CHAPTER SIX

“How did you sleep last night?” Chandler asks me at breakfast the next morning.

“Well.” I didn’t wake up to a dick in my pussy in the middle of the night like I have been since I got here. Maybe my over-drugged mind had been conjuring up the whole thing after all. Perhaps my desire for Chandler transcends my waking life. I don’t know anymore. All I do know is that it was nice not waking up super groggy. My version of a half dose did the trick. “How did you sleep?”

“It was a fitful night, I fear.” He frowns at his corned beef hash.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” I dump some golden raisins and brown sugar into my oatmeal before lumping in some butter and giving it all a good stir. “Any reason you couldn’t sleep?”

“I just...worry,” Chandler hesitates, his voice full of concern.

“About what?” I scoop a bite into my mouth. The oatmeal tastes like heaven, the perfect mix of sweet and savory.

“About things.” He picks at his food but doesn’t seem that hungry.

“Ohhh, being Mr. Mysterious again, I see,” I tease, tired of trying to figure him out.

“Last night’s scene was intense,” he tells me as if I wasn’t there. “I’m giving you the day off to recover.”

“Boo. I’m fine. Really.” I look at him to show him I’m serious.

“I’m giving you the day off,” he repeats more firmly. Obviously, it’s not optional.

“Alright,” I sigh, thinking about how boring my day is going to be. “Does this mean you’re going to disappear all day again?”

“I’ll see you at dinner tonight.” Chandler stands, leaving his food almost untouched.

His abrupt exit makes me worry that I might have upset him. Not half as much as he upset me by informing me that we’re not going to fuck. I spent a good portion of the morning wondering what interesting experience he had planned for me today. The sex is the best part of being here next to spending time with him.

Sulking, I take an extra long time finishing my oatmeal. With nothing else to do, I may as well drag out everything I do today. Chandler didn’t even ask me to workout with him. It’s as if he doesn’t want to be around me today at all.

Maybe he’s just being considerate, I try to convince myself. I am sore from yesterday. My inner thighs ache from being spread so wide. My knees have carpet burn. My throat is still sore from having his dick crammed into my mouth for a short eternity. Perhaps I do need a full body rest for one day.

Still, there’s nothing else to do, so after breakfast, I head out onto the deck to workout by myself, following the routine that Chandler showed me. Maybe it will impress him to see that I’m sticking to it even though he gave me the day off. Perhaps if he’s watching me on a screen somewhere right now, it will motivate him to come out and join me.

I turn in the direction of one of the lights, wondering if there’s a camera planted in it. “I’m going to get beefier than you if you don’t get your butt out here.”

It’s a challenge that falls on deaf ears. Chandler never comes. I spend my morning alone on the deck, sweating away my misery.

Not feeling like I have much bitch energy left, I eat the sandwich that Susan sets out for me for lunch. I even take my dish to the sink and wash it. Hell, I’d kill just to have someone to talk to. Maybe leaving those dirty dishes yesterday wasn’t such a great idea. Perhaps I could have made friends with Susan instead of getting her to hate me. Oh well. I can’t change the past. And there’s no guarantee that doing the nice thing would have made her talk to me anyway.

After lunch, I retire to my room to take a nap. As I lie in bed, I tell myself that I should think of this as a vacation. Where else am I going to get to just lie around and do nothing all day? A lot of people dream about a place like this with no outside stimulation. In truth, I kind of hate it. Aside from being with Chandler, I can’t wait to return to the real world—to my friends and socialization and having things to do.

I toss and turn for about an hour before sleep finally takes me, and I wake feeling even grumpier than I did when I laid down. I rub the sleep from my eyes, glancing at the clock. It’s 3 PM. Five more hours until dinner. Thinking about it makes me want to kill myself. What else is there to do besides drink? Being here might turn me into an alcoholic, and I’m not even legal in the United States yet.

The second I throw my legs over the side of the bed, I hear a strange clicking sound. My head turns in the direction it came from, and I realize that the television has come on. A shiver rolls down my spine as I immediately think of ghosts. This is a brand new building, though, so that wouldn’t make sense.

I watch the screen, waiting for the image to display. I squint my eyes as if I’m seeing things wrong. Chandler is sitting in front of an easel. His brow is knit in concentration as he draws his brush across a canvas. The camera is mainly focused on his face, the art he’s creating barely discernible.

I grin, crawling back up onto the bed and folding my legs to watch. Is he giving me a glimpse into his world? Has he decided to turn the tables and let me watch him for a little while instead? This could be fascinating. I just wish I could see what he’s working on, but I suppose that’s part of the surprise. I’m not supposed to see his creations before they’re complete. Getting to watch his process is somehow even more rewarding.

The camera pans around, and I see Susan standing a few feet off in a trench coat and high heels. Her expression is so full of life that she’s almost unrecognizable. And she’s staring at Chandler with a hunger that makes my stomach twist with the first hints of jealousy. I know that look because I’ve looked at him the exact same way.

She unbuttons the trench coat and slides it down over her shoulders, revealing a lacy black bralette and panties beneath.

“Oh hell no.” I immediately reach for the remote. I don’t give a shit what’s about to happen between them. I’m done watching.

I press the button to turn the television off, but it doesn’t work. When I look back up, Susan is taking long strides towards Chandler. She places her hands on his knees, spinning his chair away from the canvas. Then she grabs the brush from his hand and drops it on the floor. He looks completely captivated by her. My heart throbs with pain.

Is this real time? Is this what’s going on right now? The video looks like it was professionally shot. There are multiple angles. This can’t be now. It had to have been filmed in advance.

I don’t care. It doesn’t matter. I try to tell myself that, but inside I’m dying.

I rip the back off of the remote only to find that there are no batteries inside. What the fuck?

I fly off of the bed, stomping over to the television. Susan is leaning over Chandler. Her mouth presses against his, and he reciprocates, kissing her every bit as passionately as he’s kissed me these past few days. She straddles his lap, fisting her hand into the front of his shirt.

“Oh fuck no. No. No. No,” I say as I press the button to turn the television off. It doesn’t work either. “What in the bloody fuck?” I look behind the television for cordage. If I have to unplug this motherfucker at the source, I will. It’s mounted to the wall, though, and all the plugs seem to be feeding into a hole in the wall.

By the time I look at the screen again, they’ve moved to a sofa. Susan is on top of Chandler. He’s caressing her face, kissing her. Her hand is between his legs, stroking him over his slacks. Tears are burning in my eyes, a mix of rage and jealousy and more unpleasant things than I can count.

I can’t do this. Can’t stay here.

I run for the door, pushing it open with all my might. It doesn’t budge. At first, I think I’m imagining it. The door only locks from the outside. There’s no panel for my keycard inside. I push at it again, but the door doesn’t give.

“What the fuck?” I scream, twirling around to face the room, pressing my back against the door.

On the screen, Chandler has pulled Susan’s bra down. He’s sucking on one of her nipples, and she’s writhing on his lap. I feel sick to my stomach. I can’t watch this.

I look around for anything that might be a camera, glaring into it and shouting, “What in the fuck is wrong with you? Let me the fuck out of here.” Then I go back to the door and beat my fists against it until I run out of energy.

The scene plays on. She takes his shirt off. Then his pants. Within seconds, his cock is in her hand, her tongue licking up it. I want to bitterly think that she’s getting my sloppy seconds, but I have a sick feeling it’s the other way around. Maybe he’s been hers all this time, and I just didn’t know it. It would make sense that that’s why she’s here.

I feel like an idiot, shattered and heartbroken. I close my eyes and cup my hands over my ears to drown it all out. I don’t want to see this. Why is he making me watch? I thought he was mine...He made me believe...

She’s sucking him off now, staring into his eyes. The confidence in her expression, the way in which she moves puts her in a whole different league from me—makes me feel like I was a bumbling idiot when he and I were together. Maybe that’s why he’s showing me. He wants me to see that she’s better—that I was stupid to think I could please him.

Tears sear down my face. I want to pick up the alarm clock and throw it at the screen or tear the television down from the wall, but I know Chandler would make me pay for the damage. Or worse, he’d kick me out and start over with someone else. I’m not even sure that bothers me anymore. Everything I feel is pain. My heart is throbbing from the betrayal. He used me. Utterly and completely used me.

I head into the bathroom and close the door. It’s my only safe haven away from the video. I turn on the faucet in the bathtub to drown out the sound. As if sensing that I’m trying to escape, the volume on the video goes up. I turn on the faucet in the sink, too, but it’s not enough to completely cover up the sounds of slurping and kissing from the video. He’s purposely trying to torture me. Hell, he’s probably watching me right now. He has to be if he knew to turn the volume up.

“You’re a sick fuck,” I say into the mirror, scrubbing my tears away. “You made me think... You made me...” I shake my head, unable to say it. “I should let my dad shoot your dick off.”

I spend the next several hours listening to the sounds of running water and a combination of moaning and squelching and slapping. He’s moaning. She’s moaning. She’s crying out rhythmically, which means they’re definitely fucking. Time passes unaware. I wait for what feels like forever. When the sounds of pleasure die down, I venture out to check the bedside table clock only to find that one video has ended and another has begun.

Back into the bathroom I go, and that’s where I stay until blessed silence finally signals that my unjustly earned punishment is over. I peek my head out of the bathroom to catch a glimpse of the clock. It’s 8 PM. That son of a bitch made me listen to him fuck his little house slut for five goddamned hours.

I rush to the door to see if it will open. It gives way, and I burst out into the hall as if I’ve been stuck in a room with no oxygen. My lungs fill with freedom. I pant and look around like a wild animal that just escaped a cage. I don’t know where to go. I’m scared to return to my room in case Chandler locks me in again. But I don’t want to go to the dining room either. I don’t want to see him. Don’t want to see Susan. Because now I know they’ve been laughing behind my back. Hell, that’s probably why I don’t see either of them all day. They’re off somewhere fucking.

I press my back against the wall and slide down it until I’m hugging my knees. For not having done anything but stressed out all day, I’m absolutely exhausted. My emotions are frazzled. I feel like someone took an ax to my heart and chopped it into a million tiny pieces. I just want to go home and forget that any of this ever happened.

“There you are.” Chandler’s voice startles me.

I look up to see him standing down the hall. I glare at him with all the contempt I feel. He seems completely unfazed by my obvious bad mood.

“Dinner is ready,” he informs me.

I want to tell him that he’s a monster. I also want to ask why Susan didn’t come to retrieve me. Having him come personally is a rare treat—would be a treat if I didn’t hate his guts right now. Before I have time to decide which to say, he’s already turned to go to the dining room.

I chew my bottom lip, considering staying in the hall. It feels like there’s no safe place for me in this house now. If I go back to my room, I could be tortured some more. If I go to the dining room, I’ll have to share a meal with Chandler, and that will be almost as painful.

I opt for the lesser of the two evils, taking slow steps towards the dining room. No doubt, Chandler will have started eating without me. He doesn’t seem to wait for anyone.

When I get there, I’m confused by the dim lighting. My chest tightens as I see Susan sitting across from Chandler. There are candles on the table. Three plates of spaghetti and meatballs are waiting. I’m on the end cap. It should feel more intimate since I’m closer to Chandler, but he has to turn to look at me, so it’s not.

“What is this?” I gesture to the spread, not bothering to hide my annoyance.

“It’s dinner,” Chandler replies plainly before standing to pull out my chair. It’s an unexpected nicety that I don’t want. “To be more specific, Italian food, just as you predicted.” I can hear the smile in his voice. The motherfucker must be finding this really funny.

I consider asking what Susan is doing dining with us, but it’s clear that I’m the one out of place here, not her. She’s barely looked at me since I entered the room. She seems as sterile and emotionless as ever, totally different from the girl who was just fucking my man in that video.

My man? I scoff at myself. Maybe I’m the one who is messed up for getting so attached to him so quickly. It’s blatantly obvious that he was never mine to begin with.

Dinner is tense, made worse by the fact that not a single one of us speaks a word throughout the entire meal. Susan looks stiff. Chandler is the only one who is relaxed, eating as if nothing fucked up just happened—as if he didn’t keep me a prisoner in my room all day and make me watch his sex tapes.

So much goes through my mind as we sit at the table. There’s so much that I want to say, and all of it is dripping with venom. I’m too close to the end of this project to bow out now, though. I need to be the bigger person and see this through to the end. These paintings are going to make me famous. They’ll open doors for me. I can’t throw it all away because I’m jealous—because I’ve been manipulated this entire time.

Keep yourself together, Emma. You’ve got this. Finish the project, and then you never have to see Chandler Lexington ever again. You won’t be able to speak ill of him in interviews because you signed that contract, but you can damn sure vent to your friends and family...and maybe see a psychiatrist. I have a feeling that some mental therapy will be in order after this is all over.

I finish eating before both of them and politely excuse myself to my room. There’s no offer of sleeping medicine. Perhaps Chandler has been avoiding conversation all night, realizing that I’m looking for any reason to lash out at him. Whatever the case, I’m grateful, because I definitely would have accused him of drugging and raping me just to be nasty.

I return to my room, deciding that I’ll break the television if it turns back on. There’s only so much that I can handle, and I’m officially at my wit’s end.

Thankfully, that doesn’t happen. I change into my nightclothes and stew over the day’s events, tossing and turning all night because I keep swearing that I hear the television turn on. Being here is driving me crazy.