Queen (Mistress & Master of Restraint) (10 page)

I have nothing left now. I had told Grant I had nothing to lose- I guess he was right- I did.
What a Whittenhower doesn’t understand, because they have never been where I am, they have too much to lose, is that when you have nothing to lose you have nothing to fear. Rock bottom either brings out the worst or the best.

I scuff my feet the entire way home
as I scroll my resources through my mind trying to find a way out of this shit. Resources? I have no resources. I could get another job and my pay would be garnished. I could apply for financial aid and be turned down for defaulting on my debt. I could apply for more scholarships and watch them poof into thin air.

The scene before me stops me in my tracks.
I stare in disbelief. I shake my head. No way am I seeing what I’m seeing. It just cannot be.

It’s just one more thing to add to the list- homeless. My rent was paid up, but I guess that doesn’t matter when someone pays you off. All of my meager belongings are in a pile on the curb. Roman is standing sentry making sure no one steals anything or that the garbage collectors
don’t toss it thinking it’s trash.

It looks like trash.
It is trash- worthless possessions that people rely on for happiness and comfort. It’s all just pretty lies.

I walk up avoiding Roman.
He stares at me in wonder. I pull the only photo album I have, that marks the passage of time with visual memories, from the heap and fuck the rest.

“You can have what you want, Roman. Make sure everything else is distributed to my mom’s fr
iends. I won’t need it where I’m going. They fucking win!” I scream at the top of my lungs until they burn hot as fire with my fury and desperation.

“What happened?” He asks in concern. His blue-green eyes are intent on my face and it breaks my heart.

“Let’s see- I lost my scholarship.” I tick off my fingers as I hiss out how my life just went to hell.

“
I was fired from both jobs because my wages were garnished to nothing- N O T H I N G!” I scream as I wave the check stub.

I move
my hand in a circle around the mound of shit I call mine, “And now I’m homeless. Oh, and my mom’s dead,” my voice cracks. “Pick one- just one would be horrible. Combined together it’s life shattering. I hate those fucking Whittenhowers.” I kick a box of my clothes until they dump and scatter into the street. A car drives over them and I laugh hysterically.

“I will show them one day. They will kneel down to me and give me the fucking respect I deserve,” I declare manically.

Roman pulls me into a hug and squeezes me so hard I hear my joints crack. He murmurs words of comfort- all lies. I try not to soak up the comfort and attention, not to seep into his embrace and his clean scent. I wish I could cry. I think it would be appropriate in this situation. I have no way to release my pain and frustration.

A glint catches my eye from my mound of belongings. And for a moment in time I image myself taking the paring-knife
from the knife-block and slicing my forearm; watching the red bead out of my flesh, a visual manifestation of the pain and frustration eating my soul. I think about it until my senses scream
NO! Pain is weakness leaving the body.
If I were to cut the pain away before I’ve earned the relief I would be a coward- weak. I am not weak.

“I’d offer you to s
tay with me, but it wouldn’t be a good idea. We’d end up together in a forever sort of way and you’d never get out of here. I would happily do this, but you deserve better than me.” He has no problem shedding the tears that won’t break free from my eyes. I envy his release as much as I ache for his pain.

“It’s not that I deserve better than you, Roman. It’s that we both deserve better than this.” I point down the block and he knows what I mean. “Right now we would enable eac
h other and go nowhere fast.”

“I agree, Sweetheart. You deserve better than a drug dealer. If you sta
y here you’ll end up a whore.”

“I’m trading one kind of whore fo
r another, Roman. Trust me, I will be whoring myself out.” My voice grows with my fear. I dig my fingernails into his back and I pull him as tightly as I can manage.

“I couldn’t stand to see the light fadeout in your eyes. Your soul would die a little each day if you stay here.”
His fingers caress my cheeks and slide through my wiry hair, pulling it away from my face. He gazes penetratingly at me, pouring his soul out through his eyes. He hugs me tighter and I grip my fingertips into his shoulders not knowing what will happen when I finally let go.

“It’s a question of the devil you know. My soul would slowly die here or I will sign it away to the Whittenhowers. I guess I need to figure out which is easier to escape.”
Reason tries to break through the panic.

“I think it’s been already decided,” he says as a black Town Car pulls up to the curb and Albert climbs out of the driver’s side.

“Regina, when the car comes get in the fucker.” I mimic Grant.

“
Miss Regal, would you like me to load anything for you?” Albert asks and I can see the sympathy etched across his face.

Great- I don’t want pity. I hold no responsibility for my circumstances. One day I will be in control of my own life and no one will ever take that from me.

“No- nothing!” I screech.

Albert
flinches and Roman’s arms tighten around me in restraint. It isn’t Albert’s fault. I nearly apologize and think
Fuck it!
I deserve to be able to lash out at whoever I please.

“I guess this is goodbye, Sweetheart.” Roman says and the tears are n
o longer glistening in his eyes. They’re rapidly falling down his cheeks and wetting his hair.

Even that sight doesn’t bring on mine. Am I dead inside?
I thought the pressure behind my breasts was an ache for his pain. I was wrong, it is agony to see Roman breakdown before me. The pain takes my breath away with its intensity.

My fingers seek out Roman’s chin and I hold him firmly in my grasp. I kiss him and he gasps
as the electrically charged current that has been flowing between us for weeks is finally connected. I saved this first kiss for someone important. I don’t know what’s going to happen where I’m going, but one thing is for sure- Roman deserves to have my first kiss. He deserves to hold that small part of me. This way I know I will never forget him and hopefully he will never forget me.
“Regina,” he whispers against me lips. I smile. See, he knew my name all along.

I kiss him deeper and ho
ld him as tightly as I can. He’s an inch or so taller than me and it makes me feel like a woman. This is a man who deserves to be in charge and I would let him. I know without a shadow of a doubt that if I stayed I would have fallen hard for him.

I kiss him with an intensity that frightens me. An intensity that I didn’t think I was capable of.
I always felt numb until Grant unleashed something inside of me. I use that part of me that has newly risen to show Roman just how much he means to me.

I turn from him and rush to the
open car door. I can’t look back or I’ll not get into the car. The prickling behind my eyes becomes misery that won’t let loose. Albert holds the passenger door open and I crawl into the unknown.

“Regina!”
Roman yells and my head whips to seek him out.

He’
s near my door. Albert shuts the door so that I can’t bolt. I hear the click of the lock engaging and it confuses me, but Roman holds all of my attention. I stare at him through the glass of the window. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind I hear Albert get into the car.

“Regina, I believe in you. I love you, Sweetheart
,” Roman professes as he jogs forward as the car rolls from the curb. His hand is firmly on the roof.

The car s
wiftly pulls away before I can reply. The last thing I see is wide, blue-green eyes, and the swing of black hair.

I sob and wipe the back of my hand over my eyes.
I’m surprised to see that my fingertips come away with no moisture.

“Do you love him?” Grant’s voice softly flows from the front passenger seat. I
instantly know that he was the one that locked the door when Roman yelled my name.

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly
. “I didn’t get a chance to find out.” My voice sounds dead within my ears.

“And you never will,” he replies honestly
as he turns and straightens in his seat. It sounds mean, but his voice is sad when he says it. It doesn’t make it any less true.

“Welcome home, Regina. I hope you find it more pleasant than I do.” Grant says as the car
rolls up the circular driveway and stops in front of the massive stone mansion known as Whittenhower Estates. I can feel the malevolence flowing from the mortar.

Grant swiftly
exits the car and opens my door. He sticks a hand in to help me from my seat. I avoid it and crawl out on my own.

No matter what, I will always do it on my own. I stand in the driveway and look at the imposing building that I will call home for at least nine months. My fingers seek out the bands that are tied around my neck with a ribbon.
I promise, Mom and Dad, that this is only my present- it will never be my future.
I send my oath to the heavens.

I grab my album from the backseat and make my way up the stone staircase
, ignoring both Albert and Grant. Albert gets the hint and leaves to park the car. The front door bursts open and I flinch, showing just how thin my resolve is.

Sunshine brightens my day in the form of a five-year-old little boy. He bounds to me
and hugs me around the waist.

“Welcome home, Queen,” he says in a small voice that
never fails to make me smile.

I know that this is the best welcome I will get anywhere on earth. I hope I can remember it as the rest of the Whittenhowers welcome me. I
’m sure it will be anything but pleasant judging by the expression on Grant’s face. I hold the boy’s hand as I open the massive door and step into my unwelcome future.

Chapter
Twelve

“Follow me,” Grant says
gruffly. I want to disobey, but I might as well get this over with as soon as possible. He tries to take my elbow and I sidestep him.

“No touching unless I initiate it,” I hiss. He nods his head in agreement and moves his hand in a gesture for me to walk before him. I shake my head no.
We’re in a gigantic foyer. It’s as big as four apartments at my building. Ancient tapestries and precious works of art hang from hardwood paneled walls. The marble floors have a gold vein running through the tiles.

Dual, curved, marble staircases meet at a center balcony that takes you to two separate
sections of the mansion. I remember being lost in the labyrinth of hallways and shudder.

A crystal chandelier the size of a car hangs in the center of the room from three stories up. Beneath the twinkling light fixture is
Whitt. He peeks at me from behind a ridiculously large floral arrangement resting on a useless table in the center of the foyer. He winks at me and I can’t help but smile. What has me doing a double-take is Grant fondly smiling at the boy as well.

A pair of arched double-doors lay ahead. My intuition tells me this is my destination- Mr. Daniel Whittenhower Sr.’s office.
The place, where weeks ago, Whitt had me eavesdropping at the door.

I follow
Grant into the huge office. I guess the affluent would call it a study. The walls are mahogany and not veneered paneling- real wood. The ceiling is high enough to be two stories tall. Hand-carved bookcase after bookcase, that I would love to explore, covers two of the walls. A balcony and a sliding staircase give access to an upper floor of shelving full of ornate books. The scholar in me wants to climb those treads and pry the books open devouring their hidden information.

A crackling, marble fireplace warms the frigid room even though it’s summer outside. The beautifully gothic library is dark and cavernous leaving the room cool compared to the outside heat. The fire is inviting and makes me want to live in this room with all the knowledge lining its walls.

I come to an abrupt stop when I see Mr. Whittenhower sitting at a baroque desk in the middle of the room. I change my mind; I hate this room because he is in it. It is
his
room. He arrogantly smirks at me from his leather chair. He holds a binder of papers in his hand and waves it about.

“Sign this paper and Grant will explain what will happen next.” His voice is commanding, but it’s laced with something I can’t name- uncertainty, maybe.
I narrow my eyes at him in suspicion.

“I’d like to read the contract first if you don’t mind,” I say firmly to the older man.