Three hours have passed, and each hour she’s more and more comfortable.
She hasn’t stopped drawing since Jase left the cell. And I haven’t taken my eyes off of her. There’s only one camera in the room and without being able to zoom in, it’s hard to see her features.
A pile of clothes and her blanket are neatly stacked and folded on the bed. But she stays on the floor, scribbling away. One page after another as if she’s obsessed and unable to stop.
I need to know what she’s writing down. Especially if it’s some sort of account of what’s happened in the last few days. A message, maybe? Maybe it has something to do with why she screams in her sleep nearly every night.
Unease creeps up my spine at the memories. I’m not surprised the first thing she asked for were sleeping pills. I can’t fucking sleep anymore either. Every other night, she cries out in terror and it’s only getting worse.
I thought things would change after the other day.
Another paper flies across the floor, but before its fluttering has even stopped, she’s already sketching on the page that was beneath it.
Change is necessary. Even if I have to force it.
The walk from my office to the cell takes too fucking long. My fists clench tighter and my heart beats faster as I get closer.
I keep the door open and leave the chair where it is this time.
As she scoots back onto her ass and away from the piles of paper to get away from me as I approach, I lower myself to them, crouching down and picking up the closest one.
There are still a few feet between us, but the expression on Aria’s face is of complete fear. Not the defiance I’ve grown to expect.
“Caught you off guard?” I ask her, cocking a brow. Maybe she thinks I’ve come to steal her gifts, or maybe the lack of food reminds her of what happened the other night. I know she ate every bit of that tray Jase gave her with her new possessions earlier today.
I wonder if she thinks it’s a secret he kept from me.
“You look scared,” I add when she doesn’t answer my initial question. Her doe eyes are wide, and the colors stir with so much thought and curiosity.
She doesn’t answer me. She looks like she isn’t even breathing as her eyes glance from the paper in my hand to the open door.
“Don’t think about running, Aria. I don’t want to have to take these away the second you got them.”
Slowly, her chest rises and falls. Her stiff body loosens although she stays back. With her head lowered, she only peeks up at me. It’s an interesting difference, the way she looks at me compared to my brother. I fucking hate it. But fear and control are everything. One day Jase will see that.
With my jaw hardened at the thought, I look down at the paper before turning it over in my hand to see what she’s drawn. It’s upside down at first and it takes me a moment to realize that.
It’s drawn with pen, but it’s beautiful. Fine little lines and sketches that depict a bleeding heart with three knives stabbed through it. The background is a storm and the ink smears only add to the emotion clearly evident on the paper. Although the knives seem to pierce through the heart easily, the rain behind it is so violent, it detracts from the knives a little.
“What is this?” I ask her without looking at her. I know she’s looking at me; I can feel her careful gaze. She doesn’t like to look at me when I’m looking at her. Although it’s a habit I need to break, I’m more concerned with getting answers than obedience.
“The three of swords,” she answers in a small voice and it beckons me to look back at her. For a moment we share a gaze, but then she drops it, focusing on the paper in my hands.
“One of your tarot cards?” I ask her and then straighten the paper in my hand, noticing how it resembles a card.
“Yes. Jase said he bought me a deck online but until they arrive I thought I would draw them myself.”
I consider her for a moment. Of everything she could ask for, of everything she could be doing at this moment, this is what she chose. “Why?”
“I like to think about things and it helps me.” She nervously picks at the edge of her dirty shirt where a thread has come undone. “It’s been lonely, and I haven’t been able to think of anything new. It was just something…” her voice trails off and she takes in a shuddering breath. Weeks of doing absolutely nothing but living with your demons would haunt and break the strongest of minds. But she’s survived.
“Do your clothes not fit?”
“They do, I just get dirty doing this. So, I thought…” she pauses to take in a short breath and then another. “I just wanted to take care of this, and then I’d planned to change and try to clean myself up.”
Nodding, I hand the paper back to her asking, “What does it mean?”
She’s hesitant to reach out and take it, but when she does, her fingers trace the edges of the knives. “The three of swords represents rejection, loneliness, heartbreak…” Her words aren’t saddened by the information, merely matter-of-fact.
I wonder if she’s lying. If the one card that she’s drawn I happened to pick up, would really mean those things or if she’s toying with me. She could be trying to weaken my resolve by gaining sympathy. It will never happen.
“But yours was reversed,” she says, and it cuts through my thoughts of her intention.
“And what does that mean?” I ask her, expecting her to spit back that I’m the one causing it all. For her to blame all of this on me. And in so many ways it is my fault, but she’s to blame as well and she doesn’t even know it.
“Forgiveness,” she whispers the word and then slowly inches closer to pick up each of the fallen papers, dozens of them, gathering them together and avoiding me at all costs.
The word resonates for a moment, lingering in the space between us and striking something deep inside of me.
My blood pressure rises as my eyes search her face for an indication as to what she’s getting at. But she doesn’t look at me and her body seems to cower more with each passing second.
The moment passes, and she neatly arranges the stack in front of her and still doesn’t look up at me.
Stubborn girl. The familiar tic in my jaw begins to contract as I wait another moment. And then another before she looks up at me through her thick lashes. Instead of seeing disinterest, resentment, or whatever I was expecting, all I see is the unspoken plea for me to let her have this small bit of happiness.
But nothing in this life is free. And she should know better than that.
“When I come in here, I want you to kneel for me.”
She flinches as she realizes what I’ve said and as her head lowers, the dip in her collarbone seems to deepen to a level that sickens me.
She’s resistant to obeying, but she needs to understand. There is an expectation both of us need to meet. And what’s been done can’t be taken back. That’s not an option. “I admire your strength. I do.” I talk with her eyes on my back as I stalk to the metal chair at the far wall. I debate on leaving it there and giving her space. But that intention is quickly forgotten.
Picking up the chair, I take it back to where she’s still seated, shaking her head as her shoulders hunch in.
“You keep saying I’m strong and I have to admit I don’t get your humor.” I’m taken aback by the severity of her tone and the venom that veils each syllable as she speaks. She offers me a smile that wavers and then adds, “Did you let him give it all to me so you could simply take it away?” Maybe the small taste of what used to be and what she could so easily have is what she needed to remember her defiance and ignite the spark between us again.
I’d love for her to fight me, but I’ll only allow it after she submits.
“I’ll do as I see fit,” I answer simply, and she refuses to look back at me, her fingers tracing each of the papers. “All you have to do is obey me and I’ll give you everything you need.”
“I’d rather die.” Her hazel eyes simmer with indignation as she waits for my answer. “You can have it back.”
I take my time, sitting on the chair in front of her. Towering over her small frame, I lean forward and speak calmly. “My songbird, it’s one thing to have the balls to say that. I respect it. But it’s another to go through with it. You’ve already obeyed twice. And I didn’t ask much, did I?”
She huffs in a tone that’s both weak and strong. A manner that reflects her tortured state. So close to having what she wants and needs, and yet so close to losing everything.
“It was a cruel joke, wasn’t it?” Her eyes narrow as she gazes at the door like it beckons her.
“I don’t joke, Aria. Your life belongs to me. Everything you will ever get for the rest of your existence will come from me.” My words come out harsh and irritated. I’m sick and fucking tired of her denying both of us. “Get. On. Your. Knees.”
“Fuck you,” she spits out, and instantly my fingers nearly wrap around her throat as the rough pad of my thumb rests against her lips. I can feel the rush of her blood in her neck as I grip her tightly, her gasp filling the air along with the sound of the chair scraping from the rapid movement forward.
She stiffens with my touch but she doesn’t protest, staring back at me with that burning expression as I tighten my grasp. Her breath comes out with a shudder, but she stares back at me expectantly, waiting for what I’ll do next.
My heart hammers and my dick stiffens with each passing second that she holds my heated gaze. I see the moment she realizes that her hands are on my waist. Pulling herself toward me, not pushing me away.
Her eyes spark and I nearly crash my lips against hers, urging for more. Instead, I leave her there, letting a low hum of approval fall from my lips so she knows I know exactly what she’s thinking.
A fire ignites between us as she grips me tighter, so tight the sound of her nails scratching against my pants is all I can hear.
“You think you shouldn’t do it, simply because you’ve been taught it’s wrong. But is that what you really want?”
“I don’t want you,” she says breathily, not even attempting to hide her desire.
“I won’t let you ride my cock until you tell me how badly you want to cum on it.” I hold her fiery gaze as I ask, “Do you understand me?”
Her body sways slightly as she holds back a strangled groan of lust.
“Humor me, Aria. I already know you’re strong.”
“You make me weak.” Her voice breaks and the tension from the other day returns in full force. She steadies her trembling lip between her teeth.
“Is that what you’re afraid of? Being weak?”
She nods her head slightly, ever so slightly. And I can see the last bit of her walls crumble for me. Crashing down to the ground in small, insignificant piles of rubble.
“I don’t want you weak.” I lean forward, whispering against her lips, “I want you mine.”
Her eyes close and her body bends forward; she rests nearly her entire weight on me. “I will never submit to you,” she says, and her words are a weak confession. As if she hates their existence.
She’s close. So close. I need to offer her something.
Hope. The offer of hope is something a desperate person can never afford to pass up.
“I made a deal I shouldn’t have. But I need to go through with it for as long as I have to. And it has to appear that I’ve done what would be expected. You’re going to help me and then I’ll give you whatever you want.”
“What do you need me to— “
“Obey me,” I say, cutting her off. “Kneel when I enter and do as I wish.” My hands tingle with the sensation of feeling her so close to caving. They clench and unclench at my side.
Time passes in slow ticks as she pulls herself away from me. She can try to pretend she has somewhere else to go. But I’m her only way out of this. And eventually, she’ll beg me for something. She. Will. Beg.
“Anything?” she asks, and she already knows the answer. “Like my freedom?”
“Almost anything.” I don’t lie to her.
“There’s nothing else–” she starts, but I cut her off. “There’s always something else.” My words are sharp at first but I correct myself.
“There’s always something else,” I repeat and then add as I stand up to leave, “It’s something you so desperately need, but you don’t even see it.”
