broke her heart anew each time she thought about it. Merokk had thrown her over his shoulder and carried her down to the basement, ignoring her pleas for forgiveness and mercy and tossing her onto the small bed in this prison-room. He’d turned around and left her alone without a word, disregarding her like she meant nothing to him. Didn’t he know how much she loved him? Hadn’t they been happy for the last few months? Instead of listening to her side of the story in full detail, he’d locked her away. Would he ever let her out?
Someone shoved a tray of food through a slot near the bottom of the door every couple of hours. Fiona was grateful she hadn’t been entirely forgotten, but she’d barely eaten a thing since that fateful day. Her stomach twisted as she thought of how much she hated stupid Betsy Carson. Pretending to be the president’s daughter hadn’t been as painful as she’d feared it would be. Sure, she wished she could’ve seen her mother and that Merokk would call her by her real name, but other than that it had been a wonderful couple of months. Yes, almost perfect.
Fiona spent hours staring at the walls. Sometimes she curled up under the covers on the bed. Other times she paced the floor or rocked insanely in the corner. Sorrow consumed her, dragging her deeper into despair, underneath the surface of a cold, black sea.
We all have choices, Fiona.
He’d never had to care for a sick mother and live in fear because there wasn’t enough medicine to go around. She wanted to hate him for leaving her alone in her sadness, but she couldn’t summon up an ounce of hatred. Mostly, she missed him. Sleeping in the bed without his warm body next to hers was torture. If she had paper and pencil she would write a note to slip on a food tray, but her room was sparse. There was a dim circular light attached to one wall, a bed, a toilet, and a sink. She felt dirty, inside and out, especially each time she considered what Merokk thought of her. Maybe he believed she was no better than a whore.
Little one. What she wouldn’t give to hear those two words rumble from his throat as he gazed tenderly into her eyes. Would she ever be his little one again?
A noise at the door pulled her back to reality. The slot opened and a tray of food was pushed through by a pair of female Kall hands, no doubt one of the servants who’d become her friend. A small bag was pushed in behind the tray before the slot closed again. Fiona sprang to her feet and rushed toward the bag. Inside it she found soap, a toothbrush and toothpaste, washcloths, undergarments, and a fresh outfit—a flowing black skirt and a red blouse. Ignoring the food, she stripped her dirty clothes off and rushed toward the sink with the soap and washcloth. A few days ago she was taking blissful baths in the Jacuzzi tub in the master bathroom. Now she was grateful for a goddamn sink bath.
Minutes later, Fiona felt like a new person, on the outside at least. Inside she was still the twisted little liar who’d continuously deceived a husband she’d grown to love. She sat on the bed and combed fingers through her hair and refastened it into a ponytail. She waited and waited, praying to anyone who might listen for Merokk to forgive her. She recalled how much he hated lies and cringed as a vision of the strap hanging on their bedroom wall flashed in her mind. It was the one mistake he’d told her he would punish swiftly and severely, yet he hadn’t. She supposed this was much worse. What she wouldn’t give to have him whip her and forgive her—how perverse was that? These thoughts took her deeper under the black sea to a place so dark she didn’t care if he used his fists, a place so dark she wished he would. Anything as long as he talked to her again, touched her and brought her back into his world.
She curled up under the covers and closed her eyes, knowing if she drifted off, her dreams would torment her as much as her thoughts did during waking
Someone shoved a tray of food through a slot near the bottom of the door every couple of hours. Fiona was grateful she hadn’t been entirely forgotten, but she’d barely eaten a thing since that fateful day. Her stomach twisted as she thought of how much she hated stupid Betsy Carson. Pretending to be the president’s daughter hadn’t been as painful as she’d feared it would be. Sure, she wished she could’ve seen her mother and that Merokk would call her by her real name, but other than that it had been a wonderful couple of months. Yes, almost perfect.
Fiona spent hours staring at the walls. Sometimes she curled up under the covers on the bed. Other times she paced the floor or rocked insanely in the corner. Sorrow consumed her, dragging her deeper into despair, underneath the surface of a cold, black sea.
We all have choices, Fiona.
He’d never had to care for a sick mother and live in fear because there wasn’t enough medicine to go around. She wanted to hate him for leaving her alone in her sadness, but she couldn’t summon up an ounce of hatred. Mostly, she missed him. Sleeping in the bed without his warm body next to hers was torture. If she had paper and pencil she would write a note to slip on a food tray, but her room was sparse. There was a dim circular light attached to one wall, a bed, a toilet, and a sink. She felt dirty, inside and out, especially each time she considered what Merokk thought of her. Maybe he believed she was no better than a whore.
Little one. What she wouldn’t give to hear those two words rumble from his throat as he gazed tenderly into her eyes. Would she ever be his little one again?
A noise at the door pulled her back to reality. The slot opened and a tray of food was pushed through by a pair of female Kall hands, no doubt one of the servants who’d become her friend. A small bag was pushed in behind the tray before the slot closed again. Fiona sprang to her feet and rushed toward the bag. Inside it she found soap, a toothbrush and toothpaste, washcloths, undergarments, and a fresh outfit—a flowing black skirt and a red blouse. Ignoring the food, she stripped her dirty clothes off and rushed toward the sink with the soap and washcloth. A few days ago she was taking blissful baths in the Jacuzzi tub in the master bathroom. Now she was grateful for a goddamn sink bath.
Minutes later, Fiona felt like a new person, on the outside at least. Inside she was still the twisted little liar who’d continuously deceived a husband she’d grown to love. She sat on the bed and combed fingers through her hair and refastened it into a ponytail. She waited and waited, praying to anyone who might listen for Merokk to forgive her. She recalled how much he hated lies and cringed as a vision of the strap hanging on their bedroom wall flashed in her mind. It was the one mistake he’d told her he would punish swiftly and severely, yet he hadn’t. She supposed this was much worse. What she wouldn’t give to have him whip her and forgive her—how perverse was that? These thoughts took her deeper under the black sea to a place so dark she didn’t care if he used his fists, a place so dark she wished he would. Anything as long as he talked to her again, touched her and brought her back into his world.
She curled up under the covers and closed her eyes, knowing if she drifted off, her dreams would torment her as much as her thoughts did during waking
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