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tell him, but he was going to find out some way or another. There was a sharpness in his eyes that reminded me of the edge of a blade.
“Um…” I rubbed my arm again. “I haven’t had any.” There was a pause, a long stagnant thing wherein the weight of his stare was like tiny needles on my skin. Maybe he thought I was lying. I wished I was lying, wished there were memories of boys in my past that I could transport myself to right then, but there weren’t any. I’d never been loved. I’d only been kissed one time, in junior high, right before I got sick. It was unskilled and quick.
“Would you mind if I validated your claims?” he asked. His tone was still so sweet and syrupy. I hated it. I saw beyond the sugar to the diabetes.
“My claims?” I asked. “Do I have a choice?”
“Yes,” he responded.
“How will you validate that?” My voice sounded small, so unlike me.
He stood up, smiling. “I see you’re uncomfortable with the johnny. Remove your pants and get under the blanket and I’ll just do a quick virginity test.” This was the moment when I should have screamed, because this was the exact moment of no return, when everything got real.
But instead of screaming, I said, “You can’t check for that. That’s not something you can check.” My voice became hurried and quick. What kind of doctor are you? I wanted to add. “There’s no such thing as a virginity test,” I continued as if I might save myself by pointing that out to him. There was a split-second flash across his face, brutal and violent like lightning hitting a tree. I nearly gasped. His smile vanished and that sweetness he’d been radiating turned sour and rotten.
“Perhaps not,” he said, smile returning. “But it’s the best we’ve got—the best you’ve got.” My eyes widened. What did he mean by that? I shifted, my sneakers making indentations on the fancy rug. It was some kind of white fur-looking thing and my shoes were getting it all dirty.
I looked back up. Dr. Wyatt was still looking at me, sickly sweet smile plastered on his face.
I knew I didn’t have a choice.
I was still in bed when the Beast returned. The doctor had only just left and I was naked under the sheets. It had been quick; at least Dr. Wyatt hadn’t been lying about that. That didn’t mean I didn’t feel violated. I’d been poked and prodded by doctors in the past, but it had never felt so…wrong. At least in the hospital the sterility and routine had provided a sort of buffer; it was dehumanizing, to a certain extent. Here I was exposed. I had to feel everything. I held the covers up to my chin as the Beast studied me, praying he wouldn’t lift up the blanket.
“Dinner is in one hour, dress appropriately.” With that, he pushed off the wall and left. I was alone in the extravagant bedroom. Dress appropriately? I’d left without saying goodbye, let alone packing evening wear.
I waited a few moments before getting out of bed then quickly threw off the sheets and shimmied back into my jeans. I rubbed my fingers together, staring at the room. I felt icky. Only minutes prior I had been naked, poked at.
Now I had to dress appropriately.
I let out a sigh and walked to the window. The view was beautiful, at least. Christmas trees already lined the medians. I used to love walking in New York during Christmas. All the shops shone brightly with lights and the medians were festive with trees. I would imagine what fancy people lived in the buildings, eating turkey and smiling with their families.
Now I knew. It was people like the Beast who lived in the buildings.
With one last look at the merry view, I turned away. Dress appropriately, he said. On a hunch, I walked over to the frosted glass French doors. If I didn’t find something suitable, at least I could spit on one of his ties. I pulled the doors outward and…
Holy mother fucking shit.
It was practically packed to the brim with gorgeous evening dresses. Each one probably cost more than double our rent back in Jersey. I walked through the wardrobe, feet relishing the plush Tempur-Pedic-like carpet. I stroked the fabrics of the dresses, each one different but still soft. I rustled them, watching them fall away from the tips of my fingers like water, colors shimmering like a waterfall.
I turned around in awe. Had he done all of this in the few hours before my arrival? Or—my mind stuttered over the horrible thought—what if this room used to belong to someone? I eyed the wardrobe, thinking about a girl like me living in this room, wearing these clothes. It was perfectly stocked for a woman, but there was no woman. The dress I was fingering fell from my grasp. I knew I was going to die. I knew that, but God, I didn’t need a Versace-clad skeleton reminder.
I walked deeper into the closet, pulling open each of the drawers. Some were filled with shirts, the material soft and silky. Others were filled with socks, some with shorts.
A few drawers were filled with lingerie and I snapped those shut immediately. I noticed the lingerie drawer was labeled bedtime but I quickly shoved that into the back of my brain, instead searching for more labels. Above the dresses was a small evening label, and when I glanced back to the shirt drawer, I found a daytime label. This must have been what he meant when he said to dress appropriately. I moved farther into the closet and…
God. Walls were stacked top to bottom with shoes I could only have dreamed of owning. I pulled them out one at a time: Louboutins, Jimmy Choo, Chanel, Badgley Mischka, Manolo Blahnik. I stopped reading the designers, shoes surrounding me in a multicolored circle of satin, leather, and crystals on the floor.
Seriously, what the fuck was going on? Had I fallen into hell or heaven?
I stood up in a daze, but still picked up each and every pair of shoes (because seriously, even kidnapped, those shoes needed to be taken care of). The Beast said I had an hour before dinner and to dress appropriately; now that wasn’t so odd. In fact, the harder problem would be deciding what to wear.
Running my fingers along the material, I landed on a gorgeous Dior chiffon number. I pulled it out and held it up to my body in the mirror. It went to my shins and was a pale yellow color with crystal beading on the bust that tapered off into the chiffon. Oh my, is this vintage? It was. It was vintage. My eyes went wide at the discovery. Vintage Dior? Seriously?
When I put it on, I felt like a princess. I could even twirl in it. It made me feel less dirty and less like a woman waiting for the gallows. I walked back to the Shelf of Wonders AKA the shoe shelf and chose a pair of gold satin Badgley Mischka peep toes. As I was leaving, my eyes caught the reflection of another, semi-hidden drawer. I clicked it and it popped out of the wall. I thought I’d had all the surprises I could handle for one night, but holy shit.
Diamonds. And rubies. And sapphires—at least that was what I assumed. I’d never really been around jewels—outside of an Indiana Jones movie, that is.
I touched them as if they were fire, gently, as though they might burn my finger. The Beast said to get ready, dress appropriately; he hadn’t said play dress-up like a little girl. Still, there was a beautiful, diamond pendant that caught my eye. The diamond was carved impeccably and shaped like a rose. Compared to all the other pieces sitting on the blue velvet, it was practically insignificant. It was small and there was nothing spectacular about it, just a single rose-shaped pendant attached to a small gold thread.
