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I had a huge orgasm and crying episode at the same time so I held him tight, muffling my moans with his shoulder. He finished, too, moaning my name, and then he rolled to his side, sank his head into the pillow, blowing out a long breath, and then pulled my back against his front, spooning me.
I glanced back at his face and he looked like he’d been in a bar fight. His eye was rimmed with a deep purple bruise and there were four angry red and scabbed lines down one cheek and another scratch across his nose and part way across the other cheek. His bottom lip was a bit puffy and had a tiny cut that extended about half an inch below his lip. He was looking on the outside like I was feeling on the inside. I put my head back on the pillow. He nuzzled in and kissed me between the shoulder blades, wrapping his arms tighter around me.
I was surprised that all that had ended the way it did. I thought, if anything, him thinking I’d run away --- which I’d never thought would be the assumption when I headed to the basement or I wouldn’t have done it --- would’ve meant his anger again.
Until I could get out of here, I needed to think before acting, I needed to make that part of my routines now because life wasn’t the same as it was before. I needed to think about what he’d think about things I’d do before I did them. He could’ve been angry right now because he couldn’t find me. But that’s not what I was getting from him. He was unpredictable and to me, that meant he was even more dangerous than I’d even realized because I didn’t know what to expect next from him. How, till I got out of here, did I stay on his good side? This side? How bad was he screwing with my head that I’d just allowed him to have sex with me, that I’d just participated?
We laid there for a few minutes and then he said, “Hi.” His voice was all breathy, all emotional.
“Hi.” I think my voice probably sounded empty or unsure. I didn’t know.
There was a long pause. Then he cleared his throat, “We have dinner at my Pop’s today. I’d like you to dress like you’re going to church, okay?” He was tracing my ear with his finger and kissing the back of my head.
“Kay,” I said.
“You’ve got clothes like that or should I have something sent over?”
“I went to church nearly every Sunday for the past 9 years. I’m good.”
“Okay. My sisters will make you their friend. Just because they’re my sisters doesn’t mean the rules don’t apply. Okay?”
“Kay.”
“I mean it.” There was an edge to his voice.
“I know you do.” My heart sank and my body stiffened. Kay, bye bye Ice Cream Parlor Hottie. So much for that.
He snuggled me closer, maybe in response to my tensing up, “I’m very pleased that you didn’t run away from me. Or that someone hadn’t taken you.” He sighed and played with my hair.
“I woke up early and I was just tired of wearing Sarah’s clothes and you said my clothes were down there. You said I could go down and---”
“I know. You’re welcome to wear your own clothes anytime but in bed. In bed you need to be naked or in something of mine. I want you to smell like me.” He nuzzled into my throat and then twisted me so that my face was buried in his chest, “But you need to know that running away, had you done it, would be bad, Tia. Real bad.”
Taken me? Who’d take me? The police? Was he worried Rose and Cal were trying to rescue me? And how would I get away, anyway? This place was locked down like a prison!
“I didn’t,” I reminded him.
“I know,” he cuddled me closer, “I’m glad.”
I started to cry, like ugly cry right into his chest. I couldn’t hold the tears back. He tilted my chin up toward his face.
“Talk to me.” His expression was soft.
I grimaced, “One minute you’re being sweet and the next minute you’re threatening me. One minute you’re rough, the next minute you’re not. Is messing with my head a sport for you?” I couldn’t even believe I was having this conversation with him. I couldn’t believe how weak I was, letting him fuck me and then crying like a baby again. Yet again.
He sighed, was silent for a minute, then whispered, “I need control,” he was searching my face for something with roving eyes, “I need you to keep being exactly who you have been so far, okay? You’ve been perfect.”
I didn’t know what that meant. Most times he was one guy and sometimes he was another. Gangster Tommy and what? Ice cream Parlor Tommy? How could I be being perfect? I was a mess. Last night I’d hit him with a lamp and messed up his face. How was that perfect? And today I had to have dinner with his family and pretend that I was happy to be engaged to him. How would I pull that off?
He twisted in the direction of his nightstand and reached for the heart-shaped box. He looked at me with a stone-cold serious face, “I want you to wear this. My family doesn’t need to feel any awkwardness between us. I don’t want them worrying the way you’ve got Sarah worrying.”
I frowned.
He continued, “So you’ll wear this and it’ll be reality to them. Okay? Like our dinner date the other night. Alone with me, always be real, always be you. But when it’s not just us, no one can think things aren’t perfect, that you’re not ecstatically happy to be mine.”
I was speechless. He was teetering between the two personalities, it seemed. Hadn’t I just been responsive while we were alone? That hadn’t been enough to keep him sweet, though. I didn’t understand. And now my reaction would probably tip him one way or the other. I sat up, pulling up the blankets to cover my nakedness and chewed the inside of my cheek. Me being real was fucked up. I didn’t know what to be right now.
He opened the box. Inside was a gorgeous diamond ring. It was cushion cut with a big stone and then surrounding round diamonds and then round diamonds took up 2/3 of the band. I’d never seen something so sparkly, so beautiful. I wanted nothing to do with it. I wanted nothing to do with a proposal that I’d had no choice but to accept from a man who threatened me every time he looked at me, either with this mouth or with his eyes.
