“No, I have to go again.”
He’s been here longer than he’s usually allowed to stay, but he makes no attempt to leave as he gently pulls me back, stroking my cheek with the back of his gloved fingers.
“Run this time,” he softly urges. “Don’t come back.”
I’ve spent years listening to him tell me to run. Each time, he’s angry when I arrive back to the island because I never listen to him. He doesn’t get it. I have to be here or I’ll lose my baby all over again.
“Not without my baby.” I step back to get away from his coaxing.
He holds my shoulders, forcing me to remain in place as his voice hardens. “She’s not here, Delilah. Your baby died. There’s nothing you can do.”
“Shut up!”
“No. Listen to me. Your baby isn’t here. Nothing exists for you here other than pain. You’ve earned more freedom. Now, you run. You do not look back and you do not wait.”
“Kane will come back,” I whisper through tears as the sun shines on the wall Kane painted for me in one of our last moments together. “He won’t be able to find me if I go.”
Lennox’s face falls as he dips his head to catch my eyes. “Kane’s dead, little doe.”
“No,” I snap, pushing him away.
It’s the same lie over and over and over again. Kane isn’t dead. They don’t know him; they don’t know this is his trick. He’s already done it once, but I won’t make the same mistake again.
Kane’s alive. Asher’s dead.
Lennox flieswith me for the first time, but wherever we are is different than the other parties. It’s colder and rain hits my exposed arms as he guides me into a silent building. Our steps don’t even echo as we walk deeper into it. When the door closes behind us, I wait for my mask to be removed so I can see where I’m going. However, the routine has changed as Lennox places his hand on my lower back to push me forward.
Even when Helene’s perverted gaze has been on us, he keeps his hand near my shoulder blades. My insides churn as he moves his land lower to cup my ass. I push myself away from his wandering hand despite how pain shoots up my right leg, nearly crumbling me. He has never touched me like this. Ever. Not when he allowed me to hold his hand while I was forced to give birth to a dead baby, or when I was throwing up and he would help me get back into bed. Not even when he would clean the wounds after I defied Helene.
Now his fingers dig into my bicep as he forces me to remain at his side. His gloves feel different. They’re not as soft, like they haven’t been worn frequently when I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve woken up to see him sleeping in a chair with his gloves on.
We keep walking as his hand roams over my body. The dress Helene provided me with dips low in the back, the small of the hem barely covering my ass. Lenny keeps moving down, down, down, until his gloved hand is between my thighs.
I should’ve listened to Helene when she said he was using me. I should’ve listened to myself when I knew it was strange for a man to spend so much time with me without demanding he be compensated by my body. Three years is his limit. He’s collecting as we walk deeper through the hallway.
A door bangs behind us.
He removes his hand from between my thighs to rip the hood off my head. Small strands stick to the material, charged with static as I squint into the harsh spotlight illuminating me, the rest of the room blurring into an inky black. When I lift my hand to take some of the burden off my burning retinas, I notice the man standing beside me isn’t Lenny. Even though his face is covered in a mirrored shell mask, I know it isn’t him. This man is shorter, his shoulders thinner. Lenny left me alone with strangers.
I have to play then Helene will be happy. I’ll get them all back. My baby, Kane, and Lenny. All four of us will be allowed to be together, and the latter will be forced to apologize to me for attempting to convince me Kane is dead. I’ll rub it in his face then forgive him.
As I walk closer to the blinding light, there’s no crowd to show Rowan’s parties have begun. The light is coming from another room, seeping out of the doorway I’m pushed through. I look up in an attempt to escape the glare, but the entire box is reflective, even the floor.
I haven’t moved from the middle of the disorientating room when the door slides into place behind me. The lights are cut off next, suspending me into darkness. I hold my hands out infront of me as I slowly turn in a circle at the sound of my own heartbeat amplified in the pitch-black space.
One of the mirrored panels erupts with small dots of light. All of the reflective surface makes it look like I can fall into them. My stomach rolls when the dots covering one entire panel slowly move in an arc, sweeping under my feet to go to the opposite wall. My knees tremble and I hold my arms out to balance myself as the sweeping gets faster. The lights glaring at me add to the nausea despite the room not moving. The lights change, sweeping front to back instead of side to side. The curve widening, reaching the ceiling as I spin. Or the lights spin. I can’t work it out or stop the bile burning up my throat at the intense motion sickness taking root.
“Stop,” I mumble as saliva pools in my mouth in preparation to carry the bile away.
The lights get faster.
I sway, eventually crumbling as my stomach wins the battle. Vomit soaks the front of my dress as it splashes up from the illuminated, mirrored floor to stick to my hair. The lights don’t stop; neither does my stomach.
I flinch as they get faster.
Faster.
Faster.
