Page 24 of He Should Be Mine
My bare feet touch the wood floor.
“You are doing so well, Molly.”
Lord, do I love his voice. It’s manliness in a jar. Deep and rich. The kind of voice you feel in your bones.
His accent is wonderful too. An Italian base, swirled into a stew of different American states. Laced with a few notes of London. It’s an accent entirely his own. One that no one else has. Custom made. Unique. It’s perfect for him.
I take one step into the nothingness.
“Well done.” Dario’s voice rolls over me. Soft and smooth. Expensive whiskey after a hard day.
Maybe he is right. Maybe I can do this. Maybe there is hope for me yet.
“Keep going, Molly.”
I take another step.
“That’s it.”
One more step.
“You’ve got this.”
Another step into the black. I’m surrounded now without even a bed to offer flimsy protection.
“You are doing so well.”
I don’t have a bed to protect me, but I have Dario’s voice.
“I know you can do it.”
Where is the fucking lamp? I swear I’ve crossed an ocean. There is nothing in front of me, nothing behind. It’s all just nothingness.
My feet stumble to a halt. They start to take root. A low keening noise reverberates in my chest.
“You can do it for me. One more step.”
I can’t move my feet. But Dario can move them. My body obeys him. It bypasses my panic-stricken mind and listens to Dario. My body moves forward.
My knee bashes into something and I yelp. It’s the little table by the lamp. I’ve made it. I fumble for the switch with frantic fingers.
Click.
Light explodes.
“Mother fucker!” I yell, as the sudden brightness burns into my eyeballs. It’s not a very bright lamp, it’s more all moody and tasteful. But compared to the dark and how much my eyes were straining, it’s blinding.
“Good boy.”
Oof. All the oxygen in my body leaves in one violent surge. It flees. It leaves me tingling. Raw. Exposed and naked. Two little words have sucker punched me in my core. Two little words that Dario spoke, but didn’t mean.
I’m not his good boy.
I’m not his boy.
I’m merely his duty.
And it’s the worst thing ever.
