AllFreeNovel
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“Obviously, I felt something, Kitten. He does, too.”
And that's all I'm going to get from him. I know this because he seems to become a wall. He turns on the radio to a classical music station, and we drive the rest of the way in silence.
Finally the car stops, he removes the blindfold from my eyes, and he gives me a folder with all my bank stuff, my purse, and a set of keys.
“Your car is in the parking garage. And you live on the top floor.” He winks at me. “It's where they typically keep the penthouse. Goodbye, Kate.”
I swallow back the tears. I'm never going to see this man again. I shouldn't want to see him again. And now that I know they were both bad, it seems stupid to deny I also felt something for Declan. Because one of them isn't the safe guilt-free choice anymore. They were both evil. And suddenly, in this moment, I’m flooded with my feelings for Declan, these soft feelings I've denied myself because it was so wrong.
I get out of the car, and before I close the door, I say, “Can I ask you one more question?”
“Ask,” he says.
“How do you know Declan?”
“My only friend since childhood. He was the one person I knew who was like me. Empty.”
These are the last words he says to me. I shut the car door and watch him drive away. I manage to get inside the building and onto the elevator, riding up to the penthouse before I break down into sobs again. I feel so lonely and so wrong in every way one can be wrong.
I feel... discarded. And I am. But at least I won't starve.
I'm surprised when the elevator doors open directly into the penthouse. I had to use a key in the elevator for this floor, but I still somehow expected a hallway. There are floor-to-ceiling windows, and the view is astounding.
I drop my purse, keys, and large bank envelope onto a chair next to the elevator. And then I freeze. Right in front of me, on a marble table, is a vase of fresh fragrant white roses. There’s a card in the flowers with my name on it.
My hand shakes as I pull out the card.
When you are ready to come home, call, and we will come get you.
There’s a phone number at the bottom.
They're still playing with me. They think I'm so addicted to what they turned me into that I will give up freedom and luxury to go back to them and live in a cell like some animal.
Fuck them both.
I pick up the vase of flowers and hurl it against the wall. The glass shatters into hundreds of tiny shards. I rip up the card with the number on it and throw it in the trash. I will not play their new game.
NINE
An entire week passes before I finally clean up the shattered glass, water, and now wilted roses. I feel inexplicably sad that the life has gone out of them. It's another week before I start to regret throwing the card away. It's long gone now and in a landfill.
During the first few days of my freedom I went to the spa and got every treatment on the menu in a full-day pampering frenzy. It was nice, but massages and body masks and wraps and a mani-pedi cannot erase the memory of their hands on my body, their dark voices in my ear.
I've also shopped. I bought a whole new wardrobe. Nice things. I went out to nice restaurants and contemplated how to get myself out of the self-imposed isolation I'd created, how to form some real and lasting social bonds. I need some friends, but I'm not sure how to do that. Maybe I could volunteer somewhere?
I sit on the floor next to the window in the main open floor plan living area, thinking about my options. Part of me wants to open my own ad agency. I've got the resources now, and I could probably get a few of my old clients to come to me. I could even work here from my new home. There’s plenty of room to set up a business and meet clients. But I need time to wallow and ... mourn them.
I feel so wrong and twisted for mourning, but I have so many memories of Seven being so kind. Comforting me. Being gentle. The ugly truth can't erase all the beautiful moments we shared, even if they were never real.
Declan was kind in his own way. He never used violence to break me. He used fear and kindness. Pleasure.
Even if I still had their number, I wouldn't call. There’s no way I would ever voluntarily place myself in their hands again no matter how much it haunts my dreams, no matter how many times I bring myself to orgasm when I wake up to find they aren't there. These men are evil. They are dangerous. And it doesn't matter if they told me they felt somebondwith me or that I’m somehow safe. I know I'm not.
And yet, I also know they know exactly where I am. They could come take me back at any time. So why haven't I used this money to flee the country? Why haven't I transferred the money to another bank, something they don't have access to, because they no doubt have access to the account they set up for me. Why don't I ditch the car and get a new one? Sell the penthouse and pocket the cash? Because I'm stupid and pathetic and some sick part of me hopes they'll come take me so that it's not my fault when this inevitably ends in my grisly death. They are still toying with me, still playing a game. I know this, but I make no move to take my game piece off the board.
My piece is still in play. I know it, and I’m sure they know it.
My eyes light on my handbag, the one that went with the little black dress. It's still sitting on the chair beside the elevator. I actually burned that dress and the panties and bra I was wearing, but I haven't touched the bag. It's partly because it's a sleek, sophisticated black Louis Vuitton that I bought as a splurge when I got my first major promotion at the agency. It has sentimental value even as it also has these conflicted memories now attached.
