Page 54 of In Love with the Devil

“Why me?”

He chuckles. “You could be asking me a million other questions and that’s what you ask? The question that I’ve answered a million times already?”

My eyebrows and forehead scrunch in confusion.

“You're perfect for me–”

“Because? How? Because I’m so fucked up? Because I’m a cheap whore who comes when she's being raped? How did you even know that would happen when you first saw me? Where did you even first see me?"

“I knew you'd come every time I fucked you, because I know how to make a woman come. It’s not you, pretty bird, it’s me.” He pauses, his eyes studying every detail of my face. It takes everything in me not to whimper at the heat that spreads through me. Does he realize what he just did? He took away all the self blame and shame I’ve been feeling since he first touched me. I don’t know why, but my eyes fall to his white-painted lips. When they return to his eyes, his smile makes my cheeks burn.

As he wraps me in a towel and holds my arm so that I can step out of the tub, he explains, “I first saw you dancing at that club, then followed you home. I knew you'd been waiting for me all this time when you left every door and window unlocked for me. I knew you'd be perfect because I saw it in your eyes. I saw my pretty bird hiding from the world by allowing her friend to shine with perfect hair, make-up and clothes, while she always wore something sub-par in comparison. You were hiding behind her from other men. But when you’d get drunk, your true self snuck out, you’d dance like a fucking whore and flirt as if your life depended on it." He helps me sit on the marble bench next to the tub, then dries my legs and feet. "You were fearless and so hungry for me. That’s the side of you I fell in love with.”

“Love?” The question slips out of me. How could he call any of this love? The lack of self awareness to his psychotic cruelty givesme goosebumps and sends a chill through me. I shake my head while he nods and raises an eyebrow.

“We belong together, pretty bird. The sooner you accept that, the sooner we can start finding a happy medium, the less you’ll suffer. I knew you were mine when you masturbated the very next morning after I taught you how to and marked your whole body with my come. I mean... you screamed my name.” He raises his eyebrows, smiling while I tighten my hold on the toweland wince at the memory. It wasn’t my best moment.

Julian unclenches my fingers from the towel, uncovers me and slowly pulls on the tape to remove all the plastic protecting the incisions. The tape is brutal, pulling at my skin. I grimace, moan, and grip on to the edge of the marble. "What did you do to me?"

"Almost every night of my childhood was spent watching videos of my father's medical procedures. I was raised to be a doctor like him. It was expected. I went to medical school, completed my residency, but there was a malpractice lawsuit that lead to me losing my license." He shrugs. "You had tissue growing on the exterior of your uterus. It's known as endometriosis." We both say the last word together.

"Yeah. I removed it. Everything else should be…" he pauses and there's a peculiar look in his eyes. He wants me. "Everything else is intact."

"Y-you're a doctor?"

"Not for a few years now–"

"W-what's your last name?"

He sighs, frustrated by my curiosity. "Matheson." After pulling hard on the last bit of tape, he stands up and offers me his hand. I look at his black eyes, remembering Dr. Michaelson had the lightest, most beautiful eyes I'd ever seen. I'm exhausted and with the pain the tape caused me, my body is covered in sweat again.

He places me on the edge of the bed. "I'll be back"

“Julian?" He turns around, the door covering all of his body but not his face. "Are you going to kill me?”

“I hope I don’t have to, little bird.” The lock clicks, letting me know that even if I had the strength, I wouldn't be able to escape the bedroom.

For the time he's gone, I sit, gripping the towel to my chest, taking in the room and the glass wall behind me. I take a deep breath and look up at the ceiling, which is covered with a mirror. In fact, every wall in here has mirrors. I focus on holding on to the relief of no longer being in that hell hole down stairs. If I get better, and regain my strength, maybe I can find a way to escape.

The thought shatters when he returns with the collar and chain. The sadness drowns me. I know he can see it in my eyes, in my entire body that I don't want to wear that thing again, but he locks the chain to a thick iron hook on the wall behind the bed and lays the collar right beside me. My heart hammers a little too hard and fast. I swallow deep, wanting to protest, to say something but knowing it won't change anything.

Out of a drawer, in his dresser, he takes out a short, white nightgown, exactly like the first he gave me, and dresses me with it, as if I were some little girl. By the time the lock clicks closed on the collar around my neck my eyes are full of tears and my breathing is heavy. He studies my face while I try to keep my emotions hidden and fail miserably. A tear falls and without a word, he wipes it away with his thumb. The last thing I see before he covers my eyes with the blindfold is the tip of his tongue dragging in between his lips as if he's finding my pathetic, helpless state delicious. I might as well be downstairs. No. I can't let myself think like that. I decide to keep him talking. “What do I have to do for you not to take me back down stairs?”

“Just don’t try to escape. Okay, pretty bird?"he raises my legs to the bed and pushes my chest so that I lay down, then covers me with the sheets. "Now. Be a good girl and go to sleep. You need to rest."

His bed and pillows are like a cloud after sleeping down stairs for I don't know how long so it doesn't take long before I''m out cold.

Something caresses my arm. I moan, finding it hard to wake up from such a deep sleep. "Astoria? Are you awake?"

"Hmm?" I clear my throat. "Yes?"

"I brought you some food."

I turn to lie on my back then slowly sit up. Julian places the tray on top of my legs. The chicken soup smells amazing, especially after I don't know how may days of eating oatmeal.

He walks around to the nightstand at the other end of the bed and hits a button on a remote control. A TV slowly slides from the ceiling, a couple of yards away from the foot of the bed. “What episode do you want to watch?”

“Of?”

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