Page 9 of Fatal Fantasy

In an astonishing turn of events, I’m being treated to a spa day, and there’s no supervision. I could jump off the roof of the building, and there’d be nobody around to stop me, which is sounding more and more like the perfect way to end my afternoon of pampering.

I’m sure this was Vincent’s idea, considering he isn’t the world’s biggest asshole and does express his sympathy, but even so, my haunted look is probably a major turn off, and he’s thinking ahead to our wedding day.

Whatever the reason is behind my freedom, I’m not complaining, and for once, I feel the semblance of a smile on my face as I look out the window at the passing cars, allowing the warm sunshine to break through the armor I guard myself with.

“Enjoy your day, Miss Cassini. I’ll be back in a few hours,” my driver says, and I pay him no mind, never thanking my father’s servants for participating in keeping me prisoner.

After all the torture I’ve endured – emotionally and physically – it’ll be nice to have some time alone, and maybe by the end of it, I’ll feel like a human being again.

“Carter, right? Welcome!” The woman at the desk smiles, and I only nod, finding myself feeling a little jealous at how effortlessly happy she seems.

Even though I fantasize about my death, sometimes I miss the person I used to be, how blissfully I once walked this Earth.

“We’re going to start you off with a massage. You can undress and wait in room three. After that, we have your whole day of pampering planned!” She exclaims, coming from around the desk to escort me, her blonde hair shining under the light as I walk behind her.

“Thanks,” I say weakly, my voice barely above a whisper, as the overwhelming urge to break down in tears washes over me.

Not once have I cried over my situation, not since that very first night locked in the basement, vowing to myself that nobody deserved my tears or emotional reactions, but for some reason, being alone and free is bringing this out of me, and I can’t shake it off.

The girl made of stone is cracking, and at the worst possible time.

Once the door shuts behind me I drop into the chair, head in my hands as I try to get my shit together, to remind myself what we’re fighting for, and the ramifications if we fail.

If today truly is my final day on this Earth, if I find a way to end my life, I sure as hell won’t spend it fucking crying.

Stripping out of my clothes, I neatly fold them into a pile and slip on the fluffy white bathrobe, enveloping myself in the luxurious comfort.

The room is small, with one bed in the middle, surrounded by shelves with plants and knick knacks, but none of it matters, just a show put on for clients to make them feel like they’re getting a rich experience.

Admittedly, this is my first massage, but I lay flat on the table, putting my face on the pillow and feeling my body relax as I let every thought fly out of my head.

The door opens and shuts quickly, but I catch a glimpse of black boots as they slowly cross the floor, the choice of shoe a little odd, considering I assumed I’d be with a female masseuse.

“Hi, babygirl.”

My mind must be playing tricks on me because there’s no fucking way I’m hearing the voice that haunts my dreams, and lives inside my heart because it’s impossible – that person died and on the same day, my soul did, too.

In a split second I sit up, my eyes adjusting to the light, but when my vision refocuses, I’m face-to-face with a fucking ghost.

“Tyson?” I whisper, in complete awe at the man standing before me.

A half-smile cascades across his face, much more somber than I remember, but when he walks closer, my heart thrashes against my chest, like I’m being brought back to life.

Everything feels like it’s in slow motion, but when his hand reaches out for me, his knuckles trailing along my jawline, I lean into his touch, feeling every single emotion I’ve stuffed down for the last six months.

There are a million questions running a mile a minute through my head, the number one being how he’s still alive, but instead of talking, I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him in for a hug that feels like home.

Today, I woke up feeling that it was going to be liberating, but this is beyond my wildest dreams, and I don’t even know why he’s here.

For all I know, he could’ve hunted me down to kill me, but wouldn’t that just be the most beautiful form of poetic justice to ever be delivered?

FOUR

TYSON

THAT NIGHT

A faint yelling rings through my head, along with the sound of a single gunshot, but I can’t place anything, my body feeling like it’s floating through space.