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Taking her again with her hands braced on the wall, I make her say it over and over until we’re both covered in sweat, and I climax dry. I go down on her and fuck her again. By the time I carry her to bed, she’s as limp as a deflated stickman balloon.
“Shower,” she mumbles as I put her down on the mattress.
“Tomorrow.” I lie down beside her and pull her to my side.
She nestles closer. “Where were you?”
“Looking for Dalton.”
Her body tenses. “Did you find him?”
“No, but I will.”
She utters a little sigh of surrender, wisely knowing she can’t stop me. “Next time tell me. Please, Damian. I mean it.”
I kiss her nose. “What woke you?”
“Nightmare.”
“You’re still having those?”
“Sometimes.”
“You never told me what your dreams are about.”
“Mostly what happened with Jack.”
I drag her thigh over mine, getting as close as I can. “Why did you agree to marry Clarke?”
Two seconds tick past before she answers. “He seemed nice. He was kind to me before we got married. He was my ticket to freedom. I just wanted to get out of Harold’s house, and I had no money or job.”
“Maybe you should talk to Reyno about your nightmares.” The unethical fucker actually did a good job on weaning her off her fear of closed doors.
“I will.”
“You’re safe with me, Lina.” I hug her tighter. “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you again.”
This time, her sigh is a sound between happy and sad. “I know.”
I know, too. She’s not entirely happy. Not all the lust in the world can change the fact that she’s still my prisoner. Only, this time round, she’s a willing prisoner.
Lina
During the days that follow, Damian is exceptionally tender with me, especially during our intimate moments. He takes care of my each and every need. He makes sure I eat enough healthy meals, and that I see Reyno twice a week. Telling Damian about my baby has reopened an old wound. I can’t go a day without thinking about it. I start dreaming about it more frequently again. Twice already, Damian caught me paging through baby catalogues. Wherever I go, I see babies. I seem to only notice strollers, bottles, and little bundles wrapped up in blankets.
Reyno and I talk about it. We talk about the grieving process and letting go. We talk about my conflicting feelings for my husband who imprisons me by lust and marriage. Mostly, we talk about the disempowerment I felt at Damian’s punishment, my escape, the kidnapping, and my tattoo, but we refrain from bringing up the murders. We pretend the terrible cost of saving my life disappeared with a part of my memory. Denial isn’t a healthy way for a psychiatrist to approach treatment, but we both know who saved me. Not even client confidentiality is enough protection for Reyno. He’s safer not having my confession.
The next time Damian takes me to the gym, I learn from the girls in the change room Phil lost his finger in an accident with a kitchen knife and asked to be transferred to the Germiston branch. I suppose I should be thankful he’s not dead. It’s the fear for his life that prevents me from asking Damian about the incident. I don’t want to stir Damian’s ire. Best let sleeping dogs lie.
The skin Damian broke is healing, but the bruises are far from gone. Damian tends to them morning and night, rubbing soothing lotions and tissue oil into the marks to prevent scarring, but there’s no medicine for the scarring of my heart. I made my decision. I’m living with it. I came clean about Jack and my baby, baring my shame and most private grief to Damian, but there are two secrets I still keep, my job and my love for my captor. I don’t tell him about working for Reyno. Without that small notion of independence, I’d genuinely go insane. It’s because of the powerlessness I bring up in every session with Reyno that I keep the knowledge of my feelings to myself.
To tell Damian how I feel would lay down the last of the power I have left. I lock it away in the shadows of my soul, because my love belongs to the darker side of life. My love for Damian is like the black diamond etched on my shoulder, dark, pure, and indestructible. There are times I catch him looking at me as if he knows my secret, but if he does, he grants me the mercy of feigned ignorance. In turn, I give him my obedience, doing everything he asks of me, which includes taking over some of the food shopping and cooking duties. As if driving a point home, he tries hard to make a housewife out of me.
The house is too big for us. We don’t need Jana to cook just for Damian and me. Her attitude toward me has turned from cool to quietly judgmental. How can I blame her? When you live the normal life of a law-abiding citizen, the lines between good and bad are clear-cut. It doesn’t surprise me when she resigns to accept a partnership with a restaurant owner. Neither does it surprise me when Damian announces he’d like to move. He’s brought it up before. Putting the responsibility on my shoulders, however, catches me off-guard.
