Page 59 of Truth

“Welcome back.”

His voice was calm, but I could see the worry in his eyes. I knew something must have happened to put it there.

“Hi.”

“How are you feeling?”

I thought about it for a few moments. “A little tired, and...” Glancing down at my hand, I realized it didn’t feel quite right. “My hand... aches?”

He nodded.

“You were gripping your pen rather hard, and you’ve had your hand in a fist for the last forty-five minutes. I’m not surprised it’s bothering you.”

Stephan took my hand in both of his and massaged each finger until the ache began to subside. I relaxed into him, enjoying the sensation as the blood flow returned to my hand.

He kissed my palm before releasing it. “Better?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Do you remember what happened?”

Thinking back, I told him what I could remember. “We were sitting on the floor. I was writing in my journal. And...”

“And?”

My memory returned. “I could hear the voices again.”

“Brianna, look at me.”

It took effort, but I pulled myself out of my thoughts to do as he told me.

“You are here with me, remember? Those voices? Those men? They’re not here.”

I nodded.

He sighed.

“Maybe we should get some rest and talk about this more tomorrow.”

“No!”

I don’t know why, but the thought of stopping whatever this was now frightened me. It was only after my initial reaction registered, however, that I realized I was not only holding Stephan’s shirt in a death grip but that he was looking down at me, eyes wide, as if I’d grown two heads.

Thinking back on what I’d said, I started to feel the weight of what I’d just done. Not only had I said no, I’d also yelled at him. I’d yelled at Stephan.

Bowing my head, I placed my hands in my lap and waited.

Nothing happened for a very long time, and I began to get anxious. I’d never said no to him before, and I had no idea how he’d react. Stephan was completely different from Ian.

“Stand up.” He didn’t sound angry, but his voice wasn’t soft and comforting as it had been earlier.

I scrambled to comply.

“Come with me.”

Following as ordered, I trailed behind him into his bedroom. We didn’t stop there, however. He kept walking until we were both standing in the large walk-in closet. I’d been in there a few times since I’d begun sleeping in his room, even though my clothes were still in my bedroom. It was about half the size of his bedroom, and one side was full of suits, ties, and shoes. He bypassed everything, though, and went straight to the full-length mirror on the back wall. Not sure what he wanted me to do, I remained a couple of feet behind him.

He turned, a determined look on his face. “Stand here in front of me, facing the mirror.” He pointed to a spot on the carpet.

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