Page 50 of Lost Petal

“Please, let me come,” I beg, my eyelashes fluttering as I fight not to close my eyes in shame. I know he wouldn’t allow it, and it would only make matters worse.

“Good girl,” he says.

I sigh with relief, tensing in anticipation as I prepare myself for the peak I’m sure I’ve earned right now.

But while he offered me that promising praise, it appears he has no intentions of giving me the fulfillment I begged for.

He refrains from touching me as he sits down on the edge of the bed, next to my waist, his eyes resting on the clamps that are tightened around my hard nipples.

“I know you have a lot of questions, Petal,” he says, his voice surprisingly somber. “And there will be a day when you’ll get your answers, when it will all make sense to you.”

I shiver with anticipation and need when the tips of his fingers journey along the left side of my waist, causing a slight tickle and reminding me how much I crave to be touched by him. But more than his touch, it’s his words that make me tense up in expectation, the prospect of a conversation I’ve longed for ever since I woke up making my heart race.

“But today is not that day,” he continues, nipping my hopes in the bud. “Today, I’m going to be the one to ask questions, and you’ll answer them truthfully.”

He pauses, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth when he adds, “If you want to be allowed to come, that is.”

“That’s not fair.”

He chuckles. “True. Life’s not fair.”

“I have nothing to tell you,” I hiss. “You know more about me than I do. I don’t even remember my name.”

“Your name is Petal.”

“That’s not—”

“Yes, it is,” he cuts me off, raising his voice so much that it makes me flinch. “You asked me to release you, and I’m promising to give you that. All you have to do is answer me a few questions. I know you’re a smart girl. You’ve always—”

He bites his lips, while my eyebrows arch with interest. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him do this, stopping himself from speaking because he’s afraid of revealing too much. He always seemed so in control, so in power over everything, impossible to read and impossible to be subdued in any sense.

This is the first time he’s shown weakness. And it’s the first time he’s telling me something about himself, about us.

He knows me.

Just like the black-haired girl, he knows the person I used to be before waking up in here. He played a part in my life, but I’m sure it was a pretty different role than the girl played. It’s hard to imagine that he was a friend, or even a lover—or anybody who was well-disposed toward me. No, as much pleasure as his skilled touch manages to bestow on me, there’s something dark and alarming about him. He says he doesn’t want to hurt me, yet he keeps me as his prisoner, refuses to answer my questions, and continues to play these unnerving games with me.

How could he possibly be someone who wants me well? It must be the exact opposite.

A suspicion starts to dawn in me, and the clearer the realization becomes, the more it’s readable on my face.

He looks at me, a deep crease appearing between his eyebrows. “Something happened, right, Petal?”

His question startles me, and at first, I know of nothing to respond with but a questioning look.

“You saw something while I was gone, didn’t you?” he continues, his inquiring gaze piercing me down.

My eyes trail over to the white rose across the room, my only confidant in this tale, the first and only to guide me toward some sort of answer, a hazy memory, a start.

“You know me,” I whisper. “You’ve known me before all of this. Just like her. You know me. But you’re not my friend.”

His expression hardens, but he neither confirms nor objects to my statement.

“And you’re right, I saw something. A memory,” I go on, both my hands curling into fists as I summon the strength to share with him. “I saw a man, a tall and strong man. A bad man. He was keeping me away from something, or someone, denying me something I craved so badly it hurt. I was drawn to it, trying to grasp that promise for happiness, but he kept it from me. He forbade me to have it.”

I was hoping to see recognition on his face, an indication of me being on the right path. But his expression remains unreadable. He presses his lips together, still displaying a faint crease between his brows while his eyes are locked on mine, listening intently without anything to say in response.

“You are that man, aren’t you?” I finally dare to say, my pulse hastening as I await his reaction. “You’re the man who’s been denying me happiness. You do it now, still.”

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he lowers his gaze. A hint of triumph kisses me, lifting my spirit like nothing ever has since I’ve regained consciousness in this strange dream. I feel like I have won, like I uncovered a truth that he wished to be hidden for longer, now seeing himself forced to give up a facade I could never believe in anyway.

But when he raises his head, looking back at me through those ominous eyes, I instantly realize there’s no such thing as victory for me. And that understanding is reinforced when he voices his defeating reply.

“Oh Petal, you couldn’t be more wrong.”

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