Elsa couldn’t believe the disgusting words spilling out of him. What kind of man was he?
Before she could even process his statement, he abruptly pushed her off the bed and down to her knees. Her natural response was to fight him and she slapped his hands away as she tried to stand, upset with Mr. Black’s sudden volatility.
“Do as I tell you, Elsa, and don’t make me say it again,” he growled with his hands still firmly pressing down onto her shoulders.
All of this over a simple question about a scar? She was speechless and infuriated as she fell to her knees.
“Who made you like this?” she stared up at him.
“Shut the hell up. I mean it. I don’t answer personal questions. I’ve said it three times now. To clarify things from this point on, rule number six is no fucking personal questions unless you want to suffer my wrath. Is that clear enough or do I need to write this one down, too?” he barked as he stood over her.
Then suffer his wrath she would because despite what her brain was screaming for her to do, she wasn't going to give in or run. Let him beat her if that’s what he wanted. She welcomed his fists if that’s what it was going to take to break down the stone walls he had put up around himself.
“Then let there be blood,” she whispered as she gritted her teeth. “Any man can force his domination on a woman. It doesn’t even take much of a man to show her the errors of her ways. But to guide a woman, to lead her and to love and support her? That takes a special kind of man. A strong man. An exceptional man. I thought you had it in you to be that kind of man, but seeing Mr. Black come out like this over an innocuous question? You’ve failed me, Victor.”
The statement slipped past her lips before she could stop herself and it was as if she was watching herself from above. Mr. Black’s jaw gaped and she braced herself for the worst. She inhaled sharply and closed her eyes, ready for bloodshed.
“Get your things. You’re free to leave,” she heard in an unfamiliar voice.
Elsa’s eyes popped open. Stunned speechless, she stared up at Mr. Black who suddenly looked calm. That was it? She was free to go after she said the very thing he had accused Chapter Seven of doing?
Of course not. All his dismissal meant was that he was going to stew on her rebellion and statement and dish out his punishment at a later time. Why did she have to let her curiosity get the best of her? Why the hell did she have to ask that question about his scar? Why couldn’t she keep her stupid mouth shut?
13: Absence
Elsa drove home with her tailed tucked between her legs, though she didn’t know why she was the one feeling ashamed of her behavior. It was Mr. Black who should be feeling guilty for the way he overreacted to her harmless question and his shitty remark about saying goodbye.
His sextoy… his hole? The more she thought about his statement, the more livid she became. Talk about the great manipulator. He had been kind all day and even during dinner the previous evening, and the entire time that’s what he thought she was? Just another Chapter to mind fuck and torture? So in addition to all the other B.S. he was putting her through, she now had to contend with the anxiety of worrying if he would watch the video from earlier that day.
She arrived home and angrily tossed her bag into the couch. Pacing the living room she felt the sudden urge to look out her window. If Mr. Black was out there, she swore she would tear ass down there and rip him a new hole for all the head games he was playing with her. She flung the curtains to the side expecting to his see his Nissan, but the street was empty. Lucky for him. Or probably more likely, lucky for her.
“Fuck you, Mr. Black!” she cursed the air, hoping he could hear her from across town.
*
Monday morning came too soon and Elsa felt emotionally drained. Frantic to hide the evidence of her nosiness, she had driven to the Grace Street brownstone in the early morning hours and let herself in to try and gain access to the surveillance room without success.
With only three hours of good sleep under her belt, her morning at work was unproductive. Every time she would hear something near her door, she would jump, fearing Mr. Black would come slinking in, ready to reprimand her and add more rules to her growing list. The more she thought about it, the more she began to wonder if the waiting, anticipating and dreading of his actions was her punishment.
Afternoon came and she checked her text messages. Nothing. Not one single word was sent to her and her heart began to sink. Maybe she had pushed him too far with her cruel accusation of being a failure or, God forbid, he had watched the video.
But what about his nasty words? Was he torturing himself over what he had said to her? She doubted it very much. It was par for the course for him in his cruel game of testing women’s limits and experimenting on them. And what in the hell was he trying to figure out by testing them? Oh, that’s right. He was ‘helping’ to make them stronger. She belted out a sarcastic laugh at the thought. Mr. Black was the one who clearly needed the help. Maybe it would be a blessing if never called her again.
Well into the evening and back at home, her emotions skidded back and forth and her mood dipped up and down from hating Mr. Black to feeling torn about Victor’s heartfelt words about love and wanting to really be seen.
She was obsessing and teetering on the verge of losing all sanity. She was fixated on Victor and he was consuming her every thought.
Tuesday and Wednesday came and went. Mr. Black was nowhere to be seen or heard from and Elsa found herself, once again, alone. The days droned on and the silence was gut-wrenching. It was as if he was only a figment of her imagination. Perhaps he had been. That damned scar…
Thursday was another uneventful day other than the now constant thoughts of Victor making it impossible to get anything done. Yes, Victor, not Mr. Black. She never wanted to think about him again. Except for the way he had fucked her… If only Mr. Black didn’t exist and it was only Victor… he was something special. Or had he only manipulated her into believing that he was?
It pained her heart to think about it and made her brain hurt recalling everything that had transpired over the past two weeks. Had it really only been two weeks or had it been longer? She had no idea. She had lost track of time and the days mixed together endlessly.
Back home, she sulked all evening. Her phone rang out as she was showering and she nearly slipped and injured herself hauling ass to answer it, hoping, yet fearing, it would be Mr. Black.
Her brother’s name came up and she frowned with disappointment. She swiftly cut him off as soon as she answered, not wanting Mr. Black to hear their conversation; if he was even listening anymore.
Dressed in only a robe, she went to Viv’s and borrowed her phone to call Nick back. The conversation was brief but her big brother had done her proud. He provided not only a home address but several interesting and revealing details about Victor.
Apparently his mother had died at the fairly young age of 58 from liver disease. Also, in his younger years, when he first came into the public’s eye, he had made his rounds on the dating scene and had quite the reputation of being a ladies’ man. All his dating abruptly halted a few years later, though, right after a big break in a big murder case.
That was all Nick could find out other than that Victor had never been married and had no children to speak of. Elsa felt the weight of a burden lifted off of her. At least he hadn’t lied about that.