Page 33 of Lost Petal

Chapter 19

J

A taste of rebellion scurries across her pretty face in response to my words. It doesn’t surprise me. I knew she would rediscover that trait of defiance once she recovered from a climax that robbed more of my own sanity than hers. She has never been a weak person, even if others may have seen her that way.

I never did. I always saw what she was capable of, and I knew she would test me like no other.

“Thank you for what?” she asks, casting a cute little frown at me. “We had a deal. I kept my end, you kept yours. Kind of.”

“Kind of?” I let out a dark laugh that causes her to tense up in defense. “I told you I would let you out of that basement, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but—”

“No but,” I cut her off. “I did exactly what I promised. As did you.”

Even in the dim light, I can see her blushing as I step closer, stroking along the side of her face, relishing the heat that’s still radiating from her even now. It’s nothing compared to the fire that was burning inside her when she lay before me, squirming with need in spite of herself. The rapture that took over her entire body was more than even I could have ever imagined. I’m less surprised than her to see that she’s this responsive to my ways, but the extent of it still astonishes me.

“You have no idea how beautiful you were,” I say in a low voice, reveling in the way her eyelashes flutter nervously as I speak.

“Please,” she breathes, unable to reciprocate my gaze. “Please tell me what this is about.”

The tremor in her voice is a harbinger of the tears that are to come. But as much as I enjoy seeing her cry, it’s not what I aim for at this very moment.

“This is all about you, Petal,” I say, reaching up to caress her pretty cheek again. But she jerks away, evading my touch while casting me a furious look.

“All about me?” she snarls, adding a cynical laugh that she will regret later. “You won’t even tell me who I am! You... kidnapped me, drugged me, locked me away and there’s... there’s something wrong with my head!”

She’s shrieking now, making room for all that enraged fear and frustration that’s been piling up while she carved out her miserable existence downstairs. She points at her temple, twirling her finger in hectic circles in a universal sign for madness.

“You... something happened to me,” she stutters, her voice trembling as much as her lips while her eyes begin to water. “I got erased. All of me. There’s nothing left of me. I have nothing! And—”

“Yes, you do,” I interrupt her, speaking calmly but loud enough to make her stop. “You have me.”

Her eyes widen and she looks at me as if she can’t believe I just said that.

“You,” she breathes. “I don’t know who you are either.”

She stops, a crooked smile gracing her face as she shakes her head. “All I know is that you’re a monster.”

I laugh darkly. Maybe she’s right. I am a monster. A monster she called for.

Our eyes lock onto each other, hers narrow and flickering with dismay, while I’m sure she can read nothing in mine as I try to hide my inner turmoil before her.

It still gets to me. Having her here, in my house, seeing her look at me like this, with such undivided attention. It’s something I’ve been craving for years. She has never truly been mine, she never could. There were always others keeping us apart, keeping her safe from me. And maybe it was for the better. Maybe all the things that happened had to happen before she could become mine.

She still has those same vibrant eyes she had back then. There was always so much life behind them, so much strength and a fierce attitude that was just waiting to be freed. Her relationship with other people has always been complicated. If it weren’t for Malia, I’m not sure there’s ever been a person she could call a friend. She was lonely, an outcast in her own way, while still being a member of the small community she grew up in. The pain she endured during all those years has left its mark on her, casting that characteristic sorrow over her features. It was part of her beauty, that sadness, but it stabbed me right in the chest every time I saw it.

Not that any of that matters now. She doesn’t remember any of the ghosts that have been haunting her for her entire life. She doesn’t remember them, and she doesn’t remember the only two people who were willing to help her put an end to it: her only friend, Malia, and me.

I can’t expect her gratitude. Not now. Maybe not ever.

But I can expect her obedience. She has been molded to comply her entire life. But her submission has been to the wrong man, the wrong will, the wrong path.

This journey is less natural than the one she was forced to follow before, but it’s the salvation she seeks and deserves. And it’s my job to guide her through it.

“It doesn’t matter what you think of me, Petal,” I say, crossing my arms in front of my chest. “Hate me if you want to. The only thing that matters to me is that you remember my rules—and comply with them.”

“Why?” she probes. “Because you’ll send me back to the basement if I don’t?”

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