I’m sitting in my study, pouring over every detail, big or small, I ever learned about Seraphina and Tim. My head is throbbing, and I take another pill to stem the pulsing behind my eyes. My little Angel seriously broke my fucking nose. Big black bruises surround my eyes, and there’s a definite crooked line of bone I decide against resetting. I deserve the pain.
In addition to the tear she left in my heart when she ran and my busted nose, there are long, jagged cuts on the bottom of my feet to match hers. I refuse to bandage them until she lets me clean her damn feet.
If there is one thing I can comfort myself with is that Seraphina hasn’t lost her fight. During the shower she took yesterday, she tried to wash her feet in the old tub. The attempt was pathetic but proved I haven’t broken her, and for that I’m elated. The sounds she made while picking at the dirt and stones played in the background when I cut my feet to match hers.
She’s more upset than I assumed she would be. I knew she would be sad about Tim’s passing and angry with me for killing him. But I also believed we had established enough of a foundation that she wouldn’t lose it like this. There is more to her situation with him. Something that goes beyond her nature to punish herself relentlessly for every ungodly desire she has. I intend to find out what it is.
I love her for her strength and fire.
But I’m worrying over her like a fucking mother hen, which is making it hard to prove my point. My phone is propped up on my desk, playing my love for me. Occasionally, she mutters a few words aloud, and while I haven’t learned anything from them yet, they’re much too precious to miss.
I haven’t gone to her in hours, but I’m desperate to tend to her and ensure she’s okay. I know she’s not great, but we can fix this. Watching her is hollow as she flips back and forth on the threadbare bed.
Bloody and fuming, I stomp across the marble floor as I call Pax, inviting him over in a few days expressly so I could kick his ass. My bloody footprints remain on the floor and will stay there until I can get the staff back in here.
When I realized Seraphina had run, I knew what she had heard and who was responsible for letting her go. My biggest regret is letting him get away while dealing with her. I can imagine him cackling his way down the drive with the windows open, listening to her screams, my screams.
I haven’t found anything beyond what I already knew. Tim is dead, so I can’t ask him, and that leaves my Angel. Going to see her isn’t a hardship, considering I’ve been dying to run back to her the minute I left her, and that’s even taking my nose into account. I get up from my desk and leave the office, locking the door behind me.
My feet burn and sting as I head to the kitchen. It’s a gorgeous space, better suited for a high-end restaurant or a family of fifteen. Our family is insanely wealthy but ultimately relatively small. It’s just myself, Pax, another few cousins, and an aunt. It’s absurd for so few people to have so much, and that’s a big part of why I chose a career and moved away from home. I never wanted many of the things I own, but Seraphina is always the exception.
I prove that to myself as I make her a sandwich the way I know she likes because I’ve paid attention since I met the woman. I’m hopeful it’s tempting enough that even if she won’t eat in front of me, she’ll have it once I’m gone. A chill runs over my skin as I pull the lettuce out of the crisper and look around. I hope I haven’t been negligent about allowing Pax here. I flip through the cameras on my phone and assure myself that even if he can get in, I’ll know.
Dismissing my thoughts, I grab her a glass of juice right before I head out of the kitchen. I know she’s angry with me, but we can work past it. Stopping at a hall closet beside one of the many first-floor guest bathrooms, I also grab first aid supplies.
Despite the dwindling branches of my family tree, generations of them stare back at me from oil paintings lining the wall. I’d love to be the last surviving member of my family and burn the whole legacy. Instead, the watchful eyes of my forefathers judge me harshly while I head toward the room where I’m keeping Sera, as if they hadn’t abused and fucked their way through the servants’ quarters often enough.
What I did was crude and brutal, but I was fucking angry. I’m prepared to make things better today, starting with letting Seraphina out and putting her back in her room. That’s if she’s prepared to be reasonable. I juggle the items as I pull a key from my pocket and unlock the door. The towel from her feeble attempt at a shower is crumpled beneath the door, and it takes me a few seconds to shove the door open. She’s done it on purpose to get a rise out of me, and I almost smile, but then I see the bloodstains and the look on her face.
The camera doesn’t accurately show how she’s suffered. Lines of pain carve deeply into her sallow skin. She looks up at me from her spot on the tiny bed for only a moment before her eyes drop back to the ground. I haven’t impressed her, but I can change that. I can be the perfect partner.
“Seraphina, I brought you something to eat, and I need you to let me clean your feet,” I speak as softly as I would if she were a small child. She says nothing. Encouraged by her silence, I place all of my things on the table beside the bed. Then, pulling out antiseptic wipes and bandages, I see her looking over the turkey sandwich with avocado and orange juice. But when I step toward her, whatever calm kept her anger inside shatters without warning.
“Get away from me! Don’t you dare touch me!” The venomous words dripping from her pretty mouth sting.
I could say many unhelpful things in this situation, but I keep them to myself as I sit on the edge of the bed, careful not to touch her.
She told me she didn’t want consent. She told me she wanted me to take, and that’s what I did. I’ve only ever given her what she’s asked of me, no matter what was required of me. I am a monster, but not the one she’s trying to convince herself.
“Your feet are going to get infected,” I answer, leaving as much emotion as I can out of my voice.
“I don’t care.”
“You could lose them, Angel. All I want to do is clean them and make you feel better.”
She laughs, but it turns into a sob. “Is that what you want? To make me feel better! Is that why you killed my husband?”
She’s not fucking baiting me.
“Yes, making you feel better is what I want.”
“So you killed my husband to make me feel better!?”
“No. I convinced Tim to leave you to improve every aspect of your life. I only killed him because after everything he did to you, he told me he regretted not killing you. He said he wished he had.”
I stare into her yellow-green eyes, expecting her to understand. I’m a psychiatrist and understand the human mind exceedingly well, but no one is exempt from letting their hopes and expectations cloud their judgment. At this moment, I can see my mistake.
“You killed Tim because he made some stupid comment while I was alive and perfectly well?” her voice is small, stunned, and disbelieving. The pain in her eyes is so raw and honest, so unlike anything I’ve seen in her before. “He’s dead because he was a smart-mouth dick?”
I’m shaking my head, doing everything to stop myself from reaching toward her. I want to grab her by her throat and tell her exactly how it is, but I stay where I am and meet her eyes.
“I crushed his arm because he hurt you.”
Her eyes widen, and her mouth drops open as she gasps.
“He’s dead because he didn’t learn his lesson. But I’ve learned mine, and I’ll do the same to anyone who dares to touch you.”
My admission and vow only make her more nervous.
“A lot of people have hurt me, Shane. Are you going to kill all of them? Are you going to kill yourself?”
“I will kill every last person who has hurt you, and if you count me among them, I’ll take my life too. Just say the word, Seraphina.”
Her cheeks turn red, but she doesn’t answer.
“I ruined his life!” she wails instead, her breaths coming in wild gasps. “You shattered his arm because of me. His father shattered his legs because of me.”
She won’t tell me I hurt her because she doesn’t believe I did, but she’s seeing my actions more clearly. She’s not ready to accept the cost of this life of ours, or loving what I did to her, mainly because she’s scared. She wanted me to cleave her in half and prove how much I need her. Well, I did. Kinks develop in many ways, and I know my girl needs me to take it because she spent so long unable to give it away. Tim did that to her, and he suffered for it, but I’ll never let her feel undesired.
“Let me clean your feet, Angel.” Starting over has worked for us in the past.
“I loved him, and I ruined his life.”
Her head falls into her hands, and the part of me that loves her more than anything wants to comfort her, but the jealous part that wishes Tim’s memory didn’t exist is offended by her pain.
I reach forward and twine my hand in her hair, forcing her to look at me. I can’t stand this distance she’s putting between us, or the fact she’s in pain and refuses to let me help her.
“He ruined your life, Seraphina, and I took his for it,”
I press my face against hers, forehead to forehead, and she squeals in response. The act is somewhere between dominance and affection, and I feel myself toeing that wild line I often do with her.
“You ruined my life. You, Shane, not Tim. Now get away from me!”
“You’d rather die from an infection than let me clean your feet?”
“Yes,” she says, leaving no room for doubts.
“Fine, Seraphina. It seems I have a point to prove.”
I leave her there, slamming the door behind me. I’m too angry not to be petulant. I do not regret what I did anymore. I fucking hated having to punish her, and I hate leaving her in this room far away from me, but I will prove my point.
My fury feels like a separate entity as I think about her running. I must calm down before seeing her again, but I care too much to leave her with nothing. I head to the kitchen and make her an elaborate dinner before leaving it inside her door.
I return to her room the following day with breakfast, a gallon of water, and medical supplies. I have no clue how long I’ll be gone, but she can get more water from the tap if she needs it. She will be hungry, though; turning dinner down last night was her damn choice. She’s going to learn to pick her battles one of these days.
But, for now, my Angel is lying in bed again and refusing to look at me.
“Let me take care of your feet.” I won’t offer twice; if she rejects my help, that’s fine. She’ll have brought whatever happens next upon herself.
“Fuck you,” she answers.
“I’m going to be gone for a few days. Would you like me to before I go?”
In response, she makes a disgusted noise in the back of her throat and still makes no move to let me clean her feet.
“Fine, Angel. You want a monster? I’ll give you a monster.”
I leave her there, hoping she won’t be too sick when I return.
