Page 31 of Lost Petal

Chapter 18

Petal

The fabric is thick and heavy, a black piece of velvet cloth that covers not only my eyes but my ears as well, at least in part. I can’t see a thing and my hearing is muffled, but not enough to drown out his heavy voice.

“If you try to rip it off, we’re going straight back and I’ll let you rot in this cell for a week,” he threatens. “Understand?”

I nod, remembering just in time to add, “Yes, master.”

He barely gave me time to recover. My heart is still beating at full speed, my cheeks are still flushed and the alluring heat of excitement is still radiating from my body, the fabric of the white gown feeling cool against my hot skin. He told me to get dressed right away, not saying a word as he watched me pull the gown over my head, and therefore increasing my embarrassment.

I haven’t looked him in the eyes ever since that unexpected elation, hoping that he won’t bark that dreaded command at me. The blindfold almost comes as a relief to me, because it shields me from a gaze I couldn’t stand right now. It protects me, giving me a feeling of security, as false as it may be.

“Put your hands together in front of you.”

My hands are trembling when I place them as he asked me to, my wrists locked next to each other as if connected by a magnet. I suck in a sharp inhale when I feel him wrapping something around both my wrists, tying them together in a tight knot with a piece of rope. The tie is so tight that the abrasive rope burns into my skin, leaving uncomfortable bites when he pulls at it to test his work.

“Try to get free.”

I’m not sure what to make of that demand at first, hesitating as I sense a test, something to trick me into disobedience just to find a reason to punish me. When he repeats his order, his voice now louder and laced with an exasperated undertone, I start twisting and pulling at the ties, trying to break my hands free to no avail.

“Good.”

I bite my lower lip, suddenly overcome with fear when he yanks at the rope again, beckoning me to follow him as he walks toward the door. I was so set on getting out of this terribly bleak cell that I never wasted a thought on what could await me outside.

Freedom? No. I know he won’t let me go just like that.

He can’t. He wouldn’t.

There’s something behind all of this, something deeper and more profound than me just being locked away in a dark cellar. He’s not done with me. But whatever he has planned can’t possibly be worse than being locked up down here.

Can it?

As I hear the door opening, I’m suddenly overcome with doubt and terror. What if he were merely protecting me from something? What if whatever is waiting for me out there is far worse than this?

It’s too late now. He yanks at the rope, causing it to cut into my wrists with painful ferocity when I hesitate to follow him through the door.

“Trust me.” He says those words with such nonchalance, as if it should be the most natural thing.

Trust him.

How can I after all he’s done to me?

The door snaps shut so loudly that I jerk up in shock. My heart continues its nervous hammering as we walk farther, slowly moving away from the cell I despise so much but that I’m now afraid to leave. He’s staying close to me, very close, and I can feel his eyes on me even with the blindfold shielding me from reciprocating the look.

We reach a set of stairs, slowing our pace even more when we start to make our way up. It’s a narrow staircase, not leaving enough room for him to walk next to me, even though I can tell he’d prefer that. There’s another door at the top, another lock to make sure I couldn’t go anywhere even if I had managed to sneak past him through the door downstairs.

The heavy blindfold is fastened around my head so tightly that I can’t tell whether it’s light or dark wherever we are right now, but my ears aren’t blocked quite as much. I can hear a rushing sound in the far distance, so faint that I’m not even sure it’s there at first. When I turn my head, following the indistinct noise, he yanks at the rope again, moving a lot faster than before as he pulls me.

As we continue walking, I realize there’s one thing I know for sure: we’re walking on tile now. Warm tile, revealing the existence of floor heating. It feels so different against my bare feet, so much more comfortable than the cold and rough concrete from downstairs. The air around me feels different, too. It’s airy and fresh, and with a hint of something I can’t quite place. It’s not an actual smell, more of a... taste.

Salt, maybe?

He drags me along, walking in even quicker and wider steps as if he were afraid of something, or as if we were being followed. We reach another set of stairs, my bare feet meeting yet another new surface. Wood, I believe. Sturdy wood steps that creak as we walk upstairs. He’s walking next to me now, holding the end of the rope in one hand while placing the other at my back, adding a gentle push to his guidance.

“No lingering,” he warns when I hesitate as we reach the top of the stairs, trying to find my bearings.

“I’m just—”

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