Page 6 of His Gift
"Nothing is more frustrating than having something dangled in front of you, only to be left empty-handed, wouldn't you agree? I have answered your questions. I'll keep doing so. I won't tolerate your disrespect, though. Either against me or yourself. Now, I have work to do. Don't make yourself come. You won't like the consequences."
Speechless, I watch him stand, move to a cabinet nearby, open a drawer and retrieve a laptop. A cutting-edge, slim laptop looking brand new. Then he returns, hands me the laptop and bends to talk in my ear. "Or maybe you'll like them."
Before I can make sense of what he did, he's walking down a corridor and disappears from my view.
five
Harper
Did he really give me a laptop? With desire still pounding inside me at a maddening tempo, I sit up, hurriedly open the lid, click on the browser, and perform a quick search. It works. I am online. Does he think I won't use it to flee?
No, he doesn't.
A large red triangle appears when I try accessing my email, social media, and messagingapps.
Okay, fair. He's not an idiot, and he's not completely delusional. I already established that. Why did he give me the laptop, then? Unless…
There's only one folder on the desktop. I open it, and yes, he knows that, too. He not only knows about it but has also created labels such as 'to be published,' 'to edit,' and 'WIP.'
Writing has been my secret passion since freshman year. Whenever I have a spare moment, I sit down to write. I've never once thought about telling anyone. Or, God forbid, publish my books and novellas. They were for me and me alone. Until now. He clearly has read them. And he thinks I should publish.
It's none of his business!
I feel violated, even though I didn't feel that way when he was fucking me.
And it doesn't matter now! I'm alone, and I'm losing time.
I put the laptop aside and stand up. Heart beating wildly, I move toward the first window and, after a quick glance over my shoulder to check that I'm still alone, I press my nose on the glass panel. Snow and trees. That's all I can see. Emboldened by the fact that he didn't come back to stop me, I check all five windows. Snow and trees. Nothing else.
My eyes fall on the door.It'll be locked, right?I try anyway, and the handle budges under my touch, letting the freezing cold air in. A heavy jacket hangs beside the door, and without a second thought, I put it on. It smells like him, and I pause. Then I chastise myself.
Even with his jacket on, I'm almost naked and my feet are naked too, so I start shivering uncontrollably as soon as I step outside. Yet, I keep going.
Snow and trees. Maybe there's an entire town just behind the tree line, but I doubt it. Not a sound, aside from birds chirping and the wood creaking. I'd hear the roar of a truck's engine, a horn, something. No, he said he wanted to isolate himself, and he did. And now we're both isolated. Together.
I didn't ask his name.
Stubbornly, I venture into the snow, walking at a fast pace around the house. There's a door, probably leading to a garage, but it's firmly locked. Nothing else. Damnit!
With a runny nose, watery eyes, and aching feet, I rush back inside, bracing myself for his anger at my escape attempt or his mockery of my failure. But he's not there, and shivering, I curl up on the couch, using his coat as a blanket.
He hasn't come to check on me. Where is he? Is he even still here? Ignoring the cold that makes my teeth chatter, I stand up and follow the corridor down which he disappeared. It's short, and it ends in a reinforced door with a keypad. No, I'd need more than just a code to open it; there's also a print reader. His lab? No sound comes from behind the door.
Fine. I strut back and take in the space. This large house boasts luxurious furnishings and a state-of-the-art kitchen fully equipped with every conceivable appliance. The room I've seen and the bathroom are thesame: big, posh, clean lines, white almost everywhere. There's a bathroom on this floor, but no sign of a door leading to a basement. Unless his lab is in the basement.
I sit back on the couch, curling under his coat. The TV is still on, and I watch without really seeing. I could run up to his room, wear as many clothes and whatever shoes I can find and venture into the cold. If he's not watching me, I might have a considerable head start. But I've never been outdoorsy. The most probable outcome is him catching me, or me freezing to death. Or getting mauled by a wolf.
I hug myself tighter, raising the TV's volume to drown out the silence. I give a brief look at the laptop, but I can't. Not now. My head is buzzing. And I'm still horny. No matter what, I'm still horny.
I am a slut.
six
Harper
Iclaw at my chest. It feels too tight and my head is starting to spin. I have to calm down. The good news is that clearly his fucking drug is wearing off. The bad news is that this doesn't change my predicament. It doesn't change the fact that I want him. Actually, I miss him. What the hell is wrong with me? And how long have I been panicking?
This has happened before, and every time I lose track of time. I've never had an explanation for what triggered my anxiety. It couldbe someone yelling at me, as well as silence or nothing at all. But I've picked up a couple of tricks along the way, so I start counting down from one hundred and visualizing each number.
