AllFreeNovel
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Daphne sits at the kitchen island and finally gives up her deepest secret, which is that she likes to eat a bagel with tea most mornings but she wants the scrambled eggs on toast that I made before.
It’s achingly normal. The kind of thing I would imagine other people do. The kinds of people who don’t have captives, anyway.
The real test is standing here, talking to her like I don’t want to bend her over the island and fuck her until she can’t stand up. It’s constant, this need to be inside her. So constant that I won’t let myself give in.
After breakfast, she goes upstairs, and I go back to my office.
Distance.
It’s futile.
I can feel her up there. I hope she’s painting. At the very least, I hope she’s not crying. But I don’t give into that urge, either. The one I have to be with her all the time.
Perhaps it makes me more of a bastard to give her space. I don’t know anymore.
In large part, I am furious with myself for telling her all those things. For not being able to get a handle on my own brain early enough to keep my weakness from her. I manage it and manage it and manage it until the frustration is too much.
I abandon the computer and the email conversation with Michael and the news and stalk into the kitchen. Peer out at the ocean. Study the ripples and patterns. The shadows from clouds moving across the surface. The jeweled diamond crests of the waves. White foam reaching for the snow on the shore. The day is fading. It’ll be night soon, and it’s possible to occupy myself with the gradations of shade and color for a while.
When it stops working I take out my phone and open a group text that I haven’t touched in quite some time.
The one I have with my brothers.
Emerson: Come over for drinks.
Sinclair is obviously doing nothing with his life. Three dots pop up on the screen next to his name.
Sinclair: Who is this? What have you done with my brother?
Emerson: Stop being a fucking prick and come over.
Will: Is he serious?
What a bastard.
Sin: I think so??
Emerson: I’m serious. Are you assholes going to come over or not?
Will: Be honest, Em. Did you finally lose it? I don’t even know what this means
Emerson: It means come over and have a drink, motherfucker
Yes. Fine. I avoid them. But now that I’m asking, he’s going to put up a fuss? Jesus Christ. I toss my phone into a chair. They’ll come or not. Either way, Daphne and I are going to play a game.
It buzzes, and I go back for it.
Sin: What time?
Emerson: Whenever you can get here.
I climb the stairs, glad for the end of the day. It’s easier, this time of year. The world closes in early. It’s not so huge, hanging above my house. I make one stop at a particular drawer in my closet before I go to find her.
Daphne is in her studio.
She’s been painting.
The canvas is half-filled, but she’s not standing in front of it. Her paintbrush rests in the ledge below. She is a creature of dark hair and soft lines standing at the window. No, she’s not painting, but she’s thinking about it. I can tell by the way she stands. One hand is partially lifted, an invisible brush about to meet the canvas.
