Laura

 

 

 

I'm scared. Something is terribly wrong with him, with us.

When he came back after storming out on me, I didn't find the courage to confront him about the passing time again. I could sense that he was still mad at me, and all I wanted was to bring things back to the way they were before. I wanted to be back in his warm embrace, my body still pulsating with post-coital glow and nothing but relaxation on my mind. I miss the comfort of those minutes, the feeling that everything was perfect as long as I was with him. No worries, no future, no outside world waiting for me bring it in order. Just us.

But I broke it by asking him about the time we have left. I broke one of the rules he laid out for me, but as easy as it would be to blame myself for killing the mood between us, I just can't.

Because I know he's hiding something from me. I know something is off, and I can't ignore this.

Why should I have to stick to the rules if he isn't?

My suspicion turned into fear when I realized that I couldn't leave even if I wanted to. Every time he leaves the room, I can hear the lock clicking after the door slams shut behind him. Still, I tried to open it when I was by myself, only to confirm that I was locked in. I never even approached the door during my first time here because I had no interest in leaving. I was happy and perfectly content with the way things were going. The contract stated that I wasn't allowed to leave the room, so I never even thought about trying.

But our time now has run out, I can feel it. I can’t be absolutely certain because I still have no way of telling the time, but I'm not completely dumb. Or blind. The stubbles on his face haven't been there before. I've never seen him like that. He was clean-shaven as always when he picked me up in California, and I've never seen him otherwise. Until now.

More than twenty-four hours have passed, yet he keeps me locked in, storming out in angry rage every time I try to ask about the time that has passed since we got here.

I'm his captive, and I have no idea when he intends to let me go.

Or if he will let me go at all.

He took everything from me, my clothes, my bag, my phone. I wasn't allowed to keep anything. There's no way for me to reach the outside world, and I don't even know where I am. Would anyone hear me if I screamed for help? I doubt it. I wish I knew what's going on in his mind, if he's just prolonging our time together by a few hours, or a day. Why won't he tell me? Why is he refusing to talk to me?

I need to know. I need to talk to him, but I'm scared to confront him.

He left the room again after we had dinner together. Or breakfast. Or lunch. He ordered pizza for us, something that I would have taken as a peace offering if his mood hadn't continued to be so sour.

Again, I tried the door, and again I realized there was no way for me to leave.

I retreated to the bed, wrapping the blanket around myself, creating a little cocoon to gain a sense of safety and comfort that he no longer provided. This is how he found me when he came back, only a short while after leaving me alone. Neither of us spoke a word to the other as he crawled into bed with me. I was trembling, sad and scared, when he wrapped his arms around me.

"Hush, little doll," he whispered. "Let's sleep."

His voice soothed me, despite the alarming awareness of my situation. I pushed everything aside, my questions, my fear, and my doubts, and I fell asleep in his arms.

And that's where I woke up, his embrace pinning me to the bed and against his half-naked body. He's not wearing a shirt, holding me tight against his hard chest.

There it is, the comfort that I have been craving. But it's overshadowed by concern.

"I'm scared," I whisper, unsure whether he's even awake to hear me.

"You should be," he replies, his hoarse voice close to my ear.

His words send a cold shiver down my spine, and I tense up in his arms. My eyes are immediately wide open, staring into the nothingness before me, as his words bounce back and forth in my skull.

I struggle free from his embrace, and to my surprise, he doesn’t restrain me. I move away a few inches and turn around to face him. He's lying next to me, still seemingly half asleep, his hair ruffled and a relaxed smile gracing his handsome face. I would melt at the sight of him under any other circumstance. He looks so innocent and sexy at the same time, his strong muscles clashing in contrast with his boyish face.

"Ryan," I whisper, my gaze locking onto his. "I'm scared, because of you. You're scaring me."

The intimacy between us allows for me to remain calm. Even if he's holding me captive against my will and refuses to tell me what's wrong, he's still the same man who makes my heart beat at the speed of light, the same man who I couldn't get off my mind for an entire year, the same man who swept me off me feet and made me feel things I never thought possible. I feel so close to him that I'm confident he’ll eventually let me into his heart and mind. I know I can get him to talk to me.

His eyes flicker with a warning.

"What did I tell you to call me?"

"Master," I correct myself. "Master, you're scaring me."

He nods. "Good girl."

I wait for a few moments to give him a chance to reply, but he doesn't say another word. He just looks at me, the blue of his eyes filled with sadness. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that he's quietly asking for me to help him. But help him with what?

"Master, I know that our time is up," I add. "It's time for me to go home. You said so yourself."

I flinch in surprise when he reaches out for me, his hand closing around my upper arms with such violence that I groan in pain, casting him a reproachful look.

"You're not going anywhere," he whispers. "You're mine, doll."

I swallow hard, trying to find the right words to say to him.

"But I need to leave," I insist. "Layla is waiting for me and-"

"You're not going anywhere!" he repeats, louder this time. His voice is so pervasive that it incites more fear within me.

My heart is racing, chased by fear. I try not to let it show, but he has come too close to me for that to work. He sees and knows everything. His eyes wander to my trembling lower lip when I speak again.

"Please, master," I utter, suppressing tears from my watering eyes. "Please speak to me. Please tell me what is going on."

His eyes widen, and for a split second I can see a clarity returning to them that has been lacking for too long.

"I've lost, doll," he whispers. "I've lost myself in you."