Space is a valuable commodity. However, this time, it’s acerbated an itch and has turned into a forbidden appetite. After learning of his violent tendencies, free from remorse, I’m not entirely sure I’d like to explore that side of him. I pause for a second, letting the tremors do their worst until I can move again. Exhaustion wears me down as I stumble away.
We have six long months to respect each other's boundaries. Six tedious months to withstand this snarl of emotion. Six grueling months before I fly back to the Scottish Highlands and try to put this behind me.
“Iris.” Sal peers over his shoulder when my footsteps echo to the ceiling. “Can you drop off these meds to cabin thirteen on your way? It’s the newest guest. He’s complaining of a migraine, which will be his sixth in the past few days. I’m guessing he’s enjoying these way too much.” He rattles a brown bottle of pills. “I’m restricting his allowance. One is more than sufficient. We’ll ween him off them slowly.” He shakes out a smooth orange torpedo-shaped capsule and drops it into a clear pouch. “Drop it and leave immediately. Okay. I’m sure he’ll be out for the count. He won’t even know you’re there.”
I choose to not share my inner anxieties with anyone, not even Sal. Perhaps popping one pill would take the edge off my own spiraling mood.
Could I ever accept a man so damaged and murderous? Can honesty and tenderness coexist where evil resides?
Or is he a mirage of a dangerous man trapped in an illusion he needs to create? Aside from asking me if I wanted him to fuck me, he hasn’t physically hurt me. Not outside the realm of sexual desire. What he offered in pain, I lapped up and urged him for more.
“No problem. I’ll clock off once I’ve finished up in cabin ten. See you tomorrow.”
“Iris.” Sal sets his hand over mine when I grab the small polythene pill bag. “Are you okay? If you need to talk, I can swing by later.”
“Thanks. I’m looking forward to doing something normal for once.” I pat my back pocket where my journal snuggles to my buttocks. “Don’t worry about me. I’m a sturdy battle maiden.” He chuckles when I wink.
Crossing the threshold from air-conditioned to roasting heat, I scoop up my curls and wrap them with a rubber band, then place a cap on my head to shield my eyes from the high sun.
Who is Dante?
Whose murder did he arrange, and why?
I have too many unanswered questions.
With every lungful of air, my insides heat. A pale haze of mist marbles the treetops and a rain-laden sky creeps overhead. An uneasiness settles in my stomach. Bruce had cautioned of a torrential storm when he noticed the same heavy clouds that fateful day. So much for an afternoon of research.
A cobalt blue butterfly lands on the rope handrail. It poses for me with a delicate composition of a thin oblong body and broad, black-tipped wings. They bat intermittently, yet there’s no sound, no breeze, no consequence of its visit other than a striking flash of color amidst a backdrop of earthy hues. I stay perfectly still, silenced by its simplistic beauty, in awe of its ability to survive where peril lurks from the soil to the highest heights.
A pair of scarlet macaws twirl nearby and a long-billed toucan perches on a swaying branch. This is my purpose. I’m here for these creatures. Dante is the forbidden fruit in their forest. He’s made a promise to set me free, and I trust him to see it through. Then, and only then, will it be my decision whether I stay.
Thunder rumbles in the distance, agitating the wildlife. Frantic warning calls shriek for cover. The butterfly flits and flaps when large raindrops plop onto the slats beneath my feet. I hurry to cabin thirteen and press my fob to the lock. It opens immediately.
Stillness swallows my heartbeat. This is the first time I've entered an occupied suite. The layout mirrors my suite, except for one crucial difference. Every window has reams of fabric hiding the wilderness from sight.
I’ve been the glorified chalet girl for days. Arranging meal plans in the kitchen, restoring order to messy vacant rooms, and wallowing in unsatisfied lust. I was exempt from all guest interaction––until this very second.
“Well, hey there, chica.” I recognize the smarmy countenance of the man I met the first night I was officially enslaved. He was the guest el Fantasma welcomed to his oasis.
Dressed in a pure white robe with thick bandages looping the crown of his shaved head to his jaw, the man steps out of the bathroom. In the dim light, yellow and black bruises paint his eyelids and cheekbones.
“I’ve got your tablet.” Stuffing a hand into my pocket, I drag out the solitary offering and set it on the bed.
“One?” he states with surprise, hitching his tone a decibel higher. “I’ll need more than one. Holy fuck, chica, what is this place? Prison?” he snickers. “Actually, in prison, I’d be able to get whatever I want. Tell me, what would it take to get more of those magic pills? I’m bored out of my skull. One isn’t strong enough. Those are the only things keeping me from losing my goddamn mind.” I’m sorely tempted to respond, but I back away, keeping my lashes lowered.
Drop it and leave.
“You look smart, chica. Am I right? We can come to an arrangement. You scratch my back. I’ll scratch yours. I’m leaving in seven days. Name your price for acquiring a week's worth of these?”
He’s leaving soon. Emmie. My parents. No one would know. The desperate idea sparks before I have a chance to suppress it. “I’ll get you more if you send a note to my family when you get to the city.” I pull out my notepad and pen. “I’ll put their address on the back of the page. All you have to do is post it.”
His mouth twitches. “What’s stopping you from sending a postcard yourself? There are other pleasures a man can offer a red-headed beauty.”
My intuition hiccups. “I’m busy. I work long hours. It would get there quicker if you sent it. That’s all I need. Nothing else. Do we have a deal or not?”
He hums low in his throat and folds his arms—the hairs on my neck rise. Strolling barefoot to the bed, he holds the clear bag to eye level. “I like women who know what they want. Especially those with pale skin. Write your note. I’ll take it with me if you deliver the rest of the meds this evening.”
A burst of white light electrifies the air. I pause, wary in his presence but hopelessly wishing Emmie knew the truth. “Fine.” Scribbling a brief message, I fold the page in half and jot down my parents’ full postal address.
Placing it next to the television remote control, I turn to walk away.
“Wait a second.” My head wrenches back to the scratchy sound of his voice. “You’re from Scotland?”
“I am,” I answer sharply. “I’ll drop off your extra tablets later.”
“Before you go, can you pour me a glass of water?” He nods toward a misted jug on the sideboard. “I would do it myself, but that's what you're for. Isn’t it?”
Fucking asshole.
This guy is the epitome of disgusting. Where Dante makes me hate him, it’s not the same hostility snarling through my veins for this creep. The feelings I have for Dante are exquisitely complicated. The emotions felt between the two are oceans apart, planets apart, galaxies apart. I’d sooner gouge this man’s eyeballs out than let him lay a single finger on me.