Didn’t he get off on beating me? Hadn’t he enjoyed my silence so he could keep hitting me?
God only knew.
He was crazy. A sadistic criminal who deserved to have his ass beat.
He was around here, somewhere. I felt his presence everywhere. My nerves prickled. I was twitchy. But I let that unease drive me forward. I would find my stuff and I would get the out of this hellhole. Somehow.
And when the police came to lock his ass up, what would he say? God, I wanted to see them snap handcuffs on him and drag him out of this palace. I wanted to see him suffer like I did, like every girl before me had.
But I didn’t see him. I didn’t find my things, either. After hunting for hours, I returned to my room empty-handed and ate dinner alone. And then, feeling exhausted, both physically and mentally, I turned in early.
Now, in the wee hours of the morning, he’d come to me.
I kept my breathing slow and even, acting as if I was asleep. I was terrified. My heart pounded hard and fast in my chest. The sound thumped in my ears. My whole body tensed. Would he wake me? Would he drag me back to that fucking dungeon and whip me some more?
Would he kill me?
He stood beside my bed. Some part of him, his arms perhaps, pressed on the mattress. The bed sank from his weight. My breath caught in my throat but I forced myself to exhale.
Please, please leave me alone.
A touch. To my face. So soft. So gentle. A stroke along my hairline, down to my jaw. I was so scared I had to fight to keep my face relaxed and breathing even. It was almost impossible.
“I’m sorry I left you. Twice. You’re right. I am a bastard.” he whispered. “What is it about you? Why do you make me feel this way?”
What way did I make him feel? The words sat on the tip of my tongue. I could have easily spit them out, but I didn’t. I was terrified of what he would do if he knew I was awake.
His finger traced up my cheek again then traveled across my forehead. His breath, so sweet, warmed my face. Unable to stop myself, I wriggled. Then I stilled, forcing my muscles to relax. “Are you dreaming now? Of a good, kind, handsome prince charming? You won’t find him here,” he murmured. “Only a monster in a charming disguise. Why can’t you see that? Why can’t you accept the truth?”
Did he think I saw him as something more than a cruel, heartless bastard? Because if he did, he was wrong…
Or was he?
“I can’t be a fucking prince. Not for you. Not for any woman.” He sighed. Silence fell like a heavy blanket over both of us. “I didn’t want to be. But you…you make me want to be better, to be more than a fucking animal. I hate you for that.”
And I hated him. For buying me. For beating me. And for this--mostly for this--for letting me see his humanity. It had been so easy to hate him when all I saw was the monster.
But now, now I saw the man.
“I don’t deserve this. You.” His breath gusted across my mouth. I felt heat. Radiating over my face and chest. “Could there be any hope?” Then the softest touch on my lips. A sweet, gentle kiss. The kind of kiss that broke spells and woke sleeping princesses in fairytales. The kind that transformed monsters into princes.
My heart lurched.
This was so much more dangerous than anything he might do in that awful dungeon of his. This vulnerability. This moment. This kiss.
I shuddered. I trembled. But I kept my eyes shut and prayed he would turn back into the monster I could hate. Because now, for the first time since I’d learned I had been sold as a slave, I was really doubting my will to escape.
“No, I won’t let you do this,” he said, louder. “You won’t make me question everything I am and everything I’ve done. I don’t deserve anything. There is no hope. I know women like you. They don’t fall in love with men like me.”
He left.
I opened my eyes and whispered, “Well you’ve made me question everything I am and everything I’ve done. So fuck you.”
* * * *
God only knew.
He was crazy. A sadistic criminal who deserved to have his ass beat.
He was around here, somewhere. I felt his presence everywhere. My nerves prickled. I was twitchy. But I let that unease drive me forward. I would find my stuff and I would get the out of this hellhole. Somehow.
And when the police came to lock his ass up, what would he say? God, I wanted to see them snap handcuffs on him and drag him out of this palace. I wanted to see him suffer like I did, like every girl before me had.
But I didn’t see him. I didn’t find my things, either. After hunting for hours, I returned to my room empty-handed and ate dinner alone. And then, feeling exhausted, both physically and mentally, I turned in early.
Now, in the wee hours of the morning, he’d come to me.
I kept my breathing slow and even, acting as if I was asleep. I was terrified. My heart pounded hard and fast in my chest. The sound thumped in my ears. My whole body tensed. Would he wake me? Would he drag me back to that fucking dungeon and whip me some more?
Would he kill me?
He stood beside my bed. Some part of him, his arms perhaps, pressed on the mattress. The bed sank from his weight. My breath caught in my throat but I forced myself to exhale.
Please, please leave me alone.
A touch. To my face. So soft. So gentle. A stroke along my hairline, down to my jaw. I was so scared I had to fight to keep my face relaxed and breathing even. It was almost impossible.
“I’m sorry I left you. Twice. You’re right. I am a bastard.” he whispered. “What is it about you? Why do you make me feel this way?”
What way did I make him feel? The words sat on the tip of my tongue. I could have easily spit them out, but I didn’t. I was terrified of what he would do if he knew I was awake.
His finger traced up my cheek again then traveled across my forehead. His breath, so sweet, warmed my face. Unable to stop myself, I wriggled. Then I stilled, forcing my muscles to relax. “Are you dreaming now? Of a good, kind, handsome prince charming? You won’t find him here,” he murmured. “Only a monster in a charming disguise. Why can’t you see that? Why can’t you accept the truth?”
Did he think I saw him as something more than a cruel, heartless bastard? Because if he did, he was wrong…
Or was he?
“I can’t be a fucking prince. Not for you. Not for any woman.” He sighed. Silence fell like a heavy blanket over both of us. “I didn’t want to be. But you…you make me want to be better, to be more than a fucking animal. I hate you for that.”
And I hated him. For buying me. For beating me. And for this--mostly for this--for letting me see his humanity. It had been so easy to hate him when all I saw was the monster.
But now, now I saw the man.
“I don’t deserve this. You.” His breath gusted across my mouth. I felt heat. Radiating over my face and chest. “Could there be any hope?” Then the softest touch on my lips. A sweet, gentle kiss. The kind of kiss that broke spells and woke sleeping princesses in fairytales. The kind that transformed monsters into princes.
My heart lurched.
This was so much more dangerous than anything he might do in that awful dungeon of his. This vulnerability. This moment. This kiss.
I shuddered. I trembled. But I kept my eyes shut and prayed he would turn back into the monster I could hate. Because now, for the first time since I’d learned I had been sold as a slave, I was really doubting my will to escape.
“No, I won’t let you do this,” he said, louder. “You won’t make me question everything I am and everything I’ve done. I don’t deserve anything. There is no hope. I know women like you. They don’t fall in love with men like me.”
He left.
I opened my eyes and whispered, “Well you’ve made me question everything I am and everything I’ve done. So fuck you.”
* * * *
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