Carrie
I wake up in Jeremy's large four-poster bed and I am moved to tears to know what I have just been through on account of him. Last night was intense and amazing but the way I've gotten to this point is troubling. He's essentially my captor and he's murdered so many people right in front of me...how can I possibly stay? Visions sweep my mind of the classmates who used to taunt me but are now dead.
"You're so weird. God, Carrie, get a life!"
"Oh, her parents are social climbers, she's not that rich."
"This girl is always hanging around us, it's creepy."
"Look what she's wearing! Hahaha, hahaha."
The cackles of laughter descend in my memory as I'm reminded of all the hardship and torture those classmates put me through. I was constantly bullied by them, but does that give Jeremy the right to have killed them? Does he somehow think that's what I would have wanted?
For a moment or two, I consider crawling out the window, down the branches of ivy that cover the outside stone, and I think about running for my life. Is my life even at stake? I innately want to trust Jeremy, but maybe that is my lust for him talking. I mean, how can you trust a murderer? What if this is all part of some sick plan and he wants to fuck me into eternity before expunging me from the planet? I think he would never hurt me but I can't be sure. At the same time, every part of me is saying to stay, at least a little longer.
So, I pull myself out of his plush, comfy bed. I rise and meet the sun, wondering what the day will hold. And then I tiptoe down the hall to the room he's assigned to me. I graze my fingers over the soft, opulent clothes. Hmmm, Gucci, Valentino, Hermes...fuck, what do I wear for him? Despite all my misgivings, my soul is still pining for him and I want to look perfect. In the end, I just pull on a pair of jeans and some cashmere t-shirt. I walk barefoot downstairs and search for him. In the light of day, this place is more ethereal than I remember. There's decadence everywhere, layers upon layers of rich red and black and purple curtains, soft rugs, ancient antiques and I feel like I'm in a castle. In fact, it's a little like Beauty and the Beast, only my beast is much, much darker.
I find the kitchen, needing some coffee or something, and guess who's standing there but my very own tormentor. He's cooking something fabulous, and I can see his muscles outlined under his thin white t-shirt.
"Hi," I almost whisper not knowing where we stand this morning.
He whips around immediately and plants a kiss on my cheek before escorting me to a fully decked out table. It's a kind of breakfast nook, but lavishly spread with fine china and crystal and a large arrangement of assorted roses in the center. Does he dine like this every day? The table is impeccably set for four people. I take a seat and look out the iron-plated windows onto a countryside so vast that I feel at peace, for the first time in days. There are sheep grazing in the fields and a distant forest that is calling my name for a stroll. His palace is truly amazing and I feel gifted to be here, but there is also this deep pull in my tummy of an unsatisfied future. I have no idea what to do here or how long I will stay.
He's looking at me intently and I wonder if he's reading my thoughts of escaping, or staying.
"Mimosa?" He comes over to me and pours the finest champagne in my crystal flute and tops it off with orange juice.
"Yum," I say. "A girl could get used to this."
He looks at me with a hard gaze in his eyes, "Well, I hope you do...get used to it."
He wants me to stay. Hell, maybe he will make me stay. I don't know. In the background I see the news playing on a small flat screen he has in the kitchen. My parents flash across the screen and I ask him to turn it up. He does so before plating my gourmet breakfast and bringing it with his to come join me. We sit and listen as my parents deflect all truth from the media.
"She's had a breakdown," my mother is saying all dramatically to some reporter. Tears now run down her face and I wonder how she can manage to cry on cue like that.
"Our daughter is in a mental institution now," my father lies. "She's traumatized. She couldn't handle the death of her friends and that's the best place for her at this moment."
My mother is sure to add, "She is writing a book about her grief as it helps her therapeutically."
I am enraged. I look at Jeremy.
"They're just lying to save face. You know they're not even looking for me." My heart sinks as this evidence sets in. I am yet again disappointed by my parents. Why would I think they'd start to love me now?
Jeremy puts his hand over mine and it sends a thrill down my spine but I suppress that desire. He is quick to comfort me and he says, "That's not exactly true. They have hired a private investigator to find you, because the police said that since you're legally an adult their hands are tied. So they are looking."
"Yeah because they need my face on this to make a living."
I find comfort in his eyes that are imploring me to stay with him.
"Why don't the police have more questions for me?" I wonder aloud. "I am their star witness."
"That's the thing," Jeremy says. "They've pegged it on someone else. He was a student, prone to violent outbursts and he has no alibi. That's who they think did it."
A subtle smile reveals that Jeremy is happy to have gotten away with the crime.
"Here," he says handing me the phone. "You can call whoever you want, your parents, the police...the choice is yours."
"No." I take a long sip of my mimosa. "There's no one to call."
His eyes light up with possessiveness and I can see I've made Jeremy extremely happy by choosing to stay...for now.