***
My eyes glide across the room, taking in every inch of it. Again, the ceilings are so high up. Higher than I realized at first, and the cream ceiling is fitted with dark wood beams that make my eyes travel up. A thin white chandelier with small crystals and lights that look like candles brightens the room. There are two smaller ones on either side of the bed which sits on the far end of the room along the wall. The headboard is the same dark wood as the beams, and it travels up the height of the wall.
It’s hard edges and darkness are at complete odds with the bed itself, which is plush and littered with small cream pillows decorated with crystals and embroidery that my fingers long to touch.
“I made it for you,” Jay says softly and I turn to him, not knowing what to say.
“Everything you need is here. I brought what you needed from your old place, too.”
Your old place. The words make a chill travel down my spine, but I ignore it, letting my body move through the room, opening the drawers to the armoire and seeing my own things alongside others Jay’s bought for me.
“I had to take your phone though and your computer, for obvious reasons.”
“People will start to question-” I start to tell him, but he cuts me off.
“I’ve taken care of it.” He sets down the object he’s been playing with in his hands and its only then that I see what it is. It’s a wooden owl, a trinket I got from my mom back in college. I watch him place it back on the dresser, exactly where it sat on my dresser at home. “If they text you, they’ll get a message about you being on vacation and in an area with little reception. An email will get them the same thing.”
“Take a look around, Robin. This is your new home, at least for a little while.” My blood chills as he adds, “Your sabbatical is for eight weeks.” I start to think about everyone who might call. My parents, maybe. My mom calls once a month. Other than her, possibly Karen. But this wouldn’t be the first time I ghosted. They won’t stop trying though. They’ll come for me. The thought makes me tear my eyes away from Jay. I grip the bedpost as I try to calm myself.
I’m staying. I’ve already decided, and this changes nothing. I swallow the fears and take in the rest of the room, very aware of how Jay’s eyes follow me.
My feet sink into the woven cream carpet as I walk toward the far wall.
There are curved shutters on the wall painted in a pale blue. Two sets of them that are shut and line up perfectly to form the shape of a leaf, the tips meeting in the very center.
They’re exactly what I described to Jay so long ago. Like the shutters in the castle of my fairytale. My feet move of their own accord and I slide my fingers over the slats of painted wood and slowly open them. But behind them is nothing.
Not the mountains and green fields that I could see in the living room. Just the flat wall.
My fingers tremble as I close the shutters and slowly turn to Jay.
This is my room, and it’s a prison of my own making.
Chapter 13
Jay
My eyes follow her as she moves, almost like she did the first night I saw her. She looked around the barren basement back then with different expectations.
My little bird likes her gilded cage, but she’s not a fool. She knows that’s exactly what it is. Seeing her here in my clothes, in the room I made just for her… it makes me want more.
I swallow as my blood heats and I watch her close the shutters.
“The bathroom is through here,” I tell her, and she turns quickly to face me. I hate myself for bricking over the windows. She loved looking outside, but that was all she did, pined for freedom and somewhere else to go. I can’t have that here. I can’t give her any bit of it. I won’t tempt her to leave me. She’s already proven that I can’t trust her. She ran the first chance she got. I knew she would.
She walks carefully toward me as I gesture to the door across the hallway. I let her pass me, following my instruction and getting a faint hint of her scent. That sweet floral is still there, but she needs to be bathed.
My dick hardens as I walk behind her, watching as she grips the oil rubbed bronze doorknob to the bathroom but then looks back at me for permission. My head nods on its own, somehow able to function even though internally I’m tortured by what I’m doing to her.
The light brightens the room and reflects off of the white marble tile. Everything is white and sterile in the bathroom, except for the black penny tile arranged in an ordered fashion on the floor. Even the curtain to the claw foot tub is a simple white.
She lets her fingers glide along the granite counter to the sink and I take a step through the door to get in with her. My blood heats as I close the space between us and she turns around to face me, surprised.
I’ll give her what she needs, and she’ll give me what I need.
“You need a bath,” I tell her simply as I shut the door behind me. Her eyes flick to the doorknob and then back to me as she takes a step behind her.
“Jay?” she asks. She’s always said my name like that. Like she’s asking for permission, for comfort, for anything and everything when she breathes my name. Because what I say is true to her. There is only what my answer is and she will believe it with everything she has. There’s so much power in how she expresses it. So much weakness in her voice.
“Yes?” I ask her, feigning nonchalance as I lean against the sink. I cross my arms and wait for her to say what’s on her mind. I wait for her to address the fact that I desperately want to fuck her.
She can barely breathe as she stands in front of me.
“I’ve seen you plenty of times, Robin,” I finally admit to her. I watch her eyes as I tell her, “I’ve come to your house a few times.” I wait for her reaction. I expect fear or disgust, or maybe some mix of both. But she merely nods and slowly pushes the pants down her legs.
The bathroom is small and the sound of the pajama pants bunching and pooling around her legs and then at her feet fills the room. It's all I can hear along with the thumping of my heart. She’s hesitant to take off the shirt though. Her fingers play along the hem and she looks back at me with nothing but insecurities.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Robin.” I hate that she would ever think that. Her eyes remain skeptical, and she doesn’t make a move to take it off. “There was only one time I ever wanted to hurt you.”
That gets a reaction from her, but it’s not one I want. It takes me a moment before I even realize how she’s taken it.
I clear my throat and grit my teeth as my hand goes to the back of my head and I try to explain. “I was there that night when you took the bottle of pills and swallowed them.”
“I’ve never been so angry, Robin.” My breathing picks up as I remember. By the time I ran around to the front of her house and broke in, she was already throwing up in the bathroom.
“You saw?” she asks softly. She covers her face and turns away from me. She shakes her head softly and the need to comfort and hold her takes over, but as soon as I approach, she turns around and takes a step backward.
I tell her as I take a step forward, “I’m not angry with you anymore.” Her shoulders rise and fall as she waits for my next move.