Tight
Page 47
And, in that battle, he was winning.
I couldn’t let him win. I would fight until the day that I died.
I closed my eyes and curled into a ball, the bones of my ass tender against the springs of the bed. Listened to the man breathe heavily in the opposite corner of the room, heard the scratch of his pen as he recorded the day’s lesson. He really only needed four words. Man: 0. Kitten: 1. I gave him nothing. I took everything. Once he was done writing, he would leave. Stand up and give me a parting shot, something to indicate what fun I could expect the next day. But near the end - for a brief moment during recording – I had a moment of quiet. I released a painful sigh and turned my thoughts to Brett.
“Don’t go,” he lowered his mouth to my neck and kissed the top of my shoulder. “Stay with me forever.”
I pushed against his chest, his hand firm, looped together and pinning me to his chest. I laughed softly, the wind whipping my hair, and burrowed into his chest, his body turning to protect me from the ocean breeze. I hugged him back, looking at the house, the outline impressive against the setting sun, the ocean reflected against the back windows. I do love the house. When I first saw it, I’d been blown away. Now, with half of the surfaces inside corrupted by our actions, I felt some small bit of ownership.
“There’s plenty of rooms...” he whispered in my ear.
I pushed away enough to look up into his face. “We have plenty of time, Brett. The rest of our lives.”
He smiled. “I like that. The rest of our lives. Promise?”
I smirked at him. “Maybe. If you behave.”
“I’ll behave,” he said, pulling me closer. “I promise.”
I should have said yes. Moved in that day and never looked back. Shouldn’t have planned on plenty of time when I’d barely had any.
“I’m done.” The man stood, his chair shoved backward by the motion.
I said nothing, just watched him, my head against the mattress. Waited for whatever barb would come next.
“With everything, I mean. Your training is complete.”
That got my attention. I sat up slowly, the motion causing my stomach to roll. Sitting back, my shoulders against the concrete, I said nothing, just stared at him and waited for more. Inside, amid the pain and the nausea, I felt a flutter - half hope, half dread. Your training is complete. What did that mean?
“Tomorrow, your diet will change. You’ve gotten too thin, you need to put some weight back on. Start bathing again. Return a little to the girl you came here as. In five days, if you have improved, I will release you.” He nodded, an odd jerky motion, and turned, pushing the chair through the open gate.
“You will release me?” My voice was hoarse, the words wobbled on their way out. Screams had stripped my throat; vomiting made the condition worse.
“Let’s see how you look in five days. If you can look normal and speak to me with some semblance of respect, then yes.”
Once through the door, he closed the gate and locked me in. Then, without another word, he left.
I stayed in place, my back against the wall, my hand holding my bruised side, for a long time. Then, with nothing to lose, I crawled to the shower.
It’d been so long. So many notebooks filled with his notes, so many lessons and questions and tests. So much pain and fighting.
Could it really be that easy? Would he really let me go?
I decided the next morning, fresh coffee in my system, dried tears and mascara washed off of my cheeks, to break up with Brett. It had to be done. Anything else would be stupid.
If I confronted him, asked him to explain everything to me, he’d deny it. Without a doubt. No drug kingpin would simply fess up. So he’d lie. And I’d have to either play the fool and believe him, or end it then and alert him to my suspicions. And what if he kills me? Decides that the risk of little ole Riley running around is too great? Or... even worse—what if he adds me to his stable? Replaces my kidney with bags of heroine and lugs me back and forth across the border?
No, confronting him was the wrong move.
So... breaking up. I could do it. Invent some lame girly excuse and let him down easy. Spend the rest of my life wondering what really was going on, and what could have been. Let the first man I’ve ever really loved walk away.
Yeah, that option sucked. Was smarter, but still sucked.
I got in my car and drove to work. Scratched my leg through a hole in my panty hose and checked my phone. The screen still open to his text from this morning.
Good morning love. Call me when you’re up and about.
Another one, an hour later.
R we still on for this weekend?
I didn’t think I could do it. Couldn’t break up with him. But should. Ugh. I had to be the most wishy-washy woman on the planet. I parked my car and walked in the branch, waving to the tellers and unlocking my office. Roses, last week’s delivery from Brett, sat dead on the corner of my desk. Already decaying, they filled the room with a slightly sour smell. Dead roses. A fitting touch. And of course, it being Monday...
“Delivery for you.” Anita stuck her head in the door.
“Send ‘em in,” I mumbled, leaning down to press the power button on my computer.
I barely spoke to the delivery boy as he took the dead ones away and replaced them with a new vase - tulips, the cheery yellow flowers doing nothing to brighten my mood. I stopped him on his way out. “Can you take them to Anita instead?”
He stopped, his hand catching the door, head whipping to me. Confusion in the teenager’s eyes. “Anita?”
I couldn’t let him win. I would fight until the day that I died.
I closed my eyes and curled into a ball, the bones of my ass tender against the springs of the bed. Listened to the man breathe heavily in the opposite corner of the room, heard the scratch of his pen as he recorded the day’s lesson. He really only needed four words. Man: 0. Kitten: 1. I gave him nothing. I took everything. Once he was done writing, he would leave. Stand up and give me a parting shot, something to indicate what fun I could expect the next day. But near the end - for a brief moment during recording – I had a moment of quiet. I released a painful sigh and turned my thoughts to Brett.
“Don’t go,” he lowered his mouth to my neck and kissed the top of my shoulder. “Stay with me forever.”
I pushed against his chest, his hand firm, looped together and pinning me to his chest. I laughed softly, the wind whipping my hair, and burrowed into his chest, his body turning to protect me from the ocean breeze. I hugged him back, looking at the house, the outline impressive against the setting sun, the ocean reflected against the back windows. I do love the house. When I first saw it, I’d been blown away. Now, with half of the surfaces inside corrupted by our actions, I felt some small bit of ownership.
“There’s plenty of rooms...” he whispered in my ear.
I pushed away enough to look up into his face. “We have plenty of time, Brett. The rest of our lives.”
He smiled. “I like that. The rest of our lives. Promise?”
I smirked at him. “Maybe. If you behave.”
“I’ll behave,” he said, pulling me closer. “I promise.”
I should have said yes. Moved in that day and never looked back. Shouldn’t have planned on plenty of time when I’d barely had any.
“I’m done.” The man stood, his chair shoved backward by the motion.
I said nothing, just watched him, my head against the mattress. Waited for whatever barb would come next.
“With everything, I mean. Your training is complete.”
That got my attention. I sat up slowly, the motion causing my stomach to roll. Sitting back, my shoulders against the concrete, I said nothing, just stared at him and waited for more. Inside, amid the pain and the nausea, I felt a flutter - half hope, half dread. Your training is complete. What did that mean?
“Tomorrow, your diet will change. You’ve gotten too thin, you need to put some weight back on. Start bathing again. Return a little to the girl you came here as. In five days, if you have improved, I will release you.” He nodded, an odd jerky motion, and turned, pushing the chair through the open gate.
“You will release me?” My voice was hoarse, the words wobbled on their way out. Screams had stripped my throat; vomiting made the condition worse.
“Let’s see how you look in five days. If you can look normal and speak to me with some semblance of respect, then yes.”
Once through the door, he closed the gate and locked me in. Then, without another word, he left.
I stayed in place, my back against the wall, my hand holding my bruised side, for a long time. Then, with nothing to lose, I crawled to the shower.
It’d been so long. So many notebooks filled with his notes, so many lessons and questions and tests. So much pain and fighting.
Could it really be that easy? Would he really let me go?
I decided the next morning, fresh coffee in my system, dried tears and mascara washed off of my cheeks, to break up with Brett. It had to be done. Anything else would be stupid.
If I confronted him, asked him to explain everything to me, he’d deny it. Without a doubt. No drug kingpin would simply fess up. So he’d lie. And I’d have to either play the fool and believe him, or end it then and alert him to my suspicions. And what if he kills me? Decides that the risk of little ole Riley running around is too great? Or... even worse—what if he adds me to his stable? Replaces my kidney with bags of heroine and lugs me back and forth across the border?
No, confronting him was the wrong move.
So... breaking up. I could do it. Invent some lame girly excuse and let him down easy. Spend the rest of my life wondering what really was going on, and what could have been. Let the first man I’ve ever really loved walk away.
Yeah, that option sucked. Was smarter, but still sucked.
I got in my car and drove to work. Scratched my leg through a hole in my panty hose and checked my phone. The screen still open to his text from this morning.
Good morning love. Call me when you’re up and about.
Another one, an hour later.
R we still on for this weekend?
I didn’t think I could do it. Couldn’t break up with him. But should. Ugh. I had to be the most wishy-washy woman on the planet. I parked my car and walked in the branch, waving to the tellers and unlocking my office. Roses, last week’s delivery from Brett, sat dead on the corner of my desk. Already decaying, they filled the room with a slightly sour smell. Dead roses. A fitting touch. And of course, it being Monday...
“Delivery for you.” Anita stuck her head in the door.
“Send ‘em in,” I mumbled, leaning down to press the power button on my computer.
I barely spoke to the delivery boy as he took the dead ones away and replaced them with a new vase - tulips, the cheery yellow flowers doing nothing to brighten my mood. I stopped him on his way out. “Can you take them to Anita instead?”
He stopped, his hand catching the door, head whipping to me. Confusion in the teenager’s eyes. “Anita?”
