Page 51 of Captive Souls

Another day closer to the end of … whatever this was.

And I wasn’t looking forward to it. Not just because the end of this was likely the beginning of a long and very unhappy marriage—I was yet to find a solution to that particular scenario.

There was only so long, though, that this could last. That Stone would accept that I was still here, being broken.

And I wasn’t.

Being broken.

Knox trying to chip away at me was a palpable, unescapable thing, something impossible not to feel in the beginning.

Which was why I felt the absence of it. He was no longer trying to break me. At least not in the way he was supposed to. Nonetheless, I felt pieces of myself falling away into the dirt as I worked in a garden in Appalachia with Knox chain-smoking a few feet away.

I dried my hair and dressed as I did every afternoon. I heard Knox in the kitchen, making dinner as he always did. No meat. Various types of dishes, flavor profiles. Granted, he was working on somewhat of a limited palate, but everything he served me was delicious. Mushroom risotto, chickpea stew, rich bean salads. Frittatas. He was making an effort not to just feed me but to … nourish me too.

The weight I had rapidly lost was coming back on, my skin was tanning quickly in the sun.

My hair was somehow shinier than it had ever been with all sorts of expensive products, yet all I was using was some off-brand shampoo.

In short, I felt like I was almost … glowing?

In the shadow of the darkest person I’d ever been in the presence of.

How did that make sense?

Knox

She was blooming. There was no other word for it.

When I’d first laid eyes on her, there was no denying she was gorgeous. But I hadn’t noticed the shroud around her. The shadow. She coated herself in color and prints to hide it. She was still the most beautiful person I’d ever met, yet she was waning away.

Under the oppressive fear of Stone’s attention.

I’d kill him for that.

For making her wane.

But doing that gave me the opportunity to watch her bloom. And I didn’t deserve it. In my presence, she should’ve been further withering away. I didn’t foster life.

Yet I couldn’t deny it was happening. I couldn’t take my fucking eyes off her as she worked in her garden, creating life. Her limbs were strong, all of her movements sure. Even with dirt caking her forehead from where she’d rubbed sweat, I had visions of stripping her down right in that garden, in the soil, exploring every inch of her, tasting her perspiration.

It was creepy, watching her the way I was. I knew that. She went to great pains to avoid my eyes. I made her uneasy, but I didn’t unnerve her in the way I should’ve. I knew that because I saw how she eyed me when she thought I wasn’t looking.

With hunger.

At first, I thought it must’ve been some kind of mountain mirage. That I was finally losing touch with reality, going insane.

It was only a matter of time. For decades, I had ripped apart people, ended lives on a daily basis. That had to rot the mind in some way.

But it wasn’t in my head.

Not after the second glance. Or the third.

She wanted me. Unthinkable.

She must’ve lost her mind. I tried to convince myself of that, yet I knew she hadn’t either.

Something about me wasalluringto her.

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