His eyes won’t leave mine.
He won’t leave the room.
He won’t give me any space.
I don’t know how many days I’ve been here, but I do know that today is different by the look in Cross’s eyes.
It’s hard to count the days. My eyes flicker to the carving of stripes on the wall just beyond Carter Cross’s never-changing stern expression. Sitting on the metal chair a few feet from me puts him at the perfect height to block the etched stripes. One for each of the days I’ve been here. But I stopped a while ago.
My sleep is fucked and there aren’t any windows in the room. I’ve noticed that when I lie down and curl up to sleep, the lights go off. Which means two things, as far as I can tell.
He wants me to sleep. And he doesn’t want me to know how much time has passed. It could be midnight a week from when I was taken. Or it could be noon with even more days between now and my last day of freedom.
There are four stripes on the wall. One scrawled after each time I slept. But on the fifth day, I slept on and off with terrors of my childhood that woke me up constantly.
The first two days I got three meals, always delivered the same way. A small slot in the door opened, the food was shoved inside on a small foam tray and then the slot quickly shut with a deafening slam. I waited for hours by it on the third day, praying I could catch it, snatch the hand… I don’t know what. All I knew was that on the other side was freedom. But I quickly found that the slot only opened when I was in the corner of the room farthest from the door. Otherwise, no food would come.
I can barely eat as it is, but hunger won a few times. And instantly, I slept afterward. I don’t know if he drugged me or not, but the fear of sleeping is at war with the need to eat.
Either way, the food I’m given doesn’t aid me in knowing what time of day it is. There doesn’t seem to be a rhyme or reason as to what’s on the tray.
There haven’t been any breakfast foods at all. The last thing I ate was a biscuit and a chunk of ham. It was glazed with honey and my stomach was grateful. I devoured every scrap and then immediately regretted not eating whatever it was he’d given me before. If I don’t eat what’s given, he simply takes it away when I sleep. And somehow, he knows when I’m faking sleep. I tried that, too. I don’t know how many times I laid in the darkness waiting for him to open the door, only to fool myself into sleeping and waking to the tray being gone.
So much wasted time.
Maybe losing the time is the first sign of victory for him.
But I want it back.
“What day is it?” I ask him and it’s the first thing I’ve said in the time he’s been in here.
He comes in every so often, merely watching me. Scooting his chair closer and waiting for something. I don’t know what.
“It’s Sunday.”
Sunday… It was Thursday when I left to go to the bar. I know it was Thursday. “So, that means it’s only been three days?” I ask him although inwardly my gut churns. It’s not possible.
A devilish smile plays across his face.
“You slept a lot, songbird. It’s been ten days.”
His words steal the bit of courage from me and I turn to face the door rather than him, pulling my legs into my chest and sucking in a deep, calming breath. Ten days of screaming and crying in this room. Of not knowing when help is coming, or if it ever will. Of barely eating and only bathing from a bucket of water while hiding under my dirty clothes.
“If you would only kneel for me when I come in, I would give you so much more than this.”
“Why are you doing this to me?” My question is a whispered breath. No tears come from my dry eyes and the pain in my chest is dull. There’s only so much a person can take before they break. I don’t need sleep or food even. I need answers.
“You ask that often,” is his only response, as he straightens himself in the chair. Squaring his shoulders toward me and making the pressed dress shirt stretch tight across his shoulders.
His handsome features look like nothing but sin as he stares at me. I have to rip my eyes away from him. I can’t look at him. He’s a monster and that’s the only thing I need to know about Carter Cross. A beautiful monster who enjoys depriving me and watching me fade into nothing.
“How about we play a game?” he asks me, and a chaotic laugh erupts from my lips.
“Come now, I promise you’ll enjoy it,” he says, and his voice is a promising caress.
“And what’s the game, Cross?” I say his name out loud, staring defiantly into his eyes. I imagined his aggravation, maybe even anger at my response, but instead, he only grins at me. A crooked grin on a charming face. I wish I could smack it off.
“An answer for an answer,” he says and that’s when it hits me.
“You think I know a thing about my father’s business? You’re wasting your time,” I say but my voice betrays me as I speak. It cracks on my last words.
So, this is his plan? Steal me, lock me in a room with nothing for days until I’m desperate for change so he can get information from me? I know it’s merely because I’m a woman. That’s why they haven’t tortured me. But it will come eventually, and I have nothing to give them.
My eyes burn with the need to cry, but I don’t let it happen. “I swear to you,” I barely get out and then stare into Cross’s dark eyes, willing him to believe me, “I don’t know anything.”
“I know you don’t.” It takes a moment for me to register what he’s said.
“Is this a trick?” I ask him, feeling as if I must be going crazy. The hope in my chest is fluttering so strongly. “I don’t want to die,” I whisper the confession.
“I’m not going to kill you.” He answers simply, devoid of emotion, giving me nothing to hold on to other than the matter-of-fact words. “The Romanos would have killed you. You would have died or been captured and given a much crueler fate if I hadn’t taken you first.” I’m silent as I listen to him talk about me as if I’m merely a pawn to sacrifice. “Your best chance at surviving what’s to come is with me.”
Tears threaten to leak down my cheeks at the thought of men infiltrating my father’s estate. At Nikolai being shot as he sits at the kitchen table where he always sits on the early weekend mornings. At my father being killed in the same room where my mother’s life ended.
“Do you want to play the game?”
“I’ve never done well with games,” I answer breathily, watching every inch of his expression for a hint at what’s to come.
“The blanket is yours for playing,” he says and nods toward a pile of fabric he’d tossed at my feet when he came in. And inwardly, I’m grateful. “Why don’t you eat?” he asks me, and I know the game has started. An answer for an answer and he holds the first question.
Staring down at myself, I answer him with half honesty. “I’m not hungry.” Ten days… I try to remember how many times I’ve eaten. Maybe six meals. At the realization, my stomach roils.
A moment passes before he shifts in the chair, leaning back but keeping his hands on his thighs. “If you lie, then I can lie,” he says and the way he says the word “lie” forces me to stare into his eyes. It’s like the devil himself discussing deceit. “That’s the way this game works.”
“I don’t trust that you aren’t going to drug me or poison me. Or something.” The truth so easily pours from my lips.
My eyes drop to the ground at the reminder of all the horrific ideas that have flitted through my head since I’ve been here.
“It’s only food and you need to eat.” Again, there’s no emotion, only a statement of fact. I watch him intently as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands in front of him. “Your turn.”
“What are you going to do with me?” I ask him without thinking twice.
“Feed you and keep you in here with nothing but what you have until you submit to me.” He readjusts in the chair and adds, “You’re a social creature and lonely. I can see how lonely you are.” As he speaks to me, my gaze wanders and the hollow ache in my chest rises.
“I’m used to being lonely.”
“I hear your prayers in the dark, songbird. I hear your wishes for someone to save you. Your father. Nikolai… Who is Nikolai?”
“A friend,” I answer him, feeling the pain and agony sweep over my body. And feeling like a liar. The word friend sounds false even to my own ears, but it’s been so long since Nikolai was anything else. And a friend is what he needed to be. Nothing more. Or else my father would have found out.
“Wrong answer. He is no one anymore. They’re all gone, and no one is coming to save you.”
“Gone?” The word comes out like a question, but the monster in front of me doesn’t answer. My eyes close as I inhale deeply, thinking he’s lying. They’re coming. They’ll come for me.
“You’re bored, alone, and starving yourself into nothing. You will submit to me, or you will stay like this forever.”
My lips kick up into a small smile I can’t contain, and I don’t know why. I must be going crazy.
“You think that’s funny?” A hint of anger greets his words and it only makes my smile grow, but it’s accompanied with tears leaking from the corner of my eyes. And I don’t even know when I started crying.
Shaking my head, I brush away the tears from just under my eyes. “It’s not funny, no. And now it’s your turn.” He’s going to keep me here like this? He could keep me here forever.
Even as I think the statement, the overwhelming loneliness consumes me. I have nothing and this prison is eating my sanity alive. Hours pass where I simply stare at the wall, praying it will offer me something different than the day before.
He watches me as I sway from side to side slightly.
“What does submit mean?” I talk over him just as he starts to speak. My words are harsher than I thought they’d be and he cocks his brow, not answering me and then asks his question.
Rules of the game, I suppose.
“What is your favorite food?”
Dizziness overwhelms me for a moment and I rest my head against the wall. He’s going to win this game. And all the others. He’s cheating and I’m deteriorating.
“Bacon, I guess. Everyone loves bacon,” I answer halfheartedly, partly because I’m tired of this game already and partly because I need a little humor in this situation. “There’s this sandwich from the corner store by my house. My mother used to take me there.” I stare at the ceiling while I talk, not really to him, but just to talk and think about something other than this. Although it’s nice to have someone around. I feel an empty hollowness inside of me. I’d rather that than the sickening feeling of defeat.
Licking my lower lip, I continue. “She took me there every weekend. Coffee and pastries for her, but they had this sandwich I loved, and they still have it. It’s turkey and bacon with ranch dressing on a pretzel roll.” My head lolls to the side and I glance at Cross, whose usual stern expression has been replaced by a look of curiosity. “I think that may be my favorite.”
The memory of my mother makes me smile and I almost tell him more. I almost tell him about the day she died and how we went there first. But she didn’t get her usual pastries or coffee, and we didn’t stay long. I was so upset that she didn’t get me my sandwich, but she promised we’d get it tomorrow.
If I hadn’t been so young and foolish, I would have known what was happening. How my mother was running from someone she’d spotted. How she ran home for protection, only to find the monster was already there.
God, I miss her. I miss anyone and everyone. I hadn’t realized how lonely I’d become.
“Would you like to go home when this is over?” Cross’s question distracts me from the thoughts of the past.
“When it’s over?” I ask for clarification and I only receive a nod from him.
A deal with the devil. It’s all I can think. The war doesn’t matter, even if that’s what he’s hinting at. He’ll keep me however long he wants, regardless of what he tells me now.
“You already know the answer to that.” They’re the only words I give him. It’s my turn once more, so I ask him again, “What do I have to do to leave?”
“There is no leaving unless I want you to leave.”
“Then why I am here?” The desperation is evident.
“I’ve already told you. I want you to submit to me. To desire my touch and earn it by kneeling and waiting to obey me. To be mine, in every way.”
“You know that would never happen,” I say absently. “I’ll stay in this room forever or wait for something else to happen. I have nothing but time.”
“I’m going to make a change to your routine,” Cross says as if it’s a threat.
Again, my head falls to the side to look at him, my energy waning. “Is that so?” I ask him, and he quirks a devious grin.
“You’ll only eat when I feed you. Bite by bite.” His eyes flicker with a heat that should scare me, but it does other things to me that I choose to ignore. “You should have eaten before, songbird. Your defiance is only hurting you.”
The thought of him feeding me is something that will haunt me for hours once he’s gone, I already know it. It’s not just the loneliness that attracts me to Cross. I felt it the moment I saw him.
“I wasn’t going to eat anyway,” I tell him in a single breath rather than allowing my imagination to get the best of me. I’ve heard death by starvation is a horrible way to die and I know I’ll have to figure out another way. I know I’ll cave, just like I already have. As if reading my mind or maybe knowing better, Cross smirks at me, but it’s different from the previous ones. There’s something almost melancholy about this one.
“You’ll eat,” he tells me and then stands up without another word. As he turns the doorknob, I close my eyes knowing the bright light is coming. Even with my eyes closed, I can see it. And then it’s gone, and once again I’m alone and trapped in the room.
I should feel a touch of ease, knowing he’s given me some information I can hold on to. But all I can think about is my mother and the last day I saw her.
She wanted to leave and run away. She begged me to understand. And I cried when she told me, “Ria, please.”
I’ll never forget the wretched way my name fell from her lips that day. The fatal flaw of any mother is how much her love for her children will blind her. It’s my fault. Fresh tears leak down my face and I don’t even bother wiping them away as I crawl to the mattress.
It takes a bit longer than usual for him to do it, but with the blanket wrapped tightly around me, the lights in the room go off. Loneliness is my only companion unless I give in to the memories. And I hadn’t realized how harmful they can be. My own past is becoming my enemy.
I find myself filled with nothing but regret as sleep takes over.
If only I could go back and not fight her.
If only I could go back and tell her, we can’t go home.
