Page 41 of Blue Velvet

He sighs and rolls his eyes at me again, but he knows I’m right. Even he knows that he depends on my help and wouldn’t be the smartest idea to aggravate me any further. He crosses his arms in front of his chest and looks at me expectantly, arching his eyebrows in a way that’s freakishly similar to our father’s expression when he was annoyed with us. I haven’t seen his face in a very long time, but I will always remember this particular look.

“I don’t know why we are even discussing this,” I say. “Just pay the damn penalty and make sure your accountant doesn’t fuck up again.”

He lets out an exasperated sigh. “Have you seen how much money that is?”

I nod. “Yes. It’s quite a sum.”

“Quite a sum!” he repeats. “This totally destroys our plans.”

“Your plans?”

“Carol,” he says, now in a lower voice. His voice always loses vigor when he starts talking about his wife. “She had some things planned for the house. And we wanted to buy a vacation home...”

“That’ll have to wait,” I say, unimpressed.

He huffs. “Yeah, easy for you to say, Mr. I-own-half-of-New-England.”

Our eyes meet across the table, and it’s as if we’re reliving the ubiquitous rivalry of our entire upbringing in that moment. I don’t even blame him for any hostility he might feel towards me, because I wouldn’t want to be in his skin either. My parents never expected anything from me, I never felt the same kind of pressure that he was put under from the day of his birth. They paid little attention to me, leaving me with a kind of freedom that he never got to experience. The fact that I’ve also been seen as the “troubled kid” my entire life and only managed to gain their attention when I did something wrong, is an entirely different story. A story that doesn’t have a bearing on him, because it’s not his plight.

“Why does a single man even need so many houses?” he asks, narrowing his eyes. “I mean, I know you’re swimming in money, even compared to me or our parents, but-”

“It’s called making smart investments in real estate,” I lecture. “It’s a way of securing your wealth without getting in trouble with the government.”

He casts me a dark look. “Still. So many houses? And you live in half of them and aren’t even renting them out. What the fuck are you doing with them?”

“That’s none of your business,” I snarl. “You’d better focus on your own shit. Do what I told you, and if your accountant keeps messing things up for you, or you feel you can only save your ass by getting in trouble with the law again, don’t come crawling to me.”

I get up from my seat, a motion followed by a miffed expression on his face.

“Oh, and I’m always happy to help you find a better accountant - or give you some advice on legal ways to manage your money,” I say, before turning around and walking away from him.

I don’t have to look back to know that his angry stare is following me all the way out the door.

23

Ruby

A week and a half.More or less, I’ve spent the entire past ten days holed up in this basement, without internet, without TV, without any kind of entertainment or human contact except for him.

It’s no wonder that I yearn for him to come back every time he leaves the room. I hate being left alone in here because there’s absolutely nothing to keep my mind occupied. I try not to sleep too much during the day, but I find myself napping constantly, wrapped in fine silk bed sheets, yet sleeping on a mattress on the floor like a prisoner. I’m wearing my bracelet now, and he hasn’t asked me to take it off. I’ve noticed that he’s careful never to touch it or let it become tangled up in the rope or cuffs when he restrains me.

We’ve fucked every single day, often more than once, and as much as it takes a toll on my body, I can’t deny how much I crave it, how much I cravehim. He’s so good at playing me like an instrument, and he has trained me well within a short amount of time. I don’t know if I’m giving him what he wanted from this, but I sure as hell know how to please him through the most simple requests.

By now, he has come up with certain positions that he wants to find me in every time he walks into the room. I expected him to want me on my knees, because that’s what clients usually ask for, but he’s different. He wants me standing, preferably naked, with my arms at the side of my body, my head held high and my eyes focused on him. That’s another thing I noticed. He barely ever tells me to lower my eyes or forbids me from looking at him. I’ve had many men try to put me in my place by using such commands, but it seems he can never get enough of my eyes taking him in.

I’ve asked him for make-up more than once, because I feel lost and oddly exposed without it. I can’t remember the last time I went without wearing any make-up for longer than a week. It must’ve been when I was a child. Making up my face has always been an important part of my daily routine and something I loved doing, not just for myself, but for the men I entertained. I love the effect that a well-applied mascara can have on your eyes, and your expressions. Despite my red hair, my eyelashes have always been comparably dark, but not as thick and black as I would have liked. I feel like I’m looking at an entirely different person every time I see my reflection in the mirror, now that I’m here with him and bare of any added color on my face.

He says he doesn’t like make-up. He keeps saying the same things over and over again. He wants me bare, naked, exposed, and fresh-faced.

“It’s a privilege to see a woman in her natural state,” he once said. “Your eyes tell me so much more without that heavy frame around them.”

“But isn’t that what attracted you to me in the first place?” I asked. “The fact that I was so dolled-up. A perfect fuck doll, you called it.”

He nodded. “Yes, but only because I wanted to strip all of it away from you and reveal the person underneath.”

He’s an odd man, that’s for sure. But I’m still not convinced if he’s dangerous or not.

The black hearts on my bracelet tinkle against each other when I jump up from my mattress when I hear his steps approaching the door. Judging from the amount of light coming in from the outside, I’d guess that it’s late afternoon or early evening, about the regular time for him to show up to bring me something to eat for dinner. I’m pretty sure he’s using some kind of delivery service, because the dishes he serves are pretty exquisite, though not as fresh as a homemade meal would be.

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