Sienna
You may never come back.
That’s what Nate said to me.
You are mine now.
He said it so calmly, almost so coldly. He means it.
And I think he’s right.
Maybe I do belong to him now.
Wait, what am I thinking?
I’m Sienna Rose. I don’t have to belong to any man if I don’t want to.
Maybe once, a long time ago, I wished that I was Nate’s, and he was mine…
But the man sitting across from me isn’t the Nate I remember. He’s not my first love, my secret crush. He’s cold and callous, and he doesn’t care about me—he can’t care about me.
All I am to him is a payday and a prize.
As I stare out the window of the plane, my fingers trace shapes over my sweater and pants. Pants that he picked out for me.
Nate’s dressing me now. I don’t know why I didn’t see it earlier—he filled up the closet with clothes and lingerie that he wants to see me in, like I’m his plaything.
The black lingerie that he picked out for me, the floral lace of the cups…
Is he picturing me in it? Did Nate choose these clothes with the hopes of tearing them off me later? I remember the heat of his gaze on me, on my breasts, as I stood up out of the bath. Nate’s hard to read, but the signs are there.
He wants me.
Even now, from the corner of my eye, I can see him watching me. His dark eyes linger on my face, before dipping lower to admire my body. The combination of his glare and the cool air of the plane hardens my nipples beneath the black cashmere.
I know that Nate can see it, and I wonder if he’s thinking about my breasts. About what he’d like to do to me if he got the chance to. My breath quickens for a moment at the thought of his strong hands on me.
When I tried to escape, he lifted me up like I was nothing. Nate could easily throw me down and have his way with me…and I almost want him to.
No, Sienna, focus. Don’t think like that.
This isn’t the Nate from my dreams. This is the Nate from my nightmares.
I sigh and sink deeper into the chair. My head rests against the top of the window of the plane. I stare out into the blackness of the night.
We’re too high up to see any land below. I’ll never see LA again, and it’s because of him. I’ll never see my dad again, and that’s Nate’s fault too.
I spent days in that guest bedroom, wallowing in my numbness, and while my heart still aches with each passing moment, I’m no longer numb.
The pit in my chest is filling up with something new—something hot and burning. It’s clawing at my insides and itching to be released.
It’s anger.
I’m angry. It’s white hot and scorching inside my chest. I ball my hands into fists, holding them tight in my lap, to stop them from trembling.
I don’t just want to cry anymore. I want to scream.
But I don’t.
Luckily, Nate isn’t a man of many words. We sit in total silence for almost the entire flight, except for when he tries to ask me if I want anything to drink or to eat.
I’m dying of thirst, and I could kill for a glass of water…but I say nothing.
Instead, I give him my best glowering stare.
He has a bottle of water brought over to me, with a cup with ice and lemon.
I try not to let Nate see my triumphant smirk.
At least I got what I wanted without having to confess to a thing.
Instead, I chew at my lip, using the darkness beyond the window as a way to clear my mind. Now isn’t the time to get caught up in emotions. My first escape attempt failed—but that was because I was in Nate’s mansion.
I was on Nate’s turf. Wherever we land...it won’t, it can’t be his. He can’t own every air strip in America.
I’ll wait ‘til the plane touches down…and then when his henchmen are unloading the baggage—there has to be baggage—I’ll just bolt for it again. If I surprise him, maybe I’ll be able to run into someone who can help me. Someone who can call the cops and save me from this nightmare.
Slowly, the clouds around the plane begin to part, and the golden lights from the city below begin to shine into the plane.
I blink, and landmarks reveal themselves to me through the window. The Empire State building, Times Square…
We’re in New York.
I knew I was leaving LA behind, but I didn’t realize that we’re going from one coast to another!
Fuck.
My heart begins to sink into my stomach, weighing me down in the chair as we begin our descent.
NYC. How will I ever get away here? I don’t know this city.
My plan seems silly now that I think of it. But I’ll never stop running from Nate, not ever. I will gain my freedom.
The last time I was in a plane, I was coming home...to Daddy, to LA.
The party was supposed to be celebrating that, my homecoming. We were celebrating me coming back to LA. I wasn’t supposed to leave it forever.
But then my dad wasn’t supposed to die.
And I was never supposed to see him collapse in front of my eyes.
None of this was supposed to happen.
The plane begins to descend below the clouds, and the city swallows us up.
When we pull up to the runway, the whole plane is under the cover of darkness, in what seems like the middle of nowhere.
“Get up,” Nate orders, unbuckling his seatbelt and standing.
He’s about to lean over and do the same for me as though I’m a child, but I’m quick to bat his hands away.
“I can do things for myself, Nate,” I name him, hoping that the ice in my words cuts him and burns him.
I’ll use venom or whatever I have at my disposal to hurt him.
I want Nate to regret ever crossing me. I want him to regret ever remembering my name, and I want him to regret everything he’s done to me and my family.
I just want him to hurt as much as I do.
We step off of the plane into the chilly night air—the East Coast is so much colder than the West, and I wish I’d brought a jacket.
As if reading my mind, Nate throws his suit jacket over my shoulders.
Standing on the steps of the plane, I don’t see anything more than I did from the window. We’re certainly in the middle of nowhere, and there’s no one around.
And there’s nowhere to run.
The only thing in sight is a sleek black limousine, almost invisible against the starless night, waiting for us at the end of the runway. The body of the limo looks new, as though it had just rolled off the factory floor.
Again, I find myself questioning why he’s treating me so well.
We climb into the back, the two of us separated from Nate’s guards by a thick black screen.
The tinted windows make it hard for me to see where we are. Nevertheless, I try to watch the streets through the dark glass, and I commit things to memory—unique graffiti, funny street signs—anything that’ll help me find my way home once I manage my escape.
The limo pulls into an underground parking garage somewhere in the middle of the city. Nate takes my arm and leads me towards a VIP elevator. We ride up in silence, flanked by the two guards.
The air is thick with tension. I can tell they’re all waiting for me to run again.
I won’t give them the satisfaction of escaping when they’re expecting it.
The doors open into one of the most luxurious penthouses I’ve ever seen. It’s large and open with tall glass windows and modern décor. But I barely have any time to appreciate the view—which stretches on for miles and miles over the glowing, glittering jungle of New York City—before I’m pushed towards another guest bedroom.
Nate’s LA mansion was huge and spacious, clean, and white. The chandeliers sparkled overhead and illuminated every inch of the room.
Nate’s penthouse is the complete opposite.
I’m lead into a black-walled bedroom, my shoes slip slightly on the shiny walnut floor. Each wall has a piece of similarly monochromatic art, except for the one opposite the bed, which is occupied by a large flat screen TV.
The bed itself is huge, easily king-sized—or perhaps even larger. Like the mansion, the bed is covered in silks and satin—with a large faux fur throw covering the end. It matches the thick faux fur rug on the floor, some kind of imitation wolf fur.
Part of me wants to throw myself onto the bed and nestle in the warmth. But with Nate behind me, I keep my cool.
“This is where you’re staying,” he says to me, standing in the doorway. “Don’t try to escape. I can always see you.”
“You can’t see me all the time,” I challenge.
Nate laughs, “I have cameras everywhere, and everyone in this building is loyal to me.” He shakes his head and steps back, all but closing the door, “Trust me, Sienna, I can see you. You’re mine, remember?”
The door clicks shut. I know he’s right—Nate has me right where he wants me, alone in New York. I’m all his.
When I’m alone, exhaustion begins to crash over my body. The weight of the last four days almost knocks me from my feet. I stagger to the closet, expecting Nate to have filled it with clothes for me, and I’m not disappointed.
I strip naked until I’m wearing nothing but my lingerie, and I drape a satin chemise over my body.
I crawl into bed, slipping beneath the cool covers.
I can’t even stay conscious long enough to close the curtains or turn off the lights.
I relish in the dreams of home and of my childhood. It’s my only escape since my life became a nightmare.