Page 7 of Selfish Desires

Vincent should have been back by now. He instructed me to wait, but at this point, I didn’t want to listen.

I reached up, fingers trembling as I slowly slipped the blindfold from my eyes. The room was dim, the white bed sheets crumpled beneath me appearing gray in the soft moonlight streaming in through the massive wall of windows. It was quiet, too quiet.

My eyes adjusted to the darkness, scanning the empty room for any sign of Vincent. His clothes, a discarded suit, lay scattered on the floor, but there was no sign of him.

"What's going on?" I muttered to myself, confused and frustrated by this sudden new twist to his game. Where could he have gone?

I forced myself to sit up, wincing as my muscles protested at the sudden movement. I pulled the comforter tight around my body, feeling suddenly exposed and vulnerable in the cold room.

The apartment was eerily silent. No sounds of movement from the other room, no faint hum of the television playing in the background like it usually did when Vincent was around. Nothing.

Slowly, fear began to creep in with every passing second. But I refused to let it consume me. Vincent wouldn't just abandon me here... would he? No. That was fucking insane to even think. What the hell was wrong with me? Did this literal mind-fuck Vincent just put us through, twist my insides and trigger my brain to jump to such ridiculous conclusions?

Snap the fuck out of it, Wendy, and go find him before my heart bulldozed through my chest.

I mustered up enough courage and energy to get out of bed. My legs were shaky and weak, but I forced them to move one step after another until I made it to the doorway of our bedroom. The cold floor sent an excruciating chill down my legs, settling in my toes. I peered down the long, dark corridor connecting the bedroom to the rest of the penthouse, but still…

Nothing.

A fat, uncontrollable tear slipped down my face, and my index finger quickly caught it. And that was when it hit me. My face was covered in his cum. I half-limped to the bathroom as my muscles fought every movement. I turned on the sink, but not the lights, and cleaned myself in complete darkness. I knew what I would see if I turned on a single light. Finger marks, Vincent’s hand imprints, maybe even a few bruises. So he wanted to leave a personal stamp on my body but didn’t want to help me afterward? What the fuck was going on. My stomach flipped, but I fought the sudden wave of nausea.

At this point, my pulse raced, and the ringing in my ears grew louder as the silence and its walls closed in around me. Why wasn’t Vincent here? What was he doing? And whatever he was doing, he was going to fucking pay for sending me into such an unnecessary panic.

I was never the clingy type, but after the pleasure he just put me through, coupled with some pain, he deserved a severe third-degree from me. Splashing the coldest water across my face, wetting my hair in the process, I shut the water off, my chest heaving from the nerves wracking through my body.

Slowly, I patted my face dry with the plush towel and threw it aside with frustration. Suddenly, my throat felt so dry that I could hardly swallow. But rather than calming down, I let my anger guide me through the apartment.

"Vincent!" I called out, pushing open every door along the corridor as I went. Empty rooms stared back at me, echoing the hollow feeling growing in my chest.

I paused at our office room's entrance, my heart hammering against my ribcage. Could he be here? Maybe he received an urgent call and didn’t want to disturb me, so he left quietly. Grasping the handle firmly, I braced myself and pushed it open. But just like the other rooms before it, the office was also void of any life. The chair was empty, his laptop sat untouched on the mahogany desk. The usual mess he left behind every night—papers scattered everywhere and pens thrown haphazardly around his keyboard—was absent. A sense of dread washed over me.

This couldn’t be happening. This could not be fucking happening.

I could hardly breathe now. I stumbled into the living room, nearly tripping over a rug that lay haphazardly in the middle of the corridor.

"Vincent!" I screamed this time, letting my panic fill every corner of our once peaceful apartment.

I ran my fingers through my damp hair and forced myself to calm down. Think, Wendy, think! What would Vincent do? He wouldn't just leave without a trace... unless something or someone made him. But why? Why was he doing this to me? Especially after what we just did? My stomach flipped, and I slapped my hand over my mouth, swallowing the sour bile threatening to paint the wood floors.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Vincent’s office landline. I grabbed the phone, dialing Vincent’s number. There was a second delay before the line rang once.

Half a second later, the line went dead. Not even giving me the option to leave a voice message. I dialed again, and this time, a vague message told me this phone had been disconnected. Dropping the landline, I stumbled backward, fighting to catch my breath.

My mind was spinning with what felt like a trillion questions but no answers. Searing frustration bubbled inside me, threatening to overflow and drown me in its intensity. If Vincent had left, why hadn't he said anything? Why would he just disappear and leave everything behind?

I was furious and afraid, the two emotions knotted together in my stomach forming a volatile brew. The dimly lit rooms felt too large, too cold without his presence. My home suddenly felt like hell.

"Vincent!" I cried out one last time, my voice cracking. But the apartment did not respond. The cold silence was all the answer I got.

In a daze, with tears spilling down my numb face, I walked into our shared study room, a safe haven where we used to spend hours together, just talking and laughing. As I looked around the room that held so many precious memories of us, my heart clenched painfully in my chest.

His smell still lingered in the air—a mixture of citrusy cologne and coffee—a comforting scent that was uniquely Vincent. My eyes landed on his favorite black leather chair. The one he spent countless hours in while working. It sat empty now.

A wave of exhaustion washed over me as the harsh reality of his absence began to sink in deeper. My knees buckled beneath me, and before I knew it, I was sinking onto the cold floor of the study room. The chill seeped through my delicate, raw, naked form and bit into my skin, but I scarcely noticed.

I hugged my knees close to my chest as quiet sobs shook through me. Vincent was gone... Vanished without a trace or warning.

Where was I supposed to go? How could Vincent do this to me? There were so many questions racing through my mind, and I feared I’d lose my mind.

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