So instead of looking at the messed-up collage, I practiced my speech. Something The Restorer couldn’t dismiss. Words he couldn’t brush aside.
I’d been at it for hours. Sitting on the bed in mydress. Legs crossed as I stared out the window while day turned into night.
Demands, pleas, and accusations ran through my head. I kept reshaping them as I tried to balance between being respectful and firm.
Throughout the day, Mary delivered soup and tea to my room twice. I hate to admit it, but she was right. It did help.
Now, after my second shower, I’m no longer terribly nauseated by what happened. By wearing this…dress.
All because I’ve figured out what went wrong. It was a communication issue.
Boundaries weren’t set.
It’s no one’s fault, really. A misunderstanding I’m going to resolve tonight. Soon.
Mary will be coming to get me in a few minutes. I know, because she brought me a small clock to put on the dresser. Until then…
“Who are you?” I repeat the hushed question.
A cold, crawling awareness climbs my spine as I trace the places he captured. My navel, my pinky, the fragile crook of my neck.
And then—oh God.
The reason these images have this visceral impact on me finally clicks.
Yes, they’re invasive. Yes, they’re obscene.
That’s not the whole story.
This… This is a message.
The arrangement is deliberate. Distorted on purpose.
It tells me whoever took these was someone whose attraction has twisted into hate. Whose fixation is dark and dangerous.
He knows me, or worse. He’s stalked me long enough to believe that he does. And that makes him hate either me or his obsession.
My hands clench at my sides, nails digging into my palms in an effort to keep me conscious.
It doesn’t help. It only sends more panic through me.
Because thinking about my situation makes one frightening truth clear.
Knowing who The Restorer is won’t save me. He’s angry, and anger turns men into monsters.
A shiver skates up my spine.
I’m not safe here.
Can’t leave either.
Barclay, despite denying it, needs me to stay.
I rub my face, imploring myself to have faith. To believe The Restorer doesn’t resent me enough to shut me out tonight. Or worse.
Three raps on the door have me gasping.
“Come in,” I say, while internally scolding myself for being so jittery.
