Or had it been weeks? How the hell would I know?
I jerked open the cabinet doors finding toiletries. Deodorant. Shampoo and conditioner in two scents. Body wash. Lotion. Face cream. What? I flung open the drawers to find makeup and hairbrushes. Hair ties and toothpaste. Dear God, toothpaste had never looked so good.
When I found a pair of scissors, my thoughts immediately drifted to testing how sharp the points were; sharp enough when I pricked my skin I bled. I stuck my finger in my mouth for a few seconds before taking the scissors to the dress.
Take that, you motherfuckers.
I’d never felt such vindication as I did in shredding the gorgeous piece. A thousand or five thousand dollars. What the hell did I care? It wasn’t me. None of this was.
Not even a little bit.
When I was dressed, I glared at myself again. There was glitter everywhere. Everywhere. The rage was more intense thanbefore. I made a horrible face before grabbing a washcloth, soaking it with soap and water.
And scrubbing my face until my skin burned.
And every scrap of makeup was gone.
When I looked back at myself, I grimaced. While Star might be gone, I wasn’t certain about the woman who’d replaced her.
Even though the anger had started to subside, I was still shaking as I returned downstairs. He was no longer in the kitchen. As I made my way through the house, I marveled at the exquisite details of the place, but it wasn’t quite put together. There were a few pieces of art here and there, but certainly nothing personal.
There were bookshelves everywhere with only a few books. There were no glossy magazines, no movies that I could see. And no plants whatsoever.
I finally found him in a library of some kind. At least the room appeared to have more life behind the walls. He’d cracked open the huge sliding door that comprised an entire wall. He was outside on the deck, one arm stretched out across the railing with the other hand holding his glass of whiskey. Completely silent, he appeared to be staring at the lights across the bay.
I stood in the doorway, not only still uncertain where to begin with questions, but also surprised to see his choice of clothing he’d changed into.
He was still wearing the same crisp white shirt, only now untucked and worn with a pair of faded blue jeans that had certainly been washed dozens of times. My eyes fell very slowly from his broad shoulders down his back to his butt. Maybe I was shameless, but as the light breeze lifted the back of his shirt, Icouldn’t help but notice its firm definition. It was as if God had created the first pair of jeans using a mold of his sexy body.
A warm flush of heat crossing my face, I forced my gaze further down. He was wearing cowboy boots. Another surprise.
Maybe given everything I’d seen, I was expecting that men who believed owning women was acceptable wouldn’t be normal in any way. How ridiculous. There wasn’t a serial killer out there who hadn’t appeared normal in their behavior when required.
He obviously sensed my presence, stiffening just a few seconds later. When he turned to face me, he wore the same expression I knew had formed on my face.
Surprise.
His gaze slowly fell in the same way mine had, with a need to understand the difference in what we each were seeing. No, I wasn’t the beautiful model I’d been dolled up to be. That had never been me. I was the girl more comfortable in jeans and tee shirts. Even my school wardrobe was breezy casual, reflecting what had once been my personality.
Fun loving.
I’d believed in the best in people.
I walked in with one arm crossed in front of me as if that could provide any sense of calm or protection.
He took a deep breath before returning to the room. When he started to close the door, I hadn’t realized I’d made a strangled sound until he stopped what he was doing altogether.
I sat down on the couch, every muscle tense. “Do you mind keeping the door open? I mean is that allowed? Just for now. Ifeel a little… stuffy.” Suffocated. Drawing a single deep breath was a near impossibility.
“Of course it’s allowed.”
“What do you expect of me? Just tell me so I know the rules.”
His smile was wry, a curious blend of amusement and a hint of annoyance. As if he wasn’t certain how to respond. “Right now, just relax.”
I resisted screaming that that wasn’t possible.
Now that the rush of adrenaline was gone, I felt even more awkward around him. Anger and fear were powerful tools when used for survival. Now, I felt helpless.
