Page 8 of Lost Petal

Chapter 4

J

And now I wait.

I wait to see how long it takes her to obey. It’s not a question of if she will obey, just a matter of when. I can see it in the way her face derails when she’s faced with my demand, the first word I directed toward her since she woke up.

To her, it may seem like the very first word altogether.

She’s not shocked or appalled. There’s no fury written across her pretty expression, but there is an instant urge to comply. She wants something. She wants answers, a sense of clarity so she can begin to understand what’s happening to her.

And for that, she’s ready to do almost anything; she’s eager to please.

Almost, that is.

She squints at me, trying to figure out where the order came from, but I know she can’t see me. It’s no coincidence the light in this hallway is as bright as a spotlight, standing in stark contrast to the dim illumination inside her room. She can’t see more than my outline, framed by blazing light that is set high enough to blind her. She can’t see my face because I don’t want her to see it.

Not yet.

“Kneel,” I repeat my command. “Now.”

She flinches at my voice as if I’d hit her, taking a small step back and curling her little hands into fists. There’s no indignation in her face, no sign that tells me she’s disgusted at the idea of following an order without knowing who it’s coming from. I can tell that her battle is not that of an ordinary girl, a girl who has been taught all her life to stand up for herself, someone who has been told to be strong and make her own decisions.

She’s not that kind of girl, and she never was.

But that can change.

With my guidance, she’ll grow like she never has before.

Another moment passes, filled with an audible inhale from her when she finally decides do as she’s told. She moves carefully as she bends her knees and slowly finds her way to the floor. I never told her to do anything other than to go down on her knees, so it must be a wonderfully natural instinct that makes her place her hands on her thighs with her palms up, as if she were trying to properly present herself in front of me.

She looks up, seeking eyes she cannot find as she silently begs for my approval.

What a fucking good girl she is.

But I’m not going to tell her that just now.

Instead, I hiss another demand at her, “Stay,” before I close the hatch and take a step back to unlock the door.

I make sure to be prepared, despite her apparent obedience. She could still jump up on her feet and try to fight me as soon as I step through the door, throw her little fists at me, or scream her head off while she digs her nails into my skin. Even a split second could be enough to let her turn into a furious animal, unleashing her wild fear upon me.

But nothing of the sort happens.

She’s still kneeling at the exact same spot, a little more than five feet away from the door, her hands still resting on her upper thighs in an almost ceremonial gesture. Close to perfection.

The only thing that doesn’t align with my wishes is her face. Her gaze is not lowered, not resting in her lap as she awaits her orders, but latched onto me, hope and fear flickering alike in her wide eyes as she stares up at me.

She’s not saying a word and just watches as I close the door behind myself, taking small and controlled steps as I approach her. Her upper body sways away from me, but her eyes remain locked onto mine, never yielding. Her lower lip drops when I come to a halt right in front of her, making it appear as if she were gawking at something astonishing.

I like that look on her. A lot.

No words escape her, no further questions, no begging. She’s stunned, just busy staring up at me while her lips start to quiver.

I’m not surprised to find her dumbfounded like this. She’s always been a shy one, and her current state probably makes it hard to verbalize her mushy thoughts. She hasn’t been up for long, and it’s apparent from her empty gaze that her mind is still fogged and too cloudy for any kind of coherence.

“You have nothing to worry about,” I tell her, starting our conversation with a lie.

A line appears between her eyebrows, but she remains quiet as a mouse.

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