The weight of his words and compassion crushed her. Victor. It had always been in his nature to help people – even when they didn’t deserve it.
Paced, heavy steps side-to-side across the living room. The sound of something small being unwrapped followed by chewing.
“Phase two,” his evened out. “Adulthood.” He plopped down next to her, manipulated her body around, and dabbed the saliva from her chin with something soft. “The sad truth of my life up to this point is that there’s been more grief than joy. The first time I ever felt anything that could be described as happy was with Chapter One. She made me feel…” he cleared his throat. He quickly stood and his voice deepened with agitation. Mr. Black. “I was so fucking stupid and naïve,” he slammed something down onto the mantle next to her. “Fond memory…” he repeated as if reminding himself of the topic. “It was the end of summer; just before the truth came out about her. It was warm and the colors on the horizon were so amazing that evening. I took her to my favorite place, a scenic spot overlooking Richmond. The way she was looking at me… I felt…”
The romantic tone in his voice slipped over her like crushed velvet. Victor. He had loved. He had light. She remembered reading about it and how it made her feel to know that he wasn’t the cruel man he thought he was.
“Loved, desired and accepted.” His tone had turned begrudging and she dreaded what came next. “Another fleeting moment.” He muttered something unintelligible under his breath. “She whispered bullshit in my ear, said my name like it was the only name meant to be spoken from her mouth, and all the while she was out there murdering.”
A long moment passed before he spoke again, but the savagery of his voice had lessened. “I digress. Phase three,” he cleared his throat again with uncharacteristic nervousness. “Chapter Eight.”
His voice and words vibrated through her in an erotic wave. She had affected him. Then again, maybe this was part of the game, although she doubted it. The unusual edge in his voice revealed sincerity, even if she couldn’t see his face.
“Not everything we went through before, was negative. Maybe you feel differently about that and your feelings are valid, but for me, there were good moments. Moments when I really thought…” A lump clogged her throat and she wished she could speak so she could reassure him that she felt the same way. “I don’t know. I really don’t know what I was thinking.”
Desperation in his voice. The warmth of his body next to her. His hands caressing her cheekbones.
“I was trying to prove something. Like I am now. Like I always am. That I’m stronger than you. That I can win at this damned game and I don’t need to feel loved or desired or accepted to exist in this world.”
His words came too easily and the edge to his tone had gone, leaving Elsa to wonder if what he was speaking was truth or lies.
“Absence makes the heart grow fonder. I suppose they did know what they were talking about.” Her heart pounded loudly in her ears. He had missed her. “Fond memory,” he repeated yet again. “The first time your tears came willingly. That night in the alley. When I took you. I’ve often wondered what you were thinking about when you shed those tears. If I slipped the gag out of your mouth… would you tell me? Truthfully?”
Yes. She would.
“Don’t respond to that,” he cut her nod short. “It’s best I don’t know the reason. It keeps my fantasy of that memory intact. Those tears can remain a mystery to me. They can be for any reason I want,” a gloomy sigh. “Like all good things in my life: another fleeting moment.”
He moved away from her again, to the kitchen where she heard the clink of glass and liquid being poured. He was taking too long. He had left her dangling off a cliff as she waited to hear more about how he really felt about her.
When he returned, he loosed the gag at the back of her head and cleaned the drool from her chin and chest.
“Drink,” he ordered as he pressed a glass against her lips.
Slowly he tipped a glass of wine until it poured onto her tongue. Sweet. Bitter. Fruity. She loved that he had to gauge how far the glass needed to be angled. Carefully. Methodically. His full attention on her mouth.
When she was done, she leaned her head onto the back of the chaise, basking in her surrender and his domination. He lifted her head for one more drink.
“Two questions for the price of one, Peach,” he murmured against her mouth as he licked off the drops of Dom Perignon that had fallen onto her chin. “Now you’ll learn why I love your tears so much…” He strapped the gag behind her head. “And then you’ll give them to me. Again. And again. And…”
She moaned and writhed against the velvet. Yes, anything, she would do it, just as long as he kept doing this thing to her and giving her what he had never given any other woman – pieces of his soul.
*
Victor casually walked to the bar to order him and Elsa a drink as she rubbed her tender wrists. His words from an hour earlier still lingered in her thoughts; his warm caresses and deep thrusts still felt between her legs as he pinned her shackled hands high above her head. She plucked a hand mirror from her purse and eyed the dark circles under her eyes. She had given him the tears that he so desperately wanted and kept her reasons for them to herself.
His words swirled around and around in her head as she watched him lean over the bar and order their drinks.
Tears got him nowhere. Crying was for the weak. The first woman he had made cry made him feel powerful. So many women. So many tears. He craved them because he lacked the ability to shed them. Her tears were different. She had given them willingly and not out of hatred or fear. Her tears were full of passion and emotion. The things he lacked. Her tears had affected him the deepest…
He swung his head around, met her gaze and winked at her. Victor.
She shook her head to clear her thoughts. Mr. Black. He was still there; just underneath the surface of those tortured, beautiful eyes. She was romanticizing again. Forgetting what this was all about. Ignoring how deep his cruelty ran. Goddamn her.
She watched him closely as he briefly chatted to the man standing next to him at the bar. He was attractive. Very attractive. Older. Brown hair styled much like Victor’s. Built much like Victor. Wide-shouldered. Solid. Business casual.
"Do you find him attractive?" she asked when Victor sat down next to her.
One side of his mouth lifted into a wry smirk. "What's your obsession with me being with a man?"
"It's not an obsession; it's a fascination.”
The edge of his glass touched his lips. “You never cease to surprise the fuck out of me.”
She couldn’t help but feel proud. Though she may not win the game in the end, at least she had earned the title of Most Shocking Chapter in his book.
“I seriously don’t get you,” his eyes roamed the length of her body as he set his goblet back down. “Any other woman would be horrified at the things I’ve done and with whom I’ve done them. Not to mention offended and threatened by my extracurricular activities with the same sex. But not you. You’ve read my journals and the shit I’ve done, and instead of running the other way, you ask questions. You demand information and answers in all their gory details. And still, you want to know more.”
A slow shake of his head revealed his confusion with her as his analytical stare bore into her. She stood motionless with no response as she sipped on her virgin sangria. What else was she going to do? It’s not like running the other way was an option. How easily Victor had forgotten about his threats and the fact that he was essentially forcing her to play his game.