Page 72 of Brutal Knight

It felt hopeful.

I immediately crushed the sensation, unwilling to allow something so deadly to enter my heart.

There was no hope for me, only after pain and death would I feel some kind of redemption.

I closed the curtains, the edge of my teeth grazing over the freckle on my upper lip, trying to decide what to do next.

I should leave this place. Knight was here. He’d taken care of me, so gently and carefully, as my world fell apart. Held me when I vomited, shook and sweated, cried and screamed. Then, when I’d had enough, when I could barely move and begged him tojust fucking kill me already, he’d called in someone to take away my pain.

And now, I felt fine. Peaceful.Safe.

Sure, the temptation of heroin was at the back of my mind, it always would be, but any remaining drugs had been flushed from my system.

All because of Knight.

It was pulling me under like a new kind of drug. Thiscareandloveandattention, sucking me back into the past where I oncetrustedandlovedandbelieved.

I glanced over the room, noting the closet door where surely I'd find clothes purchased specifically for me. Knight was nothing if not efficient and generous…with his money, at least.

Making a decision, I went to the closet, pulling off the oversized shirt and sweats, replacing it with a clean crop top and leggings and socks. I took the tennis shoes in my perfect size, waiting to put them on until after I was outside. Then I grabbed one of the extra blankets, a soft, purple cashmere and placed it over Phee, making sure to tuck it into the sides so it wouldn't fall off.

I stepped back, noting the awkward angle her head was at, the tight bun that had fallen loose, the drool trickling at the edges of her mouth.

I gently, painstakingly slow so she wouldn't wake, pulled the tie from her hair, then pushed a small pillow under her head. At this, she murmured, then turned to curl into the side of the large, overstuffed chair.

As soon as I was certain she would be fine, I grabbed my keys and phone, then stepped silently down the hallway, curiously poking my nose in the doors of every room in this hallway.

Most of them were bedrooms, except for one door which was locked.

I stopped short outside a doorway that was slightly ajar, hearing the sound of water hitting tile.

My heart picked up, pitter-pattering like a kitten finding some catnip; it must be Knight's room.

The water turned off and, after a moment, he entered the room, rummaging through his drawers. Then the sound of a body hitting the mattress.

I didn't move, torn between my desire to leave, the ever present rage inside me to kill him, or the need to touch him. My attraction to Knight was an addiction on a whole other level. I couldn’t force my legs to move, to leave this house, and yet, I couldn’t outright face him either.

And so, I peeked in, taking in the beautiful room. Dark grey and black hues filled the space: the carpet and curtains and painted walls, and the cashmere blankets on the bed. Another photo of a girl overlooked his brown, leather headboard. Her long, white dress blowing in the wind. A hand to her face, hiding her expression. White and brown speckled sand with a raging sea in the background.

Just enough light filled the room to reveal his sleeping form.

I watched his dark eyelashes flutter, hiding the secrets contained in creek-brown eyes. The sun lit up the copper in his hair like a crown of fire and bathed his face, stunning enough that Michelangelo himself could've carved it.

He wasn’t wearing a shirt, revealing the corded muscles of his shoulders and arms, one of them slung across his pillow.

I stared for a long time, forcing down the punishing pull to go to him, but stayed, frozen in time and place, fighting my mind over my will.

Then, just as I'd convinced myself that he wasn't trustworthy, that he would never open his heart to me, not really, and that all this was just a childish dream, drug up from the annals of my personal history, he spoke.

“Tatiana. Come here."

I froze, my body halfway twisted to walk away from this temptation, wrapped in sin and lust.

I slanted my eyes back towards him, unsure if I'd heard him right. He still appeared asleep.

"Tati," his voice now was soft and weary. “Please.”

Please. A word not often heard from his mouth. I hesitated at the line between hardwood floor and carpet, my fingers gripping the doorway, uncertain and unsure.

---