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Needless to say, I thought it was a bat-shit crazy idea (that’s the technical term). The last thing I wanted was to reprise my role as Livvie’s captor. What if it didn’t work and she ended up hating me? It took a great deal of convincing from Livvie, but ultimately I’d agreed to some of the less… disturbing moments.
One morning I made us breakfast, put it on a wheeled cart from IKEA, and took it into Livvie’s room. Livvie had taken the time to prepare herself while I cooked breakfast, and I’d been pleasantly surprised to find her wearing one of my white button-up shirts and a dainty pair of kitten ears. I understood the significance of the shirt. The ears were a nice touch. I felt that touch center mass.
“Should I take my shirt off?” I asked. History dictated I should.
“If you’re over your self-indulgent modesty,” she whispered. In the past, I would have found her words incendiary—another time, another place—but in our reimagining I found them to be… charming.
I’d removed my shirt, enjoying the way Livvie’s eyes lusted instead of feared. I took a chance and played along.
“It’s a pity I have nothing to bind you with. I’d be hard-pressed to recall anyone who looks as good as you do in a collar and shackles.”
Livvie turned and brought me a box from beneath her bed. Inside I found a jeweled collar, a leash, and a pair of fuzzy handcuffs. I laughed.
“Oh my, you have been a busy girl. When and where did you get these?”
Livvie blushed and the memory was further reshaped.
“I ordered them online,” she said timidly. Her hands were already behind her back and she swayed gently from side to side.
I kissed her. It was a light meeting of lips, a token.
“Turn around,” I ordered. Livvie shivered and a small sound escaped her lips. She complied quickly.
As I fed Livvie breakfast while she knelt at my feet, I was struck by several thoughts. First, I realized the power of forgiveness. Second, I found Livvie’s game enticing. Third, I could never leave Livvie. Fourth, I never wanted to leave her.
For better or worse, Livvie had been irrevocably altered by her experiences with me. She was a nineteen-year-old with proclivities no one her age would understand and a vulnerability any creep like me could easily spot and take advantage of. She was strong, smart, willful, and driven, but she was also soft, trusting, and needy where her heart was concerned. Livvie needed taking care of.
Other changes in our relationship I didn’t enjoy quite as much. As part of our pact, Livvie and I discussed our fears, hopes, and aspirations for what our relationship could be. She wanted to know more about my past, Mexico, and the less gruesome ways I’d spent my year away from her.
Also, I wasn’t comfortable with Livvie’s writing. However, aside from the time we spent with Claudia and Rubio—or having sex—there seemed little else occupying Livvie’s and my time. Apparently, I’d inspired her to go “back to the drawing board.” She wanted to incorporate more of the facts I’d given her.
Suddenly, there were days when she wouldn’t speak to me because she’d just finished rehashing some traumatic event involving me. There were some moments neither of us wanted to re-imagine. At first I tried try to seduce her away from her thoughts, but after the first few times she began to see it as manipulative. Soon after, I decided to make myself scarce during her periods of… well, her periods.
Other days, she took to cornering me on the sofa or at the dinner table to ask me invasive questions about my past. These usually ended in an argument over my “evasiveness” or sex. Sometimes we had both—an argument first, and sex right after. I worried that if it kept up, I’d get an erection every time she looked upset with me.
Yet, as with our sexual games, I began to see the merit in expressing myself through my conversations with Livvie. I began to realize I wasn’t as upset by her questioning as I had been before. In slow gradations, I found myself offering information she hadn’t asked about. I told her about RezA and how guilty I had felt for not warning him Narweh was dead. He’d been such an optimistic person. He hadn’t enjoyed his slavery any more than I had, but where I’d been rebellious unto my own ruination, RezA had navigated his situation with grace.
“Do you think he could have escaped? I mean, I’ve heard that gun go off. The whole neighborhood probably knew someone had been shot. Couldn’t he have heard it and escaped?” Livvie asked.
This is going to sound absolutely ridiculous but… it hadn’t fucking occurred to me! It really hadn’t. I’d been out of my mind. To this day, whenever I recall the moment of my first kill, there is no sound beyond the beating of my heart and the high-pitched wail of adrenaline in my veins. I remember the heavy weight of the gun. I remember the look of disgust on Narweh’s face. I remember shutting my eyes and squeezing the trigger. I remember something wet splattering on my face before I hit the ground. I remember the silence.
I sat up and I heard nothing. I stared into Narweh’s cold, empty eyes. I remember thinking the soul must be real. Something had been keeping Narweh alive. That something was gone. There was only meat, blood, and bones left behind.
I remember an acute feeling of anger and sorrow that I had not been brave enough to keep my eyes open. I remember thinking: I should have made him beg for my forgiveness. I should have made him plead for mercy. I should have raped him with the cane he used to beat me.
“I… don’t know if RezA could have escaped. I suppose it’s possible,” I said. I was dumbfounded. “Rafiq said he burned the building down with Narweh inside it. I guess… I didn’t want to ask too many questions.”
“Why?” Livvie’s hand rested on top of mine.
“I wasn’t sure Rafiq would like it,” I said simply. “I figured if he could burn a building full of people down and chat about it over breakfast, I had no business getting on his bad side.”
“How old were you?”
“I’d have to do the math. When’s my birthday?”
“James. Seriously?”
I laughed.
“Give me a break. I’ve never had to remember before.”
“You’re twenty-seven.” She smiled a little sadly. I let myself think for a moment.
“I guess I was… twelve, maybe thirteen?”
Livvie sat back in her chair and stared at me.
“Jesus.” She shook her head and wiped at her eye.
“I’m fine, Pet. At least… I think?” I didn’t mind opening up to Livvie (much), but afterward there was always the worry she would see me as weak. I didn’t want her pity. I only wanted her to understand why it took so much effort on my part to give her what she needed. Though I was beginning to learn that what I thought Livvie needed and what she actually needed were sometimes two different things. Not often, but
sometimes. There were days I could take my job as Livvie’s protector overboard (drunk college boys should watch their mouths if they value having teeth).
“You’re better than fine. I’m so damn impressed with you. I feel like… the more I learn about your past… I had all these feelings I couldn’t process in Mexico. When I tried to explain them to Reed or Sloan, I could see on their faces how ridiculous they thought I was.”
“It’s easier to explain your feelings for an abused whore than a man who held you prisoner. Is that about the size and shape of it?” I kept the sound of my balls shriveling from my voice.
Livvie appeared horrified.
“No! James… no. It’s more like… you could be so cold. But when I was at my lowest, when I felt like I was hanging on by a thread… you always knew what to say. You have this ability to hold me and make me believe you. You’re full of warmth and kindness.”
I had to scoff at that, and Livvie slapped my arm.
“You are!” she insisted. “I couldn’t even see you in that room sometimes, but I could still feel it. I didn’t understand where it came from, but when I hear you talk about the past it all makes sense to me.”
Admittedly, I was a little embarrassed. I’m not really accustomed to compliments, especially when they’re intensely personal and genuine. The void almost felt… full. I, on the other hand, felt squirmy.
“Well then. Good. I suppose. It’s good that you think I’m… nice.”
“James, you look like I just farted in your general direction.” She grinned.
“What! That’s disgusting.”
Livvie laughed. It was her incredibly loud cackle that meant she couldn’t control herself. It was not a pretty sight, but I loved it when she laughed like that. I love it when she laughs like that.
“No. It’s Monty Python.”
I was laughing too. Livvie’s laughter is too infectious not to take part in it.
“A what?”
“It’s a movie.” She wiped tears from her eyes.
I pulled her hand toward my mouth and licked her finger. There are so many kinds of tears. I plan to collect them all.
“I’m not sure I want to see it.”
Livvie leaned forward and kissed my lips.
“Well, we have to now. It’s an older movie and over-the-top ridiculous, but I can’t wait to see your face.”
I made a face of the “what the hell is wrong with you?” variety.
“It’s disturbing when you do that. I always know when something big is about to happen because there you are, staring at me with your huge doe eyes.”
Livvie shrugged.
“Not my fault you’re so nice to look at.” Her expression turned ruefully judgmental. “You’re the only person I know who looks sexier with bruises.” She poked the butterfly stitch on my eyebrow and I hissed.
“Dammit, Pet. That hurts.” I’d been visiting the gym a few times a week and sparring. I fought Fernando mostly, but other fighters from time to time. Some of them were even decent conversationalists, so long as the topic didn’t stray from matches, fighting styles, or food intake. I was compelled to try a protein shake… once.
“Oh? And it didn’t hurt when that guy kicked you in the face?” She made a fist and twisted it near the corner of her eye while sticking out her bottom lip.
“Are you calling me a cry baby?” I stood and glared. Livvie’s head was craned all the way back to meet my eyes. “Big talk for such a little girl.”
“I’m not scared of you. I’ll poke your band-aid.” She puffed out her ample chest.
It was difficult to keep a straight face. Had I really been outmatched by her? The answer was a resounding yes.
“You poke my band-aid and you’re going to have a serious problem.”
She sucked in her cheeks to keep from smiling. Slowly her hand reached up toward my eyebrow. Her eyes met mine. She considered. A flicker of excitement caused her to lick her bottom lip. She pressed her fingertip to my cut. I didn’t wince.
“Is this the part where I get angry and threaten to teach you a lesson?” I asked calmly. Livvie practically vibrated with excitement.
“Yes.” She shivered.
“When do you leave for work?”
