“Charles.” My name was spoken in warning, and I hurried to catch up, shoving my hands into a tight fist against one another.
I had to remember that these things, even if they looked like they belonged somewhere else, weren’t mine to touch. Wasn’t mine to look at. They were pieces of items that belonged to the Alpha.
My feet followed Alpha Harris through the house like they belonged to someone else.
I barely registered the rooms as we passed—living room, kitchen, office. All clean. The walls held a few scattered frames, but nothing personal. No faces. No warmth.
Upstairs, there were three bedrooms. Two were identical containing a full bed, plain dresser, single window. No dust. No clutter. No signs of life.
The third room was his at the end of the hall, and he saved it for last.
It made me wonder if he actually lived here, or if he was just renting the space.
He stopped in the doorway of one of the empty rooms. “This is yours,” he said. “For now.”
I slowly stepped inside. My fingers brushed the edge of the dresser’s smooth top.
The window faced a row of fields for as far as my eyes could see. Green so bright that it glittered in the sunlight.
I turned back toward Alpha Harris. He hadn’t moved. Just stood in the doorway, watching. What did he see in me? What did he truly want with me?
“This is yours,” he repeated. “For now.” His voice didn’t echo. It landed flat, like the room had swallowed it whole.
I nodded, a bit confused about why he possibly wanted me to be in a different room from him. But I wouldn’t question it. I wasn’t allowed to.
“The sheets are clean,” he went on, leaning against the door jam. “I’ll have clothes delivered for you in an hour or so.”
Again, I nodded. My fate was already accepted here. My mind and body knew it was only a matter of time before he demanded me.
“I have a few things I have to take care of. You are welcome to rest, or explore the house. Don’t leave the house, or try to open any locked doors.”
I nodded, letting my gaze travel to the window again. It was safer. The outside gave me something to look at, something to focus on instead of my own muted thoughts and fogged vision.
“The bathroom is through the door over there. I’ll be in my office if you need me.”
I stood in the center of the bedroom, unmoving. The door clicked shut behind the Alpha, but I didn’t turn to check if it had locked. I didn’t need to.
I was thankful for the moment to gather myself, to center my bearings, and prepare for what was to come.
The room was twice the size of what I had. There was space to spread out, space to pace. The dark curtains were dust-free, and hung down from the window frame, as though they were always there. A simple thing that I wasn’t allowed to have, and I didn’t dare touch.
My eyes scanned the space like I was cataloging it for evidence. The sheets were tucked too tightly. The pillow had no indent, as if never been slept on before.
I stepped forward and touched the edge of the dresser. Cool. Smooth. No fingerprints. I opened the top drawer slowly, half-expecting something—anything—to be inside. Empty. Each drawer was the same.
I turned toward the bed and sat on its edge. It didn’t give under my weight. My shoulders curled inward, spine rigid, like I was bracing for something. The silence pressed against my ears, louder than any scream.
I stared at the wall across from me. Beige. Blank. No photos, no art, no indication that anyone had ever looked at it before.
I tried to count the seconds. Then the breaths. Then the exits.
One door. One window. No vents big enough to crawl through.
My hands gripped the edge of the mattress. I didn’t cry. I didn’t speak. But something inside me began to fold, quietly, like paper.
I was left here, alone, just like I always was. Alone with my thoughts. Alone with my misery.
Breathing through my nose, I forced the thoughts to swim away. They weren’t welcome here, as they didn’t belong to me. My body didn’t belong to me.
