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The room holds a three-seater brown leather sofa with matching armchairs facing opposite each other. In the centre is a circular black coffee table, holding a decanter filled with brown liquor and an empty glass beside it.
The walls, usually a steel grey, look blackened by the lack of natural light. The curtains are shut tight, not a ray of light peaking behind them. The stand-up lamp is the only source of light, dimly holding the last remanent of a light bulb about to blow out, casting ghosts in all corners.
The desolate ambience of the room is overwhelming when you first walk through the doors, but I’ve been here enough time to know that the real threat is what lurks in the shadows Clarke absorbs himself in.
In a desperate attempt to not rub my arms or make it so obvious that I’m uncomfortable, I clasp my hands behind my back, and lean against the wall beside the fireplace. My skin crawls under his stare and the need to get the fuck out of here intensifies, but I know that’s exactly what he wants. He’s been waiting for me to give him a reason to lock me away.
The mantle of the fireplace is blank of any furniture par the tools required to keep it lit and stoke the fire. I’ve never actually seen it lit before, but the tools remain there all the same every time I’ve been here.
No knick-knacks or photos are visible from my position, nothing personal to give an outsider any indication about the man sitting before me. The whole room feels empty and cold, almost intimidating which, if I know Clarke like I ‘m sure I do, is likely the whole point.
Clarke is looking at me from his position leaning into the armchair, a tumbler with brown liquid swishes in his hand that he brings to his lips, swallowing some of it down. The shadows obscure him mostly from view, but I can make out the outline of his other hand as it rubs along his chin. His eyes though, are entirely visible to me.
The malice dripping from them fills me with dread as he continues to stare at me with that wild, unwavering intensity. To the untrained eye, I’m sure he looks poised, calm, just a gentleman having a drink with an old friend. As he moves forward to lean his elbows against his knees, the light shines enough to shows the tension around his eyes.
I take in the vein in his neck bulges out with every pump of his blood and the tight whiteness of his knuckles as he squeezes the glass in his grip. But he continues to say nothing.
I dare not to look away from him, knowing that this will upset him further, and with how unpredictable he can react to the smallest of things I’m not too keen to see how tonight ends up.
With the same thought, I do wish he would hurry up and get this over with, the dread I feel in his lack of expression sending my thoughts spiraling to all sorts of dark places. If it weren’t for the vivid haunted look that resonated somewhere deep inside me, I would regret letting Carlie go, knowing that this will not end well for me.
Minutes continue to tick by and still he says nothing. Silence. It’s the oldest intimidation tactic in the book. And very effective. I can feel beads of sweat forming around my temples as I wait for him to break this unbearable silence.
“What happened?” Not a question. He would have a good idea of what went down, especially since I was called in here upon my immediate return, normally he allows me a few hours reprieve before I debrief him. But he wants me to crack, admit that I let her go. I will, it was never my intention to lie.
I swallow down the saliva that coats my mouth and release a shuddering breath before answering him. The erratic pounding of my heart can be heard in my ears, and I try to slow down the rapid rise and fall of my chest.
“I couldn’t find her. The trail ran cold in the woods, she must have covered her tracks” Despite the lie, I’m proud when my voice comes out confident. I back my own decision, and without a doubt in my mind I’m sure I’ve done the right thing. Still, he says nothing. Sighing, I lift my fingers to my hair before hesitating and refolding them behind my back.
“I didn’t see her, Clarke. There’s nothing more I could’ve-”
The sound of smashing glass reverberates against my ear at the same time a sharp sting slices against my cheek. I don’t dare wince at the pain or react to the drop of blood I can feel swiveling down my face.
“Don’t you dare lie to me! Fucking Christ, Rose! You have no idea what you have done. You and your bleeding heart are going to destroy everything I’ve worked for.”
Clarke is on his feet now, pacing back and forth. The drink that only seconds ago accompanied his hand splattered against the wall near my face and down below my feet. Whatever raging storm Clarke is playing in his mind is running rampant. He levels the darkest glare he’s ever pointed in my directly, before crossing the distance between us and grabbing me roughly on both my upper arms.
As I struggle in his hold, Clarke tightens his iron grip to painful levels. My muscles scream in protest as his fingers dig further into my skin leaving crescent marks behind. Gritting my teeth, I set my jaw and hold his eye.
“You will find her and bring her back, Briar.”
The use of my real name on his lips is my first warning that I’m dangerously close to pushing him past his limits. He never calls me Briar. I’m Rosie,hisRose, like the thorny bush of my namesake. As pretty as a flower, armed with sharp barbs of poison. If I truly gave myself to him like he wants, he would pluck my petals and leave me scattered in the dirt.
His hold on me loosens a fraction and I use this to pull free of his grasp and put much needed space between us. He continues to look at me with poorly disguised anger. His mask having slipped and exposing his incessant need for control.
I level him with a dark glare of my own and raise my chin in defiance, unwilling to back down from this, consequences be damned. I will not allow that poor girl get ruined by a life she so clearly does not want, even if that means facing the wrath of Clarke Denshire.
“No.”
Two strides. It takes his exactly two strides to close the distance between us, before the back of his hand strikes me across my cut cheek sends me lurching against the wall, turning the initial drop of blood into a slow trickle that pours from my nose, layering over my mouth and down my chin.
Stumbling back a few steps, Clarke is staring at me with wide horrified eyes, a paleness adorning his normally tanned features. The unadulterated fear in his expression used to make me want to comfort him, the innocence making him look more like the best friend I lost so long ago. But that boy is no longer in there.
He’s hurt me a lot over the years, but in this moment, I truly hate him. That scared little girl who used to crawl into his arms, the one who use to wear my skin, changed or perhaps she just isn’t any more. In her place a woman of fire and fury is born. Holding on to my resolve, I declare that I will never be weak and at his mercy again.
Clarke’s breathing becoming heavier as he begins to pace the floors. Furiously, he pushes his hand into his hair and tugs on the stands until it is standing up in all directions, adding to the manic aura surrounding him.
All the while muttering under his breath. “Shit… I didn’t, it wasn’t. Fuck, fuck,fuck!”
