I grunt in frustration. I had woken up with a resolve, and it’s already wavering.
With hesitant hands, I manage to finish my makeup. It doesn’t look great, but it’ll do. A dash of mascara, some concealer to try to hide the dark circles under my eyes, some blush to make me look less like a zombie. I can’t tell if it’s not enough, or if I’ve overdoneit.
I run a brush over my hair, and this time I don’t give up until it’s been combed into submission. The brushed-out curls make my hair look puffy, but at least there are no more knots.
Then I go to the living room. I take out one book after another, but none of them capture my attention. So, I find an empty notebook and pen. Maybe I can start a diary. That would be something to do. I try to jot down a few thoughts, but nothing comes to mind.
Frustrated, I toss the notebook to the floor. I guess I’ll watch some TV. Somehow, I never thought to do that before, even though it’s probably the best way to while away the time. But I guess I’ve always been too deep into my thoughts to think about turning it on.
Settling back on the couch, I reach for the remote control on the side table.
At once, the phone rings.
I jump up, my heart thudding in my chest. I can’t bring myself to go pick it up. The only time it rang, it was because I was in trouble. I don’t want a phone call. I want him.
I wait, frozen, for the ringing to stop. I hear the vague, tin sound of an answering machine. And then the rings start again.
The renewed sound forces me out of my torpor. I rush to the bedroom and pick up.
The voice at the other end begins to speak before I’ve even had time to say hello.
“Go to the bathroom and take off that makeup.” Damien’s voice, warm and low, comes through.
Surprise quickly turns to anger that rises in my throat. I did this for him, and now he wants me to take it off. I clench my fists.
“No.”
There’s a slight pause, and then a low chuckle. “No?”
He sounds amused. And just a little taken aback.
“Come and take it off me, if it means so much to you.”
Another pause, longer this time. “Are we feeling a little rebellious this morning, my pet?”
That word—pet—that I usually cling to hungrily now sits heavy in the pit of my stomach. The intrusive thoughts are back, and they’re louder than ever. He barely ever comes to see me, yet he spends his time watching me on the cameras. He keeps such a close eye on me that he knows the minute I’ve put makeup on, and yet somehow, he has no idea Logan nearly drowned me. Damien doesn’t know.But he does. He must know. Damien knows.
“I don’t matter to you,” I blurt out. “I don’t see why putting makeup on should matter either.”
The third pause is a lot heavier, and I clutch the side of the table, hating myself for having said those words.
At last, he speaks again, in a neutral tone that betrays nothing. “I’m coming down.”
-
I wait for him on the edge of the bed, my hands clutched in my lap. I wonder if he’s angry. I wonder if he’ll punish me. That’s often the reason he gives for his visits. Though somehow, the things he does to me never feel like real punishments.
Well, he did dangle me off the balcony.
Panic swells in me, wondering what he’s planning now. Wondering if he’ll hurt me by showing me just how little he cares, justwhen I’d started to hope he did.
He must care. He held me in his arms until I fell asleep.
But he didn’t stay.
He knows. Damien knows.
I’m brought out of the downward spiral of my thoughts by the sound of a key turning in the lock. I stand up, then sit back down at once, the room tilting around me.
