Page 41 of The Freedom in Captivity

Still, no noise from beyond the door. No doubt, she’s now being straight-up defiant. I swing to my feet, the hint of a smile taking over as I enter the bathroom and step over my shirt, which she’s left in the middle of the floor.

She’s bound to have heard me enter so I know with certainty, she’s ignoring the single rule I’ve given her. No matter. I grasp the edge of the flimsy plastic shower curtain throw it to the side, the plastic loops scraping loudly against the metal pole.

Pain. Hate. The only emotions I’ve felt since Rozelyn told me goodbye.

Never fear.

But the icy sensation that passes over my heart, that makes my nerves rigid, and forces my feet to move is new. I don’t like it. If it’s fear, I don’t ever want to feel it again.

Rozelyn is curled on the floor of the shower, the water washing over her back and thighs from where she’s upright, slumped against the tiled wall. Her arms are limp around her, and that fucking insane amount of hair is drenched, darker against her pale skin.

Immediately, I shut off the water and reach for her, two fingers finding her pulse. Nerves unwind at the steady thump.

Breathing. She’s alive, which means she’s asleep. So exhausted, she’s passed out.

Lifting her, she soaks my clothes and I grab the nearest towel from the rack and toss it over her form as I head back into my room. She deserves to be woken, dressed, and placed right back into the basement. At the very least, maybe I’ll grant her access to that sleeping bag I’ve taunted her with before she truly breaks, both mentally and physically.

Instead, I do none of that. Shifting her to one arm, I pull the blankets of my bed back and rest her down, quickly patting her dry with the towel, spending a moment longer to wipe away the water drops speckled on her face.

She looks so different when she’s asleep, and it hits me then, I’ve never been granted this part of her. I’ve seen the girl I fell for be miserable, happy, focused, and sated after we had sex. I’ve seen the woman, who reappeared as my enemy, be cocky, resolute, emotional, and even defeated. But not this. Asleep with her guard completely down.

Resting the towel to the side, I bring my hand to her face. Not quite touching at first, but hovering. Watching and waiting to see if she can feel me above her, but there’s no sign of alertness in her steady breath or her shut eyes.

There’s a single water drop sliding toward her eyes, abandoned by her hair, so I catch it with my thumb, stroking her skin as I do.

Rozelyn wet was always my favourite sight. There’s something about how the water clung to her face that made me jealous of it.

“Youreallyneed to quit smoking. It’s raining. I can’t go out there,” she argues as my unyielding grip yanks her to the wet outdoors. The weather isn’t harsh enough to make smoking impossible, simply a challenge that cupping a hand over the cigarette will fix.

Still, it drips all over her face, trickling down her cheeks and gathering on her dark lashes as I drag her to our bench.Ourbench. I remove my coat and rest it on the wood, gesturing for her to sit while I wander a couple feet away to light up, keeping the cigarette away from her, as per our pattern. She’s unfailing to join me outside for my smoke breaks, and despite the weather, I didn’t want to see that pattern broken.

She sits gingerly, repositioning the coat in a way suitable to her needs, and then stares at me expectantly. The slow rain bounces off her form, a contrast to her narrowed, playful eyes and pinched mouth.

She’s never looked more gorgeous.

When the water drop I stole from her skin drips down my hand and disappears completely, it returns me to the present with a low gasp and a sudden force, propelling me away from her.

Fucking Christ, no.I refuse to have any positive flashbacks of us. The only ones my mind craves are the moments of misery. When it makes hating her easier and more natural. Not the ones where I knew how fucking utterly in love with her I was, even if I didn’t say it at the time.

The memory was a rainy October afternoon, only days before Halloween. Probably one of our final rainfalls before the temperature got so cold, it’d turn the precipitation into snow. I loved that kind of weather and longed to see her outside with me in the rain. God, it didn’t disappoint either. It was a month after we started hanging out, and it dawned then, that I was liking her more than simply as a chill girl to hang out with.

Rubbing my hand over my face, I release all those thoughts too, ridding my mind of them. Now, not only am I fucking reliving positive moments; I’mrationalizingthem.

I won’t lose myself to this. To the past. To her.

Grabbing the towel, I toss it into the corner of the room by my laundry basket and draw my comforter up overtop her. She makes her first noise, a breathy moan, and turns her head, snuggling deeper into my pillow.

A sight that makes my body heat with angry flames.

Because I hate her.

Because the sight of her in my bed makes the memories stronger. Makes old feelings more apparent.

The day she told me goodbye, it was raining.

It’s ironic that I realized I liked her romantically on a rainy day, and then lost her on another.

If only it wasthatmemory seeing her wet from the shower made resurface.Thatmemory would drive me to get her away from my sanctuary.Thatmemory makes me happy.

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