Page 28 of White Wings of Desire

He shows me around the house, which is bigger than it looks from the outside. On the ground floor is the kitchen, a rather small dining room that separates the kitchen from the living room, which appears to be the largest of the rooms. A handful of decorative items are scattered around the place, including some exotic plants and a surprisingly large number of taxidermied doves. The white birds are the brightest items in the place. Everything else is colored in the same dark palette.

Upstairs, he shows me his office, home gym, and a spare room. To finish the tour, he pushes open the door to his bedroom, the largest room on the entire floor. I step inside and stop at the foot of the bed, spinning around to look at everything. Like all the other rooms, the walls are painted gray, and every piece of furniture and decoration is dark, except for the birds again. His king-size bed is positioned in the center of the room, with the headboard backed against a windowless wall. Opposite the bed is a small sitting area with two armchairs and a small coffee table. A wall-mounted TV hangs over a small fireplace. To the right of the bed are two doors between a set of bookshelves. Both are wide open, revealing a walk-in closet and an en-suite bathroom.

My attention is drawn to the windows overlooking the backyard to my left. I approach the glass doors that open onto a small balcony. I turn the key and step outside, taking a quick look around the yard. Just like the front of the house, it is well maintained. A robotic mower cuts perfect lines across the lawn and the flower beds are blooming with a variety of beautiful white flowers. My eyes fall onto the aviary with white birds perched on branches both inside and outside. A few wiggle in and out of an opening on the side of the dovecotes.

"Noah," I call out to him and turn around to see him coming out of his walk-in closet with a couple of shopping bags in his hand, which he dumps on the bed before joining me on the small balcony.

"What?" he asks, and I point to the aviary. "Ah, these are my doves." A soft smile spreads across his face.

"You keep doves as pets?" He didn't strike me as someone who has pets. But then again, it's not much of a surprise. He has been known to send a white feather or a whole dead dove to his targets, and he has to get the animals from somewhere.

"Yes, but I'll show you the birds another time. They're a little upset right now."

The images of the bloody, lifeless bird on the porch flood back into my mind. "Because you killed one of them?"

"Yeah." His hand lands on my shoulder, gently pushing me back inside. He locks the door behind us and from the corner of my eye I see him snatch the key that was left in the door and put it in his pants pockets. That means no escaping through the balcony, not that I have any plans for escaping in the near future. "I bought you some things. This should be all you need for now. If you don't like it, or you need anything else, just say so," he says, and walks over to the bags on the bed.

I follow him and start looking through what he got me, which is mostly clothes. Every single piece in the bags is white, except for the underwear, for which he chose a mix of colors. I guess he had fun in that store. As I look through all the items, I notice that he got the sizing right for every single piece. Pants, shirts, dresses, even the bras are the perfect size. I sigh. Not only did he get the sizes right, but the clothes match the general look of everything I have in my closet at home. The only difference is that at home I have more colors.

"Thanks, it's perfect," I say and offer him a small smile.

He sits on the edge of the bed and watches me as I put all the pieces back into the bags. My nose tickles and my lips part in a sleepy little yawn. The last twenty-four hours have been a lot, and the little sleep I got last night was nowhere near enough. I look at the bed and then at him. "Where do I sleep?" I ask, even though the answer is pretty obvious.

"Here with me," he says, and runs his hand over the sheets. "This is our bedroom now." A smile spreads across his face.

I walk around the bed to the opposite side from where he sits, examining the mattress before I climb onto it. The soft surface gives in under my weight and adjusts perfectly to my body. Crawling under the blanket I grab one of his pillows, hugging it close to my chest. His sheets are soft and cool to the touch. The scent of his body odor, mixed with that of his cologne and cigarettes, lingers on the fabric. Allowing the scent to fill my lungs, I close my eyes and bury my face in the pillow.

"Do you want to take a nap?" he asks and runs his fingers through my hair’s loose strands. I only nod in response. "Okay," is all he says before I feel the mattress dip once more. The sound of his footsteps fills the quiet room, followed by the curtains being drawn. The last thing I hear is the bedroom door falling shut, leaving me all alone in the room.

I come back to my senses, and my brain stirs from its deep slumber. When I open my eyes, my gaze lands on one of the taxidermied doves sitting among the many books on one of the shelves in his bedroom. I sit up and rub the remnants of sleep from my eyes. The room is dark, the only source of light a sharp strip of warm, reddish sunlight that creeps through a small crack in the curtains. I check the alarm clock on the nightstand on the other side of the bed, which reads six p.m. I've been asleep for four hours.

I groan and run my fingers through my hair. My attention shifts to the door that leads to the hallway. It is quiet. The rational part of my brain tells me to take advantage of the silence and find a way to escape. But to be honest, I don't want to. Right now, I feel safe, and he has treated me quite well all day. I just have to ignore everything that has happened over the past few weeks.

I push the blanket off and climb out of bed, heading for the en-suite bathroom I saw earlier. Flipping the light switch, I squint as the warm light from the ceiling lamp illuminates the white-tiled room. This must be the only bright-colored room in the whole damn house.

My eyes adjust to the newfound brightness, and I look around the room. On the counter is a set of fresh towels with a collection of bottles. On closer inspection, I realize that these are the exact same products I have in my bathroom at home. A shower sounds like a wonderful idea, and I could really use one.

After stripping out of my clothes, I grab the products and jump into the shower, turning on the hot water and let the warm stream pour over me for a good minute, allowing my tight muscles to relax before I begin with my shower routine.

All fresh and clean, I stand in front of the mirror, a towel wrapped around my body, and I brush my teeth. He even got me the exact same toothbrush I use and the strawberry-flavored toothpaste I love. This man has really done his homework on me this time. My eyes wander across the countertop to the other side, where more products, I assume his, stand: an electric razor, aftershave, and the expensive cologne to go with it, face wash, his toothbrush and cinnamon toothpaste. But one thing in particular catches my eye: a large box of daily disposable contact lenses. Considering how good his aim is, the last thing I expected was for him to have bad eyesight. Of course, I don't know how bad his vision really is. I have no knowledge of prescriptions or what those numbers on the box really mean.

Back in the bedroom, I notice that the bags with my new clothes are gone. Assuming he has put them away, I head for the walk-in closet, only to pause the moment I enter the small room. My eyes widen at the variety of expensive-looking suits, sorted by color, hanging neatly in the closet, and a whole row of perfectly flat-ironed button-up shirts.

I spot my new clothes, organized on one of the shelves in the closet. My eyes dart from my clothes to his button-ups. Fuck it. I pick up one of the red lace panties he bought me, skip the bra, and pull one of his button-ups off a hanger. I slip into the clothes and roll up the far-too-long sleeves of the shirt. After a quick look in the mirror and seeing myself drowning in his too-big shirt, I leave the bedroom.

Looking up and down the dim hallway, my eyes land on the stairs. A subtle, warm light crawls up the steps, casting a soft glow on the dark interior. He must be downstairs. From the top of the stairs, I can see the light coming from the door leading to the kitchen. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee hangs in the air.

Downstairs, I step off the warm wooden floor onto the cold tiles of the kitchen. He is standing in the middle of the room at the island counter, a cup of coffee in his hand, looking down at a newspaper, flipping through the grayish pages.

At the soft pitter-patter of my bare feet on the tiles, his head snaps up to where I am, a sly grin spreads across his face, and his eyes roam over my body, hungrily eating up the sight of me.

"Look at you, so beautiful in my shirt," he says, pushing the newspaper aside and leaning against the counter. "Did you sleep well?"

My heart leaps in my chest, and a small smile plays on my lips. I walk up to him and reach for his cup, which he gives up without protest.

"Surprisingly, yes. Your bed is quite comfortable," I say and take a sip. Strong black coffee, no milk, no sugar. That's what I need right now.

"Like I said, it's our bed now," he notes and moves in front of me, pinning me against the counter, his hands landing on the countertop on either side of me. With him towering over me, I have to tilt my head back to be able to look at his face. He cups my cheek in one hand, gently running his thumb over my skin.

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