.
On the ninth day, I try to smother him with a pillow while he sleeps. Not a very well-thought-out plan, but at this point I’m exhausted and starving. Half-crazy, desperate for the sound of another human voice. Carrson kicks me out of bed,literally. He takes his foot, plants it in my side, and pushes me until I fall off the side of the bed onto the cold hard wood floor. Every time I try to climb back up into bed that night, he repeats the kick until I eventually give up and lay huddled, shivering, naked on the floor.
On the tenth day, I stay in bed all day and cry.
It's not the nakedness, or the hunger, or the need for companionship that finally makes me succumb. It’s my dad. Carrson’s words echo through my brain, louder every day. “Try not to think about how your dad is doing out there all alone, without you to take care of him.” Those words torment me, because I can’tnotthink about my dad, worry about him, wonder how he’s doing. In the past year, we’ve switched places. I’ve become the parent, and he’s the child. As every day passes, I worry more and more that I’ll find him dead.
On the eleventh night, Carrson comes to bed and lies down beside me, careful not to touch me. He never touches me, even when he sleeps.
I roll onto my side and face him. He looks tired, with dark circles under his eyes that weren’t there days before.
“Hey,” I say softly. “I want to see my dad.”
