| |
I woke up in my own bedroom with the sun shining in through the open balcony doors. Funny how I’d come to think of it as mine when I was just being kept prisoner here. It was like possession made it better somehow. Apart from a few birds chirping, the house was strangely silent. I rolled over on my side, prepared to face another day in captivity. My feet hit the floor and I pushed myself up so I could head to the bathroom.
I was halfway there when I realized what the silence meant. I had grown so used to the clatter and chatter of the chain that I no longer even heard it, until I didn’t. I looked down and stared at my ankle. It was red and chafed, the skin abraded in places but it was free of the cuff. I shook my head and pinched myself. Surely I was dreaming still.
I wasn’t dreaming. I glanced at my wrist. It still showed some marks from the cuff, though it was largely healed. On my other wrist, I still showed to marks from Owen’s fangs.
Confusion set in and I felt fear creep over my thoughts. What if this was all some sick game where they pretend to let a prisoner go just so they can capture them again for the thrill of it? I really did think in movie terms, but it came with the job.
There was a neatly folded slip of paper on the dresser. My hands were shaking when I opened it. The words made my stomach clench into knots.
You are free of me, Strawberry. Go. Do not try to come back here or find me, I will not be here and I do not want to see you again. Enjoy your life Kitty, may it be better than you imagined it could be.
I read over the note three times, carefully taking in the words.
I was pissed as hell. How cowardly of him to break up with me in a note! Wait, did I just think that? This was not a break up; it was a release of a prisoner. I should be grateful and I was. I longed to be outside of the walls of this house of horrors, but another part of me was saddened by the prospect, and more than a little scared. My feelings about him were still so conflicted, mingled desperation, fear, love and anger.
Below the note was a small black bag. I opened it and a stack of hundred dollar bills greeted me. Hello! I had a vivid image of myself throwing it on the bed and rolling around but it quickly faded. I counted — two grand, the amount I was supposed to have been paid for the LARP scene.
I knew I needed to leave but I just stood there feeling incredibly uncertain. As weird as it was that was the first time I did not want to run away. Yesterday night had been amazing; Owen’s humanity had shone through, past any monster in him and the sight had been incredible to behold. I wanted to talk to him, learn more from him. I wanted to touch him and comfort him when he got that lost look in his eyes. Those new, incredible blue eyes.
I was free but I could not leave. There was a pile of clothes on the dresser too — jeans in my size, a pretty top I would have bought myself and a bra and panty set decorated with strawberries. The set was almost childish but it made tears burst from my eyes. He had left but I was still his Strawberry.
Stockholm syndrome much? The nasty little voice in my head startled me and I spun around, looking to see if there was anyone else in the room, that voice sounded nothing like the voice I used to talk to myself. It sounded older, cynical and tired. I felt my shoulders slump. I was all of those things and heartbroken to boot. I felt older. Or maybe just wiser.
I got dressed, brushed my teeth and hair and stared at my face in the mirror. The neck wound was gone, replaced by two tiny red marks from last night, and my skin had regained a tiny bit of color but not enough. I was eerily pale. Under my eyes there were slight lavender colored circles and my cheekbones had hollowed. I had bruises on my upper arms from our lovemaking and a purple mark on my shoulder from hitting the wall while escaping from Loretta. There were also the marks of the cuff but otherwise I looked... damn good. I looked like a beautiful woman suffering a terminal illness and suffering it well. I would have been believable in the part of a tragic young woman at the end of her life. Had I really come that close? I didn’t feel like I was dying even though my heart ached. I felt painfully alive.
I slid my feet into the strappy little sandals. I was confused and feeling sick from hunger. I had no idea of how long Owen had held me, the days had all slid together in long taffy–like string of dawns and sunsets and nights. The walls of my cell seemed to press in on me. I could feel myself losing my breath. My chest tightened and I closed my eyes, a sudden moment of panic over taking me. Then a long, lonely bird cry called out from outside my window. I forced myself to take a deep breath and slowly opened my eyes. First I looked out over the balcony, then let my eyes wander back through the room.
The clothes in the dresser caught my eye and I stroked the ruined dress I had worn the night he had taken me to the mountain to have dinner. It was here, even though the last place I’d seen it was in tatters on the floor of his bedroom. I tore a piece of silk off the edge of the skirt and used it to tie my hair back into a pony tail, then I left the rags where they were. I tossed all the other clothes onto the bed and tied the corners of the sheets together to form a bundle. I went to the bathroom and cleared all the fine toiletries and make up into the cash bag. I felt like a kid running away to join the circus when I hoisted the cumbersome lump and walked toward the door. It seemed petty to take these things with me, like a tourist stealing soaps from a hotel, but be damned if I was going to leave it all here. Bag of cash aside, I felt more than entitled. I had no plan and no idea of how I was going to get out of there. I was just leaving. I had the clothes he had given me and the little black bag. I had freedom and wasn’t sure I still wanted it.
Well, I mean sure I did. I knew I wanted my life back. But I didn’t want my life back alone. I wanted Owen with me.
The doorknob would not turn for a moment my hands were so slippery with sweat and I started to panic, but it finally did. I walked out the door. It was the first time I had not been carried or fled too fast down the hallway to appreciate the place but as soon as I got to the third door I knew what was wrong with it. Only a few rooms were furnished. It was obviously unused and empty. The furniture and paintings were all simply window dressing.
I wandered into the kitchen, trying to recall exactly where he had stood the first time I had opened my eyes to see him standing in the shadows. The wall showed a slight repair where he had manacled me that first day. Kneeling, I could see a small dark stain on one base board, a missed spot of my own blood. There were still the remains of food in the fridge- bacon, eggs, spinach and a number of different cheeses, cream and what looked like a fish fillet wrapped in paper. I made myself breakfast, taking my time to leisurely explore the kitchen and eat. I knew I was stalling, hoping he would come back. It felt weird, eating at a table I’m not sure had ever been sat at, looking out the picture window at the sea. I’d pulled back all the curtains, filling the dim rooms with sunlight.
The silence echoed endlessly around me. I sighed and took one long breath, then another. I closed my eyes and waited in the red veined darkness, hoping to find one last trace of him, to smell his particular smell or to hear a soft footfall but there was nothing but the dry wind outside tapping lightly against the windows.
I finally found two rooms on the lowest floor. One had no furnishings except a tiny nest of blankets curled into a corner that had a rank wild smell. This had been Loretta’s lair then. The other was Owen’s room, where we had made love. His wardrobe had been cleared out. No clothes left, no books. Owen was gone.
His smell lingered in one of the pillows though and I held it for hours, crying until my eyes felt like someone had blasted them with sand.
“Come back you cowardly bastard!” I screamed but there was no answer. He had left me.
It was late afternoon when I decided I might as well go. Shouldering my hobo sack of clothing and sheets, I stomped out the front door, slamming it behind me.
In the driveway sat my car. I stared at it, disbelieving. It was mine all right, the same dinged fender and fading paint job. I put my hand on the hood, certain I was hallucinating and the metal scorched my fingers. I yanked them back and stuck the burning tips in my mouth to cool them. I wondered for a moment how long it had been there. Had he been keeping it at the club or in a garage, or had it been here the entire time, just steps from the door? I couldn’t recall seeing it on my last desperate bid for escape, but all I really remember was blinding sunlight and then the strength of Owen’s arms around me, pulling me back.
My windows were open, the keys in the ignition. I really was free. I got in, cranked the engine and pulled down the driveway. My cell phone blinked on and I stared at it, stopping there in the apex between the drive and the street. I’m not sure how the phone even still had battery. Had Owen charged it for me too?
I lifted it up. Five messages, three from bill collectors, one from a girl I knew asking if I wanted to go out to a club that night and one from my mom. The date showed me I had been with Owen for over three weeks. Three weeks and all I had were two personal messages. How sad. And to be honest, I knew the motives behind all of them. The girl was someone who liked to have a big entourage along wherever she went, and cared little who made it up. The message from my mom was just a guilt trip about not remembering to call on her birthday. I would have, if I hadn’t been chained up by a vampire at the time. Tossing my phone onto the passenger seat, I decided I would call her later. I really needed to concentrate more on people - real, living people - and forging friendships in the future.
I clicked on my navigator and headed back to the city.