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I hear a low rumble—the pounding of feet, before two horses charge over the hill and trot over to me. They slow, and I smile as the white one approaches, pressing its chest to the fence and sniffing at me. Its friend isn’t as brave. I stroke my fingers over the silky fur of the horse’s face. Whose horses are these? Surely not Rafael’s? I’ve never seen a horse in real life, never touched one. There’s something about the way it seeks out my attention, careful and yet courageous. The horse is strong yet flighty. Powerful and vulnerable at the same time. I smooth its mane away from its neck and stroke over the sleek muscles. The horse remains on the other side of the fence, watching me as though I were the most interesting thing in the world. The sun is reaching high into the sky before I finally reluctantly turn away and make my way back to the house.
Most of the cars are missing from the driveway, and I know enough by now to know that means Rafael is out, handling business. A creeping sense of disappointment creeps over me, and instead of going inside, I round the house, heading for the gardens.
A couple of weeks ago, I didn’t like leaving my room. Now I feel safe out here. I love being outside; the sound of birds singing and crickets chirping, the sun on my skin, grass beneath my feet. I love the smell of the flowers in the gardens, even the feel of the desert dust sweeping on the wind and brushing my exposed flesh. All of it is so foreign to me that each tiny act feels like its own miracle.
The grass is wet from the sprinklers that arch around, catching the sunlight and transforming into rainbows, stretching across the flowerbeds full of roses.
I go farther into the gardens, moving around the pond and through the hedge on the other side. Eventually, I come to a circular clearing with a sundial in the middle. I lie down on the grass and close my eyes, smiling to myself. This is a small slice of peace right here.
I jolt awake at the sound of my name being called. Darkness. I’m surrounded by darkness, and cool grass caresses the skin beneath my bare legs. I’m in the garden. I must have fallen asleep.
“Anna!” I frown. Rafael? I push to my feet just as a figure passes the hedge line and walks into the clearing. “Are you fucking deaf?” He storms over to me and instinct has me wanting to flinch back, but instead, I stand my ground, feeling the icy drain of my emotions as they flee my consciousness. In the darkness, Rafael looks ominous, but with the anger pouring off him, he’s downright deadly.
He groans, and I lift my eyes, watching him turn his back and drag both of hands through his hair. He storms over to me and stops so close that I can feel the heat of his body. Fisting his hand in my hair, he wrenches my head back. My body goes limp, pliant, retreating. I used to get angry with myself after they fucked me. I used to hate my submission, but then I realized, it’s not submission, it’s preservation. The mind is powerful but once broken it cannot be healed, whereas the body can break over and over again. This isn’t submission—it’s retreat. After all, I could never save my body, but my mind saved itself.
Rafael stares at me, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “No one’s seen you since this morning. Where were you?”
“Here.”
He squeezes his eyes shut and the grip on my hair tightens as he pulls me closer, plastering my body against him. “I thought…”
“You thought what?” I ask coldly. “How would I escape? Where would I go?”
His eyes flash open, and he glares at me. “I thought he’d taken you,” he growls. His words force some awareness to creep back to the surface, and I frown as a sinking feeling of guilt settles in my stomach. Silence reigns between us, and I can hear each heavy breath that leaves his lips, feel the pounding of his heart against my chest, or maybe that’s just my own heartbeat.
His eyes harden, and I see the exact moment that he’s done with this conversation. Releasing me, he takes a slow step back, his gaze flicking to my exposed legs. “Wear more clothes. This isn’t a whore house,” he snaps.
Our eyes meet for a moment, and then he turns his back on me and walks back the way he came. I hate him, and I need him. When did he start to feel like the hero and the villain?
A rustling in the bushes has my head lurching to the side. Lucas stumbles onto the lawn, holding his hands up. “Just me,” he says.
