Page 21 of Reckoning

Madeline

I didn’t relax for the entire night, convinced he would come for me eventually. I passed the darkness in a sort of daze, too tired to keep my eyes open but too afraid to properly sleep. My clothes dried cold against my skin, causing me to shiver and huddle closer around myself in the corner. I didn’t have the energy to consider why he’d stopped just short of violating me; all I knew was I was safe for a few hours longer.

The morning light brought me out of my stupor, and I squinted into the light. Meyer stood at the window, looking every bit the romance hero as he stared into the rising sun in those low-slung flannel pants and no shirt. Every bit the hero, except he’d tried to rape me the night before. Except he’d kidnapped me. Except that he intended to control me for the rest of my life.

I tried to keep my breathing even, willing him not to notice me. As I watched, he picked up the knife he’d been using to cut the rope tying me to the bed. Absently, I noticed he’d never taken the time to do so the night before. Without turning his head, he lifted the knife to his opposite shoulder and drew it across his skin. I couldn’t help but gasp, though he didn’t look at me. The membrane split, the blood spilling down his arm turning black with the sun behind it.

“Despite everything you think of me, my father is not a person I wish to emulate.”

I shrunk back against the wall as I realized he was speaking to me. He pulled the blade against his skin again, opening a new cut just below the first.

“Nevertheless, certain things about me cannot be undone. Habits I can’t unlearn.” He cut himself one more time, then set the knife to the side. Blood dripped from the tips of his fingers. He dragged his fingers through the rivulets running down his arm before he flipped open the lid of a metal box I hadn’t noticed before. He removed a small towel and wiped up his arm, smearing the blood even worse, then pressed it over the cuts.

“I learned to live with who I am a long time ago. It would be best if you did the same.”

He finally turned his head, checking to see if the bleeding had stopped, before dabbing at the cuts with a cotton ball soaked in alcohol. I could smell it from across the room, a sharp reek that stung my nostrils. Meyer didn’t seem to notice. Finally, he taped a patch of gauze over the injured area. His movements had a feel of something well-rehearsed, a sacred ritual of self-injury and care. He pulled on a shirt and quickly covered that with a jacket to hide the red still seeping through the bandage and fabric. At last, he turned around and met my eyes from across the room. He looked as tired as I felt.

“I’m leaving. Someone will be in to feed you and set you up for the day. I’ll be back to get you for the event.” He offered no other details, and my throat was so scratchy I couldn’t ask any questions. I simply lay on the ground, trying to avoid doing or saying anything that could set him off.

I didn’t know why I believed him, but I knew he was truly gone. I let myself move to a horizontal position, relishing for once the carpet that cradled my body. Freed of my fear for a few short hours, I fell into true sleep.

I was roused some time later by a gentle touch and met a woman who introduced herself as Denise, a massage therapist. I couldn’t imagine why Meyer would waste his money on my relaxation.

“Lie down on the bed,” she said gently, helping me to my feet. Her dark eyes narrowed when she saw my face. I raised a hand self-consciously to my bruising.

“I’m not allowed on the bed,” I whispered. I was appalled at how quickly I had given up, but Meyer had scared me last night. His body pressed against mine, all granite and fire like he wanted to entomb and consume me at once. I was in no hurry to provoke him.

“Mr. Schaf let me know it was all right for today. Just get comfortable.”

She helped me remove my shirt and shorts, leaving the underwear, and gestured to the bed again. Still suspicious but too tired to argue, I fell onto the bed. I relaxed slowly as deft fingers caressed my body, loosening the sore muscles I had been clenching in fear and anger ever since I arrived. Denise placed warm stones along my spine, and I immediately felt the heat transfer through my nervous system to my numb fingers. She worked my shoulders one at a time, rotating the stressed tendons to remind them of their range of motion. My hands received extensive attention as well; I felt every knuckle crack as she pulled blood back into my fingers. I wondered how often I could submit to losing circulation before I suffered permanent damage.

The attention lulled me into consciousness again, and when I woke, the room was dark and the stones were gone, replaced by a blanket. I dimly noticed that I was still topless and wrapped my arms around me as I searched for light and clothes. A dress hung at the entrance to his closet, looking more expensive than my entire wardrobe. Deciding to deal with that headache later, I stepped into leggings and a long-sleeved shirt, wanting to cover myself as much as possible. When I poked my head into the hallway, I was met with the smell of bacon and maple syrup, and I had to stop myself from running down the stairs to the kitchen. Joshua served me without a word, and when I finished eating, I showed myself down to the basement. I didn’t want to be in the bedroom any longer than I needed to be. But as the day went on, I couldn’t postpone what he’d asked me to do.

The dress was something I never would have chosen for myself. Gold fabric glistened with sequins and crystals against my pale skin. I was grateful for the high neckline, but the back was cut out and tailored to highlight the curves of my hips. I wanted to tear it to shreds, but I wouldn’t risk Meyer following through on his threat. It wasn’t worth testing him anymore, not when I’d seen just how far he was willing to go, and all my far-flung hopes and desires of talking sense into him shattered on the ground. I found a full makeup kit in the bathroom, probably brought in while I was sleeping, and applied foundation to cover the yellow bruising that still marred my skin.

Hours later, when he came into the room already dressed for the evening to find me sitting on the bed, he didn’t even say anything. He simply held out a box containing my shoes for the evening, then offered me his hand. I ignored it as I preceded him out the door.

I shivered slightly in the cool night air as we waited for the car to come around, wishing the ridiculous outfit had included a shawl.

“You look lovely,” he said, surprising me.

I glared. “I don’t need your approval.” My mouth snapped shut because I knew I shouldn’t be pushing him.

He pursed his lips. “I wasn’t … I was just trying to give you a compliment.”

I crossed my arms, feeling like a petulant child but unable to stop myself. Somewhere over the course of the day, my fear had transformed into anger. “Well, don’t. It’s unsuited to your character.”

His jawline was working again. I could practically hear his teeth grinding to dust. “You know nothing about my character. Don’t assume otherwise.”

Don’t irritate him, or he’ll take you back inside. “Sorry.” I muttered the word beneath my breath.

He laughed. “I love this banter we have. We get along so well.”

I stared at him, agape, as he turned, and I saw the mocking smile hiding the left side of his face. Was he seriously joking with me right now? “This isn’t funny to me, Meyer.”

We could see the car pulling up the long drive to the house, lights slowly illuminating the pavement. I stiffened as I felt his fingers on my shoulders, then the weight and warmth of his jacket enveloped me. I hugged myself tighter, trying to touch as little of the fabric as possible. I pulled a muscle in my neck, turning to look at him. What the hell was he playing at?

“I shouldn’t have touched you like I did, when you didn’t want it.”

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