Page 18 of Grotesque Love

Carver shrugs casually before offering me the glass of juice. “It will help you recover faster, I promise, my Rapunzel.”

My hand shakes as I try to keep the apple juice from spilling.

“Take them,” he urges softly and we stare at the two pills in the palm of his hand. One is small and white, my usual and the other is oblong and pale blue. “They’ll make you feelmuchbetter.”

I clamp my lips shut, hesitating, my instincts screaming at me to resist. There’s…something in Carver’s demeanour that makes my skin crawl. But I can’t deny the doubt that lingers in the back of my mind; what if he’s telling the truth? What if this is the medicine I need? I can barely recognise myself, there are huge blanks in my memory…what if this will fix me?

Reluctantly, I reach out and take the pills into my fingers. Carver watches me intently, his eyes glinting with an unsettling mix of anticipation and satisfaction.

I gaze at my juice, searching for any sign of deceit or danger. But all I see is transparency – a clarity that both reassures and unsettles me.

Swallowing the pills, I gag. The taste is bitter; more bitter thanany medicine I’ve ever taken before. The aftertaste coats my tongue and so I gulp down half of the apple juice.

Leaning forward, Carver grabs my chin, pulling open my mouth. Sliding two large fingers into my mouth, he makes sure I’ve swallowed the medication.

“Good girl.” Carver exhales shakily as he pushes deeper into me. I fight a gag, his fingers thick and heavy on my tongue as spit starts to trickle out of the corners of my mouth. I try to swallow around him, but that only makes my eyes water. A wave of dizziness washes over me and I grip the edge of the chaise lounge for support.

Carver’s grin widens, and his expression morphs into one of satisfaction.

“You’re doing so well, darling,” he purrs, each word dripping with something I can’t describe. I shake my head. I’m feeling so tired and heavy.

He jostles my arm as he finally withdraws and the glass slips from my grip, spilling the last of my juice down the front of my nightgown.

Carver clicks his tongue in disapproval as he shakes his head.

“Oh, Ari, what a mess you’ve made,” he sighs. I want to argue that it washimwho knockedme,but I can’t seem to find my words.

I try to stand, only to find my legs betraying me as the room spins. My limbs feel as though they are encased in concrete, immovable and useless.

“I…I…don’t feel right,” I murmur, reaching for him, but the movement causes me to tumble forward.

Carver’s there to catch me before I fall, bundling me into his arms.

“Oh my sweet little Rapunzel,” he strokes my hair before placing a kiss on my forehead. “I told you it was too soon. You’ve over exerted yourself.”

“No,” I deny as Carver lifts me into his arms.

“Let’s get you back to bed. We’ll have to take your rehabilitation even slower than I anticipated, my dear.”

I can’t even protest as my vision tunnels, black shadows closing in around the edges. The world swirls into a dark abyss of silence and once again, there’s only nothingness.

M

The master of the house seems to think thatourlittle plaything ishis. He’ll kill her if he keeps pushing her, forcing her beyond her breaking point. But then again, he wants her broken, shattered into fragile little pieces he can add to his collection.

Seeing how he treats her makes me snarl, my fangs bared and my claws cutting into my plinth like a feral animal. He always has liked ruining his toys, pulling them apart piece by piece before losing interest. When he was a child, I watched him, recognizing the danger that lurked behind his dark eyes.

Sax always hopes that one of them will be different, but they never are. The entire bloodline is tainted.

The Clifton family has always been power hungry and depraved. Each generation raised children more entitled, more cruel, and more vile than the last. They hide in plain sight, pretending to be benevolent Lords and Ladies, serving their country, the people beneath them, but it is all a facade.

These walls have seen bloodshed and pain. The tears of the desperate and the hopeless. Trapped screams of those who never stepped foot off the property again. There’s darkness here, and this godforsaken family feeds it like a household pet.

She’s different from the others because his obsession runsdeeper, all the way to his core. His rotten, black core. We watch, catching glimpses through the windows, powerless as he carries her back to her room. Lecherous hands glued to her skin as he greedily takes what he can get while she’s no longer present, only an empty shell.

But this is the only way he can have her, claim her, bind her to him. Arianwen is a fighter, beneath the haze of whatever he feeds her, she’s a warrior. I can sense it.

He won’t be able to imprison her inside her own mind forever, and we’ll be ready for it.

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