Read Online Mind of the Phoenix by Jamie McLachlan - Free Book Online
Authors: Jamie McLachlan
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mahogany shelf filled with some items I can’t identify, for I’ve never seen them in my life. Among the items I can identify are books. I skim through the titles and see that most of them are law books.
“If you are quite finished educating yourself on the law, there are two constables ready to escort you back to the hotel,” says a voice behind me, and I nearly drop the book I had plucked off the shelf.
I return it and turn to face the detective. “Back to the hotel?” I echo, slightly confused.
“Yes, that is where you are staying for the duration of the investigation.”
“Are you coming to get me later?” The idea of spending the rest of the day in the hotel is causing my heart to constrict.
“No, Del Mar. I have no use for you this evening.”
“No use for me?” I echo, my anger rising. “So, I’m supposed to stay at the hotel until you decide you have use for me?”
“Precisely,” he answers, handing me my coat.
“I’ll die of boredom.”
He looks at me with a hint of amusement. “That’s not my problem, Del Mar.”
By the time I shrug into my coat, he is already sitting at his desk, his attention diverted to the papers piled on the surface. I give him one last icy stare before I slam the door behind me. It’s not that I hate being alone; I rather enjoy solitude. It’s the idea of spending hours in the hotel with absolutely nothing to do that bothers me. Most of my life was spent servicing others, either in household chores for the Madame or sexual activities for the clients, until I was purchased at nineteen. The next eight months was a compilation of darkness, learning, punishments, pleasures, and an unhealthy dose of mental abuse. Then, I was on the run for the next six months, which, despite being a form of freedom, wasn’t any better than my previous years.
So it’s when I have absolutely nothing to do that my mind begins to betray me, like the time I spent in the prison. Memories I’d rather forget creep up and haunt me, and it is in those moments that I wonder if I unconsciously receive pleasure from opening up past scars, or if my mind is working against me and is just another thing that strives to taunt me. Sometimes it’s as if I don’t even know myself, like my mind is keeping things from me; as if I’m more capable of understanding someone else’s mind with a single touch than my own.
5
I have one word to describe my evening last night: boring. I silently ate my bland evening meal at the hotel with Rick and some other constable who refused to speak to me. The constable’s silence hadn’t bothered me though, because Rick had spoken enough for the two of them. I discovered that Rick is twenty-four and is planning to propose to a young woman he has been courting for a year now, and by the end of the meal I realized that I was beginning to enjoy the man’s company. His bashfulness and polite demeanour are characteristics I am not used to encountering, especially not in men, and I find his unimposing personality a relief. He also treats me like any other person, which I suppose is a dangerous thing because it threatens to break down my barriers. All I’ve ever known is being the seductive concubine or the disobedient slave, and I’m lost when I find myself in a situation that doesn’t demand either type.
I ended up going to bed early, which means that I woke up early this morning. I decide it’s the best time to bathe, so I dress and grab the necessities needed for grooming. The detective hadn’t mentioned if he would be stopping by this morning, so I have no idea if another boring day awaits me. I open the door and blink confusedly at the constable standing outside in the hallway.
“Where’s Rick?”
“Rick?” The constable’s eyes rake over my body, and when his eyes rise back to my face he grins. “You mean Constable Jamieson? He’s back at the station. I’m on duty to watch you today.”
I don’t like him, not one bit. I have no doubt that he’s
“If you are quite finished educating yourself on the law, there are two constables ready to escort you back to the hotel,” says a voice behind me, and I nearly drop the book I had plucked off the shelf.
I return it and turn to face the detective. “Back to the hotel?” I echo, slightly confused.
“Yes, that is where you are staying for the duration of the investigation.”
“Are you coming to get me later?” The idea of spending the rest of the day in the hotel is causing my heart to constrict.
“No, Del Mar. I have no use for you this evening.”
“No use for me?” I echo, my anger rising. “So, I’m supposed to stay at the hotel until you decide you have use for me?”
“Precisely,” he answers, handing me my coat.
“I’ll die of boredom.”
He looks at me with a hint of amusement. “That’s not my problem, Del Mar.”
By the time I shrug into my coat, he is already sitting at his desk, his attention diverted to the papers piled on the surface. I give him one last icy stare before I slam the door behind me. It’s not that I hate being alone; I rather enjoy solitude. It’s the idea of spending hours in the hotel with absolutely nothing to do that bothers me. Most of my life was spent servicing others, either in household chores for the Madame or sexual activities for the clients, until I was purchased at nineteen. The next eight months was a compilation of darkness, learning, punishments, pleasures, and an unhealthy dose of mental abuse. Then, I was on the run for the next six months, which, despite being a form of freedom, wasn’t any better than my previous years.
So it’s when I have absolutely nothing to do that my mind begins to betray me, like the time I spent in the prison. Memories I’d rather forget creep up and haunt me, and it is in those moments that I wonder if I unconsciously receive pleasure from opening up past scars, or if my mind is working against me and is just another thing that strives to taunt me. Sometimes it’s as if I don’t even know myself, like my mind is keeping things from me; as if I’m more capable of understanding someone else’s mind with a single touch than my own.
5
I have one word to describe my evening last night: boring. I silently ate my bland evening meal at the hotel with Rick and some other constable who refused to speak to me. The constable’s silence hadn’t bothered me though, because Rick had spoken enough for the two of them. I discovered that Rick is twenty-four and is planning to propose to a young woman he has been courting for a year now, and by the end of the meal I realized that I was beginning to enjoy the man’s company. His bashfulness and polite demeanour are characteristics I am not used to encountering, especially not in men, and I find his unimposing personality a relief. He also treats me like any other person, which I suppose is a dangerous thing because it threatens to break down my barriers. All I’ve ever known is being the seductive concubine or the disobedient slave, and I’m lost when I find myself in a situation that doesn’t demand either type.
I ended up going to bed early, which means that I woke up early this morning. I decide it’s the best time to bathe, so I dress and grab the necessities needed for grooming. The detective hadn’t mentioned if he would be stopping by this morning, so I have no idea if another boring day awaits me. I open the door and blink confusedly at the constable standing outside in the hallway.
“Where’s Rick?”
“Rick?” The constable’s eyes rake over my body, and when his eyes rise back to my face he grins. “You mean Constable Jamieson? He’s back at the station. I’m on duty to watch you today.”
I don’t like him, not one bit. I have no doubt that he’s
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