Page 21 of Darkest Before Dawn
My stare remains fixed on those items as I run my tongue over the thick film that’s built up on my teeth. I tear the boxes open, already covering the toothbrush with toothpaste as I hurry to the sink. I turn the tap and brush so long and hard that when I spit the foam is full of blood.
I bring one last handful of water to my lips and swish it around in my mouth before I spit into the sink and turn the faucet off. The lock to the door clicks and I spin around, wiping the back of my hand across my mouth as I cross the room. The hinges creak and Max walks inside, holding a tray of food. A plastic bag, beige with brown writing that I recognize well: Barnes and Nobles, hangs from his left wrist.
“You hungry yet?” he asks, setting the tray beside the cot.
I shrug as I take a seat on the mattress.
“Sorry, I was out all day. It’s dinnertime…and.” He pulls the bag from his wrist, steps toward me, and extends his hand. “Got you something to help pass the time and all.” His smile deepens, dimples popping on each side of his face.
Reluctantly, I take the bag and peer inside. Books.Four Past Midnight, Revival, Frankenstein,andThe Full Collection of Edgar Allan Poe.My brow wrinkles. These are my favorite books. How the hell does he know?
“How…” I trail off as my gaze meets his.
“I checked your Facebook profile.” He sits on the mattress, clasps his hands, and leans over his knees. “You really should have that set to private. And not post your every fucking move…‘Excited to go to WJ Park with Bronson tonight.’” His face lifts, those ink-black eyes boring into me. “Braggingabout going parking. Strange how comfortable everyone is, letting strangers into such intimate details of their lives.” He shakes his head.
A lump rises in my throat. I think back to that post. I regret it. I wish I could take it back. To know something as stupid asthatmay be the reason I am in this room at this very moment… I take the copy ofFrankensteinout. The silver cover blurs behind tears. The fact that Max brought me something Ilove… I glance up at him. “Thank you,” I whisper, blinking away the want to cry.
He nods. “I told you I’m not a bad guy, Ava.”
And I’m starting to believe him.When you have nothing good for comparison, anything can appear to be good.See, I’m not going completely crazy.
I’m not.
15
Max
Day 18
Ilie awake, my mind unable to stop. I glance at the clock and it’s already past three in the morning. Groaning, I wipe a palm down my face before reaching for the lamp on the nightstand. One click and the bright-ass light nearly blinds me. I grab the well-worn book from the bedside table.The Art of Seductionby Robert Greene. I flip to the beginning of chapter 15, titled: “Isolate the Victim.” My eyes skim the first few lines before I drop the book to my lap.
Sad to say, but over the past few months, I’ve lost count of the women I’ve done this to. I should be able to do this in my sleep by now. Ava should not be a problem. But what makes doing this to Ava more difficult—there is something about her that I want.
With just a look she makes me forget what I’m trying to do. I found myself on her Facebook page earlier today looking at pictures, reading posts because I am curious abouther. Those books, those weren’t in the plans—although I must admit it was a nice touch. She’s most likely down there reading one right now, and deep within the recesses of her fragile mind I am being connected to something pleasant, to a kind act of remorse. This is how you manipulate someone: you take everything away and suddenly the slightest act of kindness seems like you’ve moved a mountain. Stripped of everything, people rearrange their view on life—on kindness and love. And eventually, once they come to depend on you for everything, when you are all they can see, you are left with the power to rearrange the way they vieweverything.
Things which were once good can become bad. Things that were once a joy can be turned into an annoyance. When a person has one person and one person only in their life—that person controls everything, right down to their captive’s ideas and logic. So simple yet so complicated. And if you are truly a master at it, they’ll never even realize their entire moral compass has been rearranged, they’ll not be capable of remembering what is truth and what are lies, and most importantly, they’ll be unable to remember who they really are.
The thought of Ava losing herself—it makes me somber because I want to know who she is, and if she loses that identity, I’ll never really know.
I flip through the pages until the early morning light filters through the old window beside the bed. After placing the book back on the bedside table, I crawl out of bed. I piss and brush my teeth, then I grab a piece of rope from the dresser drawer and make my way down to the cellar. Ava’s curled up on her cot, the copy ofFrankensteinstill in her hands. I cross the room and gently take a seat next to her, watching her sleep.
She looks so peaceful, so damn perfect. Her porcelain skin is flawless, her thick, dark lashes such a contrast to her fair skin tone. High cheekbones. A perfect cupid’s bow in her full upper lip. And if I’m honest, I feel much like Lucifer luring an angel from the realms of heaven; however, the devil wouldn’t feel guilt pressing down on him like I do. Leaning over her, I tenderly trail my finger across her cheek. Fuck if her skin doesn’t feel good under my touch. “Ava,” I whisper. “Hey, darlin’?”
Her eyes flutter and she makes a subtle movement.
“Ava, time to wake up.”
Her eyes open, dazed and confused before she startles. I lay my hand over her thigh and pat her. “It’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you. Just wanted to take you up for a shower while Earl’s gone. Maybe have you eat up at the table with me? He’ll be gone most the day so I thought—” I narrow my eyes—“if I can trust you…that maybe you would like to get out of this fucking room?”
For a second her stare falls blank, and I wonder if she’s planning how she can get out if I let her upstairs. But then she smiles and drags in a heavy breath. “That would be great. Thank you.”
Because she trusts me. She has no one to trust but me.And so she holds her wrists out and I tie them before opening the door.
***Break***
The sullen midday sun streams through one of the kitchen windows. Ava’s sitting at the table—hands bound, of course—staring down at her lap. She’s had a bath, put on a new pair of jeans and a fitted long-sleeved shirt I bought her, and now, we’ve just finished lunch. I clear the plates, stacking them in the sink and running water over them. Bear’s asleep under the kitchen table. He whimpers, kicking his legs wildly in his dream. A small smile tears at Ava’s lips as she peers beneath the table at him. “My dog does that all the time—pretends to run in her sleep,” she says.
“Oh, yeah?” I turn the tap off, glancing at her as I dry my hands. “What’s her name?”
