Once inside, all he wanted was to bind her and remove the burdens of everyday life. He didn’t know why. He didn’t even want to try and figure it out. She had tried to do the same for him, but Mr. Black didn’t allow it. It spoke to the depth of her compassion when she held him and said the things she did.
Guiding her to the chaise, he brought down the treasure chest from the mantel.
Her eyes widened and she shook her head. “No, Victor,” she put her hands up in protest.
“Shhh,” he whispered and pulled her close. “It’s not what you think.”
Her eyes shined with distrust. Could he blame her?
“I know it’s hard to trust me, but I’m asking you, Elsa, begging you, to believe me when I say I will never, ever, do to you what my mother did to me. That’s not the man I ever want to be.”
“What does Mr. Black want?”
Her question lacerated his heart. “Mr. Black isn’t here.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
All he could do was shake his head. He knew what Mr. Black wanted. To see her in pain. To hurt her physically under the guise of helping her, and to injure her heart for being so Goddamn resilient.
Trust. Such a powerful thing and something he had taken for granted with her.
It would take a lot for her to trust him fully again. It would take baby steps. Small moments and kind acts. Repeated over and over. And time. Something he hoped she would invest in him.
She watched him as his thoughts ran wild in his head with ways to prove himself.
“Mr. Black isn’t here,” he repeated.
He didn’t know what else to say. Her eyes shimmered knowingly and the brightest he had ever seen. There was no way around what was happening between them, despite both of their denials. Why else would she stay? But for how long would she stay? Another day? If he was lucky, maybe just a little longer. He hoped at least long enough for him to make up for what he had done.
A crackle of energy passed between them, hot and raw, as he undressed her and placed her back into her shackles. This time, he left the gag out. He lifted her off her feet and placed her down onto the floor at the foot of the dining room table, and went to warm up the food she had prepared for him.
When he returned to her, he began feeding her. He planned to not only appease her sexual hunger for domination, but her physical hunger as well. He gently touched the fork of vegetable and pasta to her lips. When she opened her mouth to accept his gift, a spike of heat caught him low in the gut.
Trust.
It continued this way, bite after bite, sip of wine after sip of wine, with no protest from her. She rested at his feet and allowed him to provide for her needs, satiating that primitive desire within him to be her one and only source of nourishment.
When a drop of wine would dribble down her chest, he was there to lick it and clean it for her. When a crumb of food would escape her lips, he was there to catch it. They fell into a comfortable routine within a short time, but there was still the smallest bit of apprehension in her, as if she was waiting for Mr. Black to make an appearance.
He would just have to try harder and keep trying.
When he dipped his pasta sauce covered thumb into her mouth, a low moan slipped past her lips. The husky helpless sound of want made the blood in his veins hot and molten.
Everything she did in those few precious moments made him feel alive and made him forget about the ugly memories of what he had recalled. The sway of her body… The tilt of her head to silently request another bite… The tip of her tongue moistening her lips…
Once finished with her meal, he carried her to the chaise lounge and stroked her hair while music filled the air with sensual and erotic melodies. Hours passed with no words spoken between them. None were needed.
That night, he did the only thing he knew how to do: tend to her physical needs. Ironically, he learned those skills by taking care of the woman who had destroyed his life – his mother.
And so, he bathed her. Washed her hair. Dried her. Brushed her hair. Washed the clothes that she had worn. Placed the jewelry he had bought for her onto her nipples and labia. Dressed her, only to undress her slowly and watch her pose for him. A giggle. A smile. She slowly revealed her vulnerability. He read out loud the details of his current case, her gasps of disgust and horror escaping her perfectly shaped mouth.
When he finally removed the blindfold, he reveled at the joy in her eyes and watched with adoration, the expression on her face when her fingertips stroked his lips.
The words he had written on her birthday gift note were true. She was more than a chapter to him. She always would be. And he was grateful for having been allowed to make up, in the tiniest way, for having struck her.
With Elsa as his safe haven, it could’ve gone on like this forever and he would have been content. But he knew it was only temporary because nothing good in his life ever lasted. It was always fleeting. There was still more darkness to come. He could feel it just below the surface of his false security, threatening to tear down the refuge that his Peach had provided for him.
With Elsa finally sleeping, he grabbed his personal journal. He had been avoiding writing his thoughts all day. But it was time to have a come to Jesus meeting with Mr. Black for having harmed Elsa.
There have been too many fucked up days in my life to count.
My insides are twisted in knots and my brain overflowing with the whos, whens, whys and what ifs. What if I hadn’t gotten to Elsa in time? What if she had been killed? I’m surrounded by death, yet to lose one of my own, someone who means something to me… Where would I be without her? What would I be without her? How would I tell her family that I didn’t protect her? That it was my fault that she was dead? Ceaseless questions. Questions that have no answers. Questions that need no answers because I was there in time.
The man who tried to kill Elsa. Who the hell is he? Nothing in my life happens without reasoning behind it. His smile. Jesus, that smile. Something isn’t right. I can feel it crawling under my skin like an insect trying to burrow its way out of a corpse. I need answers. Why Elsa? Why now? I will demand answers. Tomorrow. And the next and the next until I get the answers I want.
It turns out our night from hell was only a prelude to the horror of facing my past and memories long since forgotten. I made leaps and bounds today, only to backtrack and sidestep. That always seems to be the way with me. Never facing my past while lying to myself that it makes no difference what happened to me. It does matter. I see that now.
Nature vs. nurture.
I’ve read the books about it. I’ve studied them and written endless reports on the subject. It’s neither one nor the other in my case. It’s both. I am what I am not only because of the tainted DNA coursing through my veins, but because of the environment I was raised in.
I thought I could handle answering Elsa’s questions. They’re just memories, after all. The past is the past and the woman who gave birth to me and who made my life hell, is long dead. As for my father, he’s merely an insignificant distraction.
But I was wrong to think facing my demons could be easily brushed off. It’s difficult to be logical and unbiased when looking inward. Mr. Black is clouding my judgment. He’s always clouded my judgment and I’m growing to hate him. What he did today, what I allowed him to do today, was deplorable. What I’ve put those people through… all those women, Jordan… unforgivable .