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It sure as hell doesn’t make any sense that I want to slip my fingers into my panties, thinking of the nastiest bad boy on campus, a predator with bruised knuckles and shark eyes.
I look over my shoulder at the closed door. It’s a good night to be doing this because the whole family is out at a charity event, including Mel, so there’s no risk of discovery. The servants got a night off too, since there’s no one home to need their services. I can sure cater to my own needs, thank you very much.
Yet a strange sensation creeps up my spine at the realization that I’m completely alone in this humongous place tonight. Now that the fever of writing is cooling down, my stomach clenches with a feeling of impending danger. I merely offered an absent mumble when Mel told me she’d go with her folks, assuring her that I was fine and she didn’t need to stay. I hadn’t been much entertainment for her since I got here anyway. It wasn’t fair to keep her hovering over me when she could do something fun for herself. We both knew she would only be at that charity for a couple of hours anyway and then go wild the rest of the night with Eva and Annie. The town is never safe when those three banshees are out for blood. Even the severe Professor Eva becomes something else when she’s off campus at night, where no one knows her.
Besides, there’s no reason for me to feel unsafe here, even if I’m basically home alone. There are guards just outside the premises, and no small number of them. I guess you need a small army around your house when your family is big in the tobacco industry and God knows what other related fields.
Still, no amount of reasoning can beat my unease. The mansion of Mel’s family isn’t the gothic castle that Sade lives in, but it’s still tucked deep in the dark forest that stretches out over miles outside of town. It can get isolated, especially in winter, and it’s not particularly inviting in the spooky season, either.
I’m sure the geography of this place played an important role two hundred years ago when the Norton Elites, a branch of the most obscure secret society in the history of Europe and the United States, founded Norton King’s. They needed the seclusion of hills upon hills of rich, impenetrable forest that would raise goosebumps even on a ghost, if it got lost in it.
No, I can’t be getting anxious on top of this whole mess, too. It’s enough that I haven’t worn pants in days, and we all know what that means–imminent depression.
I get up to my feet, all of my joints grunting. It feels like I’ve been iron-cast in a sitting position after hours in that chair. Parting the curtains with two fingers, I peek outside at the dimly lit gravel driveway. The light bathes the yard in a faint evening glow that goes fabulously well with the fall atmosphere.
Big black trees loom behind the gate, their branches thick and knotty like the arms of the undead reaching for the souls of the living. The forest is still untended to by the hand of man, still ominous and impenetrable, just like the Norton Elites always wanted it. I haven’t eaten much in days either, which is probably why my imagination goes into overdrive, picturing the masked man peeking out from between those trees.
I shudder, letting the curtains drop and moving away from the window. I need to do something, or I’m going to lose my mind locked up in this room. I spin around, ready to undo the cord that keeps my robe wrapped around my body, and take yet another bath, overwhelmed with a need for heat, for an embrace. But my eyes fall on the door, and I stop in my tracks.
The door is ajar, and I’m pretty damn sure it was closed when I looked before.
I stare at it, my hands frozen on the cord of my robe.
Damn, I might have to do something about this. My mind is playing tricks on me and, last time I checked, seeing things spelled schizophrenia.
No, I can’t go down that rabbit hole. I’m going to take the bath I wanted–making sure the door of the bathroom is locked–and get my shit back together. So I go and close the door.
Rolling back my shoulders, I let the robe drop off of me, the fabric pooling at my feet. I turn on the hot water, then turn to the mirror, running my fingers through the tangles of my hair. I pause as I meet my eyes, red-rimmed, the eyes of a woman terrified of the weird things happening around her.
A flash of the masked man comes back to me, and I jerk back.
Fucking Flying Dutchman, this is getting ridiculous.
I sink into the hot water until the perfumed foam is at my chin.
And when I come out, there’s going to be no masked man behind me in the mirror.
I straighten my shoulders. Nothing like a hot bath to chase away the shadows. I’m even playing with the idea of smoothing out the crumpled papers, stacking them together on the desk, and having another look at them now that I’m refreshed.
But when I step out of the bathroom with a new silk robe around me, red and glossy like blood rubies, my papers are already on the desk. The curtains flap in the night breeze, a single rose on top of the smoothed-out papers.
My body temperature drops to sub-zero.
Now IwishI was losing my mind, and this wasn’t real.
There’s someone in the house with me.
The masked man.
A hundred thoughts run through my head at the same time–how did he get inside Mel’s bathroom the first time, and where did he disappear to before I even got to turn around? There was no way for him to get in or get out.
I’m drawn to the single red rose he left on top of my poetry as if it holds the answer. Some of the petals are blackened at the edges.
When I’m close enough, I glimpse the words emerging from under the flower.
Lust In Bloom.
The title is my own, scribbled in jagged spikes and trembling lines. It’s the first of some of my more explicit verses about the man who’s been occupying all of my thoughts since the party. I brace my arms across my midsection, realizing the masked man spent all the time I was soaking in the bathtub to read my most intimate thoughts about Sade Royales. Now he’s out there, with the knowledge.
