“Don’t I?” He crosses the room to the door. I watch him from behind my lashes. “This will be your room. You’ll stay in it until I come for you.”
“When will that be? When you need another fuck?”
He puts his hand to the doorknob, and I see him cock his head. He turns a little. It’s the skull side.
I lift my head. I can’t not look at the shadows of the flickering candles playing across his face.
“You should be more careful, Ivy.”
“Or what? You’ll put that thing on me again? Tattoo me again? Brand me this time? Make me marry you all over again? You’ve taken everything. Done everything there is to do.”
“I’ve only just begun.”
I snort.
He walks back into the room, back toward me and I find myself leaning away. Watching him come to me, his face uncovered, a half-living-half-dead man, it’s a little terrifying.
“Lower your gaze. I won’t say it again.”
“No.” My heart pounds against my chest like it wants out before the attack that is surely coming.
“No?”
I shake my head.
He raises his eyebrows. “I’m not sure if that's bravery or stupidity.”
“I’m not scared of your face if that’s what you mean.”
He laughs outright. “You think I’m worried you won’t like my face?” He crouches down and it takes all I have to keep my eyes on his, but he must see me lean away and he leans closer. “You want to see me, Ivy?”
I just swallow as I take him in, trying to focus on his eyes, just his eyes. But it’s too much and I blink, turning away.
“Didn’t think so,” he says, standing, crossing the room again.
“It’s not…I don’t…” I trail off, not sure what I want to say. He was beautiful once. I can see that. Now he’s something else. Something most would sneer at. Run from.
“You’ll remain in your room until I come for you.” He opens the door.
“I won’t.”
He stops. “No?” he asks, turning. “You’ll rebel?” He waits for me to answer but I don’t. “Look at you. Still on your knees before me, my mark etched into your skin, my come leaking out of your pussy. I think you’ll do exactly as you’re told. But you’re welcome to try to prove me wrong. I will enjoy punishing you.” He walks out into the hallway.
“Why?” I call out. “Why did you choose me if you hate me so much?” I have to wipe my eyes again.
He stops. It’s quiet for a long moment and I realize how silent this house is. How still. Does anyone else even live here? He studies me, eyes sharp and intent on me. He has an agenda. A purpose. And I am so far out of my league.
“Your tears won’t move me. I thought you knew that.”
“Just at least tell me why.”
“Do you love your father?”
“What?”
“Do you love him?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“And he loves you.” It’s not a question.
“My father has nothing to do with this.”
“No?”
My tears turn into sobs as everything becomes too much, too heavy, like this rosary around my neck. Like his hands are still around it.
“Christ, get a grip,” he snaps.
“Fuck you,” I tell him but it doesn’t have the force I want, not when said through the sobs. But I think for a minute I shouldn’t have said that. I think he’ll come back in here. Punish me again. I don’t think my body can take any more. Not tonight.
But he doesn’t. Instead, his lips just curve upward, a skull on one side the monster on the other and I feel my shoulders slump, my body curl in around itself as I cringe away a little.
“You belong to me.”
“I don’t.” He’s right though. In our world, I do belong to him.
“Do you understand what that means for you?” he asks as if I haven’t said anything.
I don’t reply. I don’t know how.
He shakes his head, gives a little snort like he’s bored. “You’re weak, Ivy. And you’d better toughen up because you’re going to need all your strength to survive me.”
17
Ivy
“Miss.”
I groan as I start to wake up, every inch of my body sore, the worst of it between my legs.
A woman clears her throat. “Miss.”
I open my eyes. The room slowly comes into view. Black walls. No, not black. Dark, carved wood. A small square of light high up.
“Miss, I’m sorry to wake you.”
I turn, look at the older woman in a uniform standing on the other side of the bed. There’s another one, a younger one, standing just inside the door. I take in the bed, the bloodied sheet half pulled off one corner of the mattress. The thick blanket heavy as I draw it up to cover myself and sit up a little, wincing and very aware of the fact that I’m still naked.
“I need the sheets, Miss. It’ll just take us a minute to put clean ones on.”
I clear my throat, wipe my face and glance around for a clock. “What time is it?”
“Nine o’clock, Miss.”
I look back at the woman. She must think me an idiot. “Where is the bathroom?”
She points. I notice the other girl trying to act like she’s not looking at me.
“I just need one minute,” I say, hoping they’ll get the hint and leave so I can make it to the bathroom without having to run across the room naked.
“That’s fine, Miss,” the older one says and turns. She waves the other girl out.
I take a minute to sit up, still too tired from last night. I try to remember the last time I ate something but can’t.
“Are you all right?” the older woman asks.
I smile, hold the blanket to me as I swing my legs off but when I try to stand, the room begins to spin, and my knees give out. I throw my arm out to catch the nightstand but end up knocking a heavy brass lamp over, catching the edge of it on my forehead before it and I go tumbling to the floor.
The woman gasps and is at my side in an instant.
I sit up, still holding the blanket, and lean my back against the bed, very aware of the ache between my legs, the rawness there.
“It’s okay. I’m fine.” This happens all the time, I don’t say. “I just need to eat something. I’ll be fine.”
She bends over me, worry creasing her face. She nods, calls to the girl she just shooed into the hallway. “Go get some toast and juice. Bring it upstairs.”
“But the master said—”
“I’ll worry about the master. You do as I say. Quickly.” She disappears into the bathroom and comes back with a glass of water.
I take it, drink a sip. “Thank you.” I touch my forehead.
“You’ve hurt yourself.”
My fingers come away bloody. “It’s fine. It’s just a cut.” I look at my wrists at the same time her eyes fall to them. What does she make of me, I wonder? A new bride with rope burns on her wrists, those ropes on the floor between us. Blood on the sheets.
I feel my face get hot.