Defaced: A Dark Romance Novel (8 page)

Her anger exploded. “Fuck!” she screeched. “You fucking bastard. Let me go, you son of a bitch!” She jumped to her feet and kicked back at the chair, sending it flying. Blinding pain shattered through her toes, making her cry out. But she was still handcuffed and blindfolded, and there was little damage she could do to anything other than herself.

She dropped to her knees. “Let me out,” she sobbed. “Just let me out.”

When her anger and sorrow had abated, and she’d cried herself dry, the door opened again.

She could tell it was the white haired man who had re-entered. Something about the atmosphere changed when Monster was in the room—a presence the other man didn’t have.

Without saying a word, he uncuffed her and removed the blindfold. She blinked against the sudden light.

He dropped a hunk of bread onto the floor in front of her, and then turned and left the room again, locking the door behind him.

Lily picked up the bread and threw it as hard as she could manage toward the shut door. It hit the wood and dropped to the floor.

She stared at it for a moment, and then her stomach gave a low groan of hunger.

With nothing else to do, she crawled over to the bread, picked it up, and took a bite.

Nine

The days passed
by—at least Lily assumed the hours added into days. With no way of telling the time, and no idea if it was night or day, she struggled to keep track.

With only bread and water to live on, her stomach began to cramp, and she struggled to use the bathroom as she normally would. Her hair grew limp, her skin dry and pale. Even the books she’d been reading began to blend into one, and she found herself zoning out as she read.

After a few days, she’d given up worrying if cameras were in the room. They’d already seen everything they could. She took to taking long showers, or taking her book into the bath to read. The water helped to soothe both her body and mind, and often she’d fall asleep in there, and wake with the water cold. When this happened, she simply topped the hot water back up and went back to her book—which she somehow always managed to drop over the side and onto the floor before she slept. But then one day she leaned into the tub to run the bath, and the water only ran cold.

Shit.

Lily turned the faucet on and off, somehow hoping that might switch on the boiler, but nothing changed. She ran the water at full stream for what felt like an hour, checking it over and over, but still the water ran icy. As a last resort, she tried the shower, but that too ran cold.

She shook her head and bit back tears. “No, please. Just give me this one thing.”

She glanced over her shoulder at the corners of the room, the edges of the mirror—anywhere cameras might be hidden. They’d known what she was doing, taking solace in the warmth of the bath. They hadn’t been able to allow her to have this one small comfort.

She stared down into the tub of cold water—clear to the bottom of the porcelain tub. Perhaps she should just climb into the cold water, lie back with her head fully submerged, and inhale a deep lungful of water. At least then this whole thing would be over. She’d heard somewhere that drowning was a good way to go—like falling asleep.

Taking a step away from the bath, she shook her head.

No, she was better than that—stronger. She’d been through so much in her life. Losing a little warm water wasn’t going to be the thing that pushed her over the edge.

With no stimulation, and no change of night and day, she started sleeping too much and with no real pattern. Whenever she woke, she was disoriented all over again, wondering where she was and how much time had passed.

When she had the energy, she begged and pleaded at the door for someone to let her out, but no one came except for whoever pushed her pathetic meals through the gap in the door.

With so much time on her hands, she couldn’t help her thoughts drifting toward her past. She cried for all she had lost, and wondered how differently her life might have turned out. She blamed herself for staying so shut off from other people, creating a situation where no one would miss her. She wished she had her time again. Though some things she wouldn’t be able to change, others would have been within her power. She hadn’t even allowed herself to open up to her therapist—something that seemed ridiculous now. Had she not wanted to get better? Had some part of her believed she should have continued to be punished because of what happened?

Regret for her life consumed her. She’d wasted so much time. Sure, she had a job she loved, a career, but that was where her life ended. Every evening and weekend had been spent watching television with a tub of Ben and Jerry’s. She hadn’t even trusted herself enough to have a cat. What woman on her own at her age didn’t at least have a pet? She’d spent her life alone, deliberately shutting herself off, and now she found herself in solitude and she longed for the interaction of others.

Lily waited beside the door, sitting on the floor, hoping to catch whoever slipped her monotonous meals of bread and water in to her. But if she sat near the door, the meal never materialized. The moment she got up to use the bathroom, or something else, the meal was pushed through the door. This made her wonder further if the room had cameras hidden somewhere, but she’d pulled the place apart and found nothing.

Finally, the door opened wide and Monster’s manservant walked into the room. He held up the handcuffs and blindfold like a question.

Exhausted, ill, and half crazed, Lily nodded and crawled over to him. She stopped just before him and knelt with her hands behind her back, her head lowered.

“Please,” she said, her voice barely a whisper, as though so long had passed since she’d last properly spoken to someone that she’d forgotten how. “Just put them on.”

She stared at the floor as he moved behind her and cuffed her hands. Then the blindfold covered her eyes. Part of her relaxed. She knew what was coming next. Monster would come and talk to her, and right now she’d have given anything just to have a conversation with someone, to be given the faintest glimmer of hope that something in her future would change.

She couldn’t go on like this any longer.

“Sir will speak with you now,” the man said, and he left the room.

Lily stayed on her knees, her head bent, unmoving.

Even when she sensed him enter the room, and the door whispered shut, she stayed as she was.

He walked a slow circle around her, and came to stop directly in front of her.

“Are you ready?”

His deep voice sent shivers inside her. She would do whatever was necessary to change her situation. All thoughts of escape and convincing someone to help her had fled her mind. She would do as he wanted. She would bend to his will.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Please, I am ready.”

He paused and then said, “You can stand, Flower. I will help you to the chair.”

She tried to do as he said, but both her weakness and her inability to use her hands made her stumble forward. He caught her, strong fingers wrapped around both of her upper arms, and she became aware of her nose and mouth close to a solid part of his body—his chest, she assumed. The human contact made her want to cry, and tears filled her eyes. How fucked up was she now that she wanted to press her face against his solid body, to inhale his scent and absorb his warmth? She’d always avoided contact by another human being, had felt uncomfortable and awkward if someone tried to hug her or even shake her hand, but now her body craved the contact. All she wanted was for someone to hold her and tell her everything was going to be all right.

She had lost her mind.

Monster held her away from him, and she wilted at the lack of contact. He held her at arm’s length, but guided her so she walked backward. The backs of her legs hit the chair and she bent at the knees, her backside making contact with the seat.

She sank down into it. The blindfold was damp with her tears. There was no point in begging or making smart remarks. He would do whatever he wanted. Nothing she could do or say would make any difference.

“Yes,” he said, eventually. “I think you are ready.”

Her heart picked up its pace, her breath growing shallow. Would he allow her to see him now?

He moved behind her and his fingers made contact with the knot at the back of her head. He undid it enough to loosen the blindfold, and then he moved back around. She sensed him standing in front of her.

Nervous in case she did something wrong, she froze. The blindfold had grown loose, light peeping in around the edges.

“It’s okay, Flower,” he said. “You can shake it off.”

Taking him at his word, she shook her head, and the blindfold fell from her eyes.

She sucked in a gasp of air.

Her mind was in a jumble, trying to take in the two opposing things she saw.

Monster stood before her, regarding her with solemn, chocolate brown eyes.

His beauty struck her like a blow. He had a smooth, square jaw, a straight, sculpted nose, and wavy dark hair cut short and swept back from his face with some kind of product. His high cheekbones and full lips gave him the appearance of a model, a beauty that was almost unworldly. He was smartly dressed in a grey suit with a white shirt beneath, and black dress shoes which shone beneath the artificial light of her room.

But her eyes took in the part of him she couldn’t ignore. Running down the center of his forehead, down the left hand side of his nose, to skirt the corner of his sculpted mouth, was the darkest port wine birthmark she’d ever seen. Where most of those kinds of birthmarks were red or purple, his appeared to be almost black.

Years of training herself to not react to the birthmarks of her patients allowed her to hide her initial shock and dismay.

I feel sorry for him,
she realized in astonishment.

How could she feel sorry for someone who had kidnapped and assaulted her? She should be happy he was disfigured. But she couldn’t help her emotions. If not for the birthmark, he’d have been in Hollywood, ruling the world with his beauty. Instead, he was hidden away here like a freak.

“Do you see the truth, Flower? This is why you’ve been brought here.”

His eyes were locked on hers, and she trembled in his gaze. She was terrified she’d say or do something wrong, that she’d destroy whatever progress she’d made in the last ten minutes.

“You … you want me to …”

He lifted his hand to the side of his face with the birthmark, and laughed. “I want you to work on the thing that makes me a monster.”

“A birthmark can’t make you a monster. It’s your soul that does that.” The words were out before she’d even registered them, and she clamped her mouth shut, horrified that she’d spoken and risked being shut back in this room with no one to speak to and nothing to do.

“Oh, I know that. I should have said the thing that makes me a monster to the outside world. I know what I am inside, but what is on the inside is much easier to hide.”

“So … you want me to work on you?” As she spoke, the stronger her voice became.

“Yes, I want you to rid me of the thing that has ruined my life.”

“Your life doesn’t seem ruined to me.” She couldn’t hide the bitter tone to her voice.

He gave a cold laugh. “You have no idea what my life has been. You think a matter of days in this room has driven you crazy?” He looked at her, his dark eyebrows lifted, as though expecting an answer. “Broken you, even?”

“I couldn’t take the solitude,” she said quietly.

He stepped around her, walking slowly around the perimeter of the room, running his fingertips over the furniture, across the walls, coming to a halt at the bookshelf where he lovingly stroked the spines of the books.

“I spent my whole life in this room,” he said. “You’ve struggled with days. Imagine that being years.”

Her mind spun. He’d been kept in this room his whole life? Surely that was a lie? More tricks to confuse her, to addle her mind.

“I don’t understand.”

“I had the perfect father,” he said. “But he was ashamed of his imperfect son.”

“Your father kept you in this room for years?” What he was telling her was nothing short of a horror story. Had Monster really been kept here, by his own father, nonetheless? Had his father been ashamed of the birthmark on his son’s face and kept him hidden?

“Where’s your father now?” she asked, clutching at the one thing she could ask that would make any sense.

“That’s not important right now.”

Her mind whirred, trying to bridge the gap between abducted woman and professional therapist. “You want me to work on your birthmark?” she tried again.

“Yes. That’s exactly why I brought you here.”

Her brain felt as though it was finally clicking into gear. “I can make the mark appear fainter, but only after numerous treatments. I can’t make it disappear.”

His dark eyes narrowed. “I need it gone.”

“I can’t do that. No one in the world can do that!” Perhaps if he’d started treatment as a very young child, the birthmark could have been faded almost to the point of it being invisible, but as a person grew, so did the birthmark, and the color and depth of the mark on Monster’s face would never vanish completely.

“Then you will be mine until you figure it out.”

Tears filled her eyes. “You’ve given me an impossible task,” she cried. “I’ll never be able to do what you want.”

“Then you’ll never be free.”

“No,” she sobbed, lowering her head once more. “You can’t do this to me.”

“Decide what you want, Flower. You can help wipe the monster from my face, or you can stay in this room and rot.”

With that, he turned from her and left.