I hate the fluttering I have in my stomach from him being so kind. It reminds me of when we first started dating. I knew it was all a lie, but I craved for his tender moments. They were so few and far between. I know I am mental for wanting his sweetness, for wanting him to love me for me instead of a possession, but that will never happen.
It is why I am in love with Sebastian, a love that can never happen. I do my best to twist and turn the love I have for the better brother, to make myself somehow love Kendrick, but no matter how much I try nothing works.
Kendrick is unlovable, and his sweet demeanor is a lie.
“I would like that very much, Kendrick. Thank you,” I say eagerly. It is a treat to get out of the small mansion. Twice in one week. What a delight.
“You’re welcome. The outfit I want you to wear is on the bed, along with the shoes. Please do not wear any makeup. It makes you look like a whore.”
“Yes, Kendrick.”
He grips my chin with his fingers and bends down, eying me with never-ending pools of black. “No one likes a whore, my sweet.” He smashes his mouth against mine, and I revolt, holding my breath for the second time in five minutes. I am starting to feel light-headed. He breaks the kiss and leans away, stroking my cheek. The same cheek he hit three weeks ago, the same bruise that was now a pale yellow against my skin instead of a deep purple. “So beautiful,” he murmurs, more to himself than telling me. “A trophy for all to see.”
A trophy.
I gulp, wondering what that means. I don’t ask. I keep my mouth shut like a good little pet.
Because at the end of the day, that is what I am. Something for him to stroke, feed, and hit if he sees fit.
“I want to leave within the hour, so hurry up. I want us to have a good day.”
“Yes, Kendrick.”
“My sweet?”
I drain the rest of the mimosa and set the empty glass on the side of the tub. “Yes, Kendrick?” The water swooshes when I move my hands under the surface to swirl the bubbles over my body so he can’t see me.
“Don’t wear a bra with the dress. I want to be able to see those rosy nipples through the fabric.”
“But that means everyone else would see me, Kendrick. I thought … I thought you didn’t want me to be a whore?” Stupid me. I asked a question. I’m never supposed to ask questions.
In a blink of an eye his hand is around my throat, and he squeezes, bringing us nose to nose. I don’t fight him. I should fight him, I know that, but after so long fighting the same man and the same abuse, fighting gets tiring.
My soul hardens. My heart is numb.
And the only man who can bring me back to life is Sebastian.
“If I’m asking you to do something for me, that isn’t you being a whore—that is you following a command. You’re a whore if you do it on your own, without my permission, but that isn’t the case, is it, my sweet?” His thumb presses against my jugular, and I gasp, my body arching out of the tub, and his eyes don’t fall to my exposed breasts like a normal man.
He watches me, waiting for me to defy him, but I relent. I always relent. “Yes, Kendrick. I’m sorry,” I say through choked words.
Kendrick kisses the side of my temple and sighs. “I accept your apology. Don’t question me again. I can understand where you would seem confused. Part of me is glad you do not want to be a whore. It shows how much you are worth.”
Worth.
I don’t like the sound of that either.
He glances at his watch and sighs. “Forty-five minutes, my sweet. You need to hurry. I want to get there and find parking before it gets too busy.” He lets go of my throat, and I inhale a lungful of air, sinking into the tub. Tears prickle my eyes, but I lock my emotion down. I can’t let Kendrick see my weakness.
He’d capitalize on it.
He enjoys tears too much.
“Yes, Kendrick. I’ll be ready.”
“Good, my sweet.” He leaves the bathroom door open, leaving me motionless in the tub.
When I hear his footsteps descend the marble steps, I bury my face in my hands and cry. I wish some days he would kill me. This isn’t a life. I am a puppet, a punching bag, something below human, but worth something to him. I hate Kendrick with each passing breath that leaves my lips.
After I add a few tears to the bathtub, I gather myself and find the frozen composure again. I sit up and pull the drain out of the tub, then turn on the shower to wash off the bubbles. My mind drifts to Sebastian. I bet he is happy and in love with someone right now, someone who isn’t me.
My eyes burn, threatening to break the composure that is so hard for me to seek, and I swallow it down. If Kendrick sees my swollen eyes, I’ll get punished. Kendrick treats me too well for me to be sad over everything.
His words.
I hope Sebastian finds love and moves on from me. This is the direction of my life; this is what is meant to be for me. I turn off the shower, a bit depressed at the thought of the Sebastian with someone else, but it helps me reach into that frozen, numb part of me.
Opening the curtain, I step out on the soft carpeted rug and snag a towel out of the cabinet. The towels are soft and fluffy, luxurious against the skin. I turn and look in the mirror above the vanity. I turn my head left and right and inspect the abrasion on my neck. It isn’t too bad, a soft pink that will fade in an hour or so, but I hate that he always feels the need to leave a mark.
I let the clip in my hair go and watch the long dark locks fall over my shoulders in messy waves. I realize there are worse circumstances. I know there are people bound and being sold to others to be used for sexual pleasures and in rundown houses. I try to look at my situation as luck.
Sure, Kendrick is an abusive asshole, but I live in a beautiful home. I am well fed. The ankle bracelet is a bit brutal, but I have had more freedom in a week than I have ever had before. I need to be thankful of my situation, but it is easier said than done. Comparing isn’t the right thing to do. There is always someone in a worse situation.
My freedom has been clipped, I am under the control of an abusive man, and no matter the luxury he tossed at me, I’ll always want more than this life.
Knowing I only have a little more time, I rub strawberry lotion into my skin and moisturize my face with a beautiful oil that leaves my flesh feeling silky. I drop the towel on the bathroom floor and then remember Kendrick doesn’t like a mess. I want to leave it there so badly, to really piss him off, but what little liberty he has given me, I want to keep it.
With a sigh, I bend over and hang the damp towel on the rod, then walk to the bedroom to see a light lavender cotton dress laying across the ruby colored-comforter. The material is soft, and the neckline plunges into a deep V with two strings to tighten the bosom.
A trophy.
Something that is meant to look good for someone to feel accomplished and reassured about themselves.
It is disgusting, but I play the part well.
I slip the dress over my head and then slip the sandals on my feet, a silver strap makes its way across the top of my foot. I walk over to the bathroom against and spray a bit of perfume, the kind Kendrick doesn’t necessarily love, but allows
It is my favorite perfume.
Sebastian couldn’t get enough of it. He would tell me I smelt like a field of wildflowers after a long steady rain, and it drove him crazy. Maybe that is why I wear it so often, for Sebastian, for something good to come out of this situation with Kendrick. If it is something as a comforting and simple as perfume, then so be it.