Page 35 of Lost Petal

Chapter 20

Petal

“That you are mine. Mine to train, mine to play with, mine to please my every desire. And you fucking love it.”

That’s what he said. And he said it with a confidence that is nothing but appalling.

I just stood there staring at him in disbelief while he took the chance to steal another kiss from me. I didn’t fight him on it, but I didn’t reciprocate the kiss either. I just let it happen.

I just let it happen.

Apparently that has become my MO in almost everything he does to me. I obey, I follow, I do as I’m told.

And he just assumes I love it. That I love being his little pet, his toy to play with whenever he wants.

He said that. And then he left the room. Not another word, not another command, not another touch. He just left me in a bewildered stupor, trying to figure out how I feel about the things he said.

I remained frozen on the spot for a few moments, as if I were expecting him to return to me right away. But he’s never done that. Once he’s out the door, it always takes a painfully long time until I see him again.

Painfully long?

What am I saying? Has it really gotten that bad? Do I prefer the presence of a monster to the solitude that’s been forced upon me? At least no one is hurting me when I’m by myself.

Or touching me. Or playing with my head. The latter I can do by myself. Every living thing goes nuts eventually if you lock them up in a confined space with nothing to occupy themselves with.

Time is still a mystery to me. The windows in this room have been boarded up so thoroughly that it’s impossible to tell whether it’s light or dark outside. Or so I believe. They were the first thing I checked after he’d left the room and I found myself able to wake from my paralyzed state. I scurried over to the windows, taking my time to examine the frames in search of a gap or any kind of fault that would allow me to draw conclusions. Anything at all. Even information as mundane as the time of day would get me somewhere. I think. It would be something to hold on to, a first step to get me closer to sanity and some control over my existence.

I didn’t find anything that would help me get there, but I set out to keep an eye on the windows to see whether there’s even the slightest hint of change over time.

I wander around the room, seemingly aimlessly. The white rose is a recurring visitor in my sight. I walk up to it, tenderly grazing the white petals with the tip of my finger as if I was caressing her.

“What do you know?” I whisper, tilting my head in question. “I wish you could tell me what you’ve seen, what you know about him.”

Just like everyone else in this house, the rose remains silent, its blossom bobbing faintly when I let go of it.

I continue my room tour over to the bed, testing it to find out the mattress is so soft it almost scares me. It’s too good, too comfortable. I don’t want to live in a fool’s paradise, but this is exactly what it feels like. Everything in this room is lush. The bed is soft and inviting, the linen smelling of fresh flowers. Too good, too nice. So staggeringly different to the only other world I know, the concrete cell downstairs.

I don’t have to try the door he walked out of to know it’s going to be locked, but I’m curious to check the other two. However, just as I walk over to the one right next to the bed, I’m stopped by the sound of the lock. I spin on my heels, facing the door that’s about to be opened and sink down on my knees. It’s much easier to comply with his demands when my knees are met with soft carpet instead of that atrocious concrete floor. The light-colored carpet is so welcoming and tender that it’s almost pleasant to kneel on it in submission.

My hands are placed on my thighs and my head lowered, but as soon as the intruder darts through the room I know it’s not him I’m greeting.

It’s the girl.

Her steps are much smaller and quicker than his, and she doesn’t carry the same presence my ominous captor brings every time he steps into the room. My suspicion is confirmed when I dare to peer up, careful, just in case I might be mistaken.

Black curly hair, black dress, black shoes, and olive skin. She stands out against the room like a dot of ink on paper. And once again, she’s bringing a tray with her, hurrying toward the table more than ten feet away from me.

“Hey!” I bring forth, straightening my back as I raise my gaze up to her, but not getting up on my feet.

She stops mid-motion, her fingers tightening around the edges of the tray while she stands still with her back turned to me. It’s just a second, an eerie moment during which she acknowledges my existence.

My lips are moving, trying to find the right words to send to her now that I seem to have her attention. But I’m not fast enough. Before I can find the right words to keep the ball rolling, she’s on the move again, leaving the tray on the table before she turns around—making sure she’s not facing me at any moment—and heads back to the door.

“That soup!” I yell helplessly, my entire body jerking up. “Or stew or whatever it was. It... it was very delicious.”

The girl freezes, her shoulders tensing as her hands curl up into fists while she stands in the middle of the room, far enough to be out of my reach but not too far for me to see every single twitch in reaction to my words. My heart almost stops when she slowly turns her face to look at me, wearing that same sorrowed expression that I saw before, laced with a good chunk of fear. I just can’t tell whether she’s actually afraid of me or... him.

Our eyes lock onto each other, and I think it’s the first time we’ve ever exchanged a look for this long. Hers are round and big, a black abyss, framed with thick lashes and a juvenile flavor to her very grown-up and beautiful expression.

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