Eleven

 

Liv

 

For most of the day I was kept all on my own. I spent a lot of it by the window, peering out. Whoever I happened to see was moving around with purpose. Just what were they doing here in the jungle? And why would my father deal with them? Logic told me it was a drug operation, though I couldn’t see any evidence of that from the little view I had. But, again, my father didn’t need anymore business than he already had.

I happened to see Reaper a couple times, and when his giant frame came into view the first time, I backed away from the window, too afraid to watch in case he noticed. I couldn’t afford having the window covered up. It was the only thing keeping my sanity in check.

When I crept back to watch, I made sure to do it carefully, with most of me out of view. Given the circumstances, he was the only man I watched intently. I watched him the second time come around the fire pit. There was no fire but a bucket of water that he knelt beside. He dunked his hands in it, at the same time looking up and directing more orders to those around him. He splashed a heap of water on his face, and it trickled down into his black tank, soaking it. It made every line of every muscle on his torso that much more pronounced, another obvious indication he was huge. It was intimidating. Then he was out of view again.

Hours later, I heard a loud engine, and when I returned to the window, I watched a truck pull up off the trail and men were around, unloading giant, heavy bags. It looked like soil. They were throwing them down on the ground in a neat pile, and Reaper joined in, this time without his shirt on. His upper body was covered in tattoos, most notably a large one on his upper back of an animal. Maybe a wolf? I couldn’t tell from this distance. There was writing above that too I couldn’t read. I wondered if they were gang related.

I noticed that he never raised his voice. His command didn’t need to come in the form of a screeching madman. He stood by the truck, pointing at what needed to be carried off first, and the men obeyed instantly, never once questioning him. It didn’t surprise me when he joined in after his instructions. He wasn’t the type that stood still and watched the work get done. He went balls to the wall, working up a sweat with the rest of them. That too was intimidating. It meant his men respected him, and when his own men respected him, it meant there was loyalty.

Loyalty was hard to gain.

He was in incredible shape, something I furiously had to tell myself to stop remarking on. It was getting out of hand now, but the more he came into view, the more I found myself lured to the window, sneaking glimpses of bronze skin, marred and muscled and unfortunately gleaming in the sunlight. He wasn’t scary big in a gross steroid-popping way. It was all natural, a largeness that took years of demanding work. It made me think of last night when he pulled me down the bed and leaned over me. I’d been so glued to his scary eyes, I hadn’t taken in just how wide he was over top of me. It had me revisiting the thought more than I wanted to admit.

Another car appeared in the distance. It was the same jeep I had come here in. Reaper stepped away from the truck and moved toward the car. He stopped at a lawn chair where his shirt was splayed over and grabbed it in the palm of his hand. Standing patiently, he waited for the car to stop in front of him. When it did, the doors flew open and a few girls climbed out, dressed in outrageously small skirts. The driver, a man in cargo pants, followed, shouting out to the men at the truck. They stopped what they were doing and when they saw the ladies, they perked up, suddenly filled with more energy.

For some reason, I kept my eyes glued to Reaper, watching him closely as he approached the women. He threw his shirt over his shoulder, and before even speaking to them, he looked them over, like they were fresh merchandise. Not inventory like me, but merchandise that required a very detailed inspection. He circled them once, slowly and intently, and then stopped to speak. I looked at the women, gauging their reaction. One smiled provocatively, her small hand reaching out to his chest. He grabbed her hand roughly and pulled her to him. I couldn’t see her face from this far, but I imagined she was surprised. Her head jerked up to him, and her body quaked as though she was in fear. He lowered his head to hers and said something in her ear. She nodded in response, and he let her go. Standing there, he watched them move to the men already clamouring around the fire pit to get it started.

Then he looked my way.

I jumped back, hiding myself. I couldn’t be sure he saw me. I told myself there was no way. And even if he did see me, what was the harm in that? I cringed hard. It took me a long time before I re-joined the window, and he was gone by then.

What followed was an extremely loud evening. There was more rap music blaring, the sounds of cheers and laughter. Crates of beer were opened around the fire pit. They were having a grand old time. I watched bitterly, catching no sight of the bastard Reaper with his bronze fucking skin and black tattoos.

Why had I spent a ridiculous amount of my time watching him? Why was I annoyed I couldn’t see him? Why did I notice the same girl that prodded him was missing too?

These were dangerous thoughts to have. I pulled away, choosing to retreat from the window. I needed sleep and to remove these thoughts from my mind before they grew. I left my tray of food half-finished on the ground, feeling weighted by depression. The room was aggravating me. I felt stifled. There was no light in here, so the room got darker, and the only light there was came from the flickering fire outside.

I was crawling out of my skin. Nobody had stopped to even blink at my existence. I was stuffed in a room to rot. Was that what awaited me in life? Was that how Reaper was going to treat his fucking trophy wife? By stuffing me away like a goddamn shovel in a shed while he fucked jungle prostitutes?

Fuck him.

Fuck everyone.

The bed creaked with every movement. I turned to one side, trying to get comfortable, only to be met with more shrieking and laughter that made my braincells die. I grabbed the thin pillow and laid it over my head in a futile effort to drown it out.

Nothing worked.

Stressed, I sat up and kicked the blanket off me. Then I pulled my dress up so my legs were exposed. There was no escaping this humidity. I sat there for a long time, waiting for their night time fun to end.

It didn’t.

It was never ending hell, and I’d just about snapped. I was trapped. Like a person chained to a chair, I felt chained to this goddamn room, to this goddamn noise, to their freedom and my imprisonment.

I was ready to scream when a shadow passed by the window. It should have been Christy stopping by to collect the dinner tray, but the steps that followed were heavier than hers, and frankly, I could already feel a different sort of presence approaching. The door suddenly opened, and for a breathless moment, all the sounds from outside went mute by the rush of my heart beats flooding into my ears.

He stood in the doorway.

It took a lot of courage to look at him. When I did, my body had gone completely still. I could hardly see him in the dark, but I felt his eyes hard as ever on me. I imagined them looking right through me in that clinical way he did before.

He spoke again, a question at the end of his sentence. I didn’t understand him, so I remained mute. He asked it again, and this time I caught the word “matrimonio”.

Matrimony? Was he asking me about the marriage bullshit?

I wanted to laugh, scream, rip myself to shreds and throw myself in a fucking fire – anything for him to fucking get it through his head that I was not going to go along with it.

“I’m not marrying you,” I growled out, every inch of me shaking. “No to matrimonio!”

He walked in right after I said that. I brought my legs up so my knees were against my chest. I held my breath, ready for his attack. I closed my eyes when he stopped before me. I waited, and the anticipation grew worse. Then, something soft hit my face. I opened my eyes, blinking down at a pair of pants and a shirt he’d thrown at me.

He said something to me then, and his voice was harder. The word matrimonio was said again, and this time there was no question in the way he said it. My face heated with anger, especially when the sound of more laughter filled the room, grating on my nerves. He turned around and began moving back to the door. With shaking fury, I balled the clothes and threw them at him, screaming, “I’m not changing, either!”

It hit his back, and he instantly stopped. My heart jumped to my throat, a feeling I was growing familiar with now. To my dismay, fear may have overcome me, but the adrenaline was worse and…almost satisfying. I’d spent all day locked inside this fucking room, and it was almost cathartic releasing my pent-up anger.

He slowly turned around, looking down at the clothes piled around his feet. Then he looked up at me. I could see his face a little better now that he was in direct view of the window. His lips were pressed down in a line, and his nose was flaring.

He was pissed.

Yeah, well, so was I!

“I’m not marrying you,” I told him firmly, even though my voice was clearly distressed. “And I’m not changing out of this fucking dress.”

What was he going to do? Kill me?

Well…maybe.

Shit.

His face cleared a bit. Back to boredom but also…something else. Determination? I didn’t know. But when he bent over to pick up the clothes in one hand, he also pulled something else from his belt with his other hand. It shone in the moonlight.

A blade.

It hit me then, like a boulder to the face. I was going to die over not changing out of my nasty wedding dress. This was going to go down as the stupidest death in history. Dear god, what was my tombstone going to say? I could see it now.

 

Olivia Dillinger aka Business Pussy

Caffeine Deprived

Dead at 23

Cause of death: didn’t change out of wedding dress

Decapitated by Jungle Man with predator eyes

Really fucking stupid

World went on just fine

Must emphasize: Really. Fucking. Stupid.

 

His eyes met mine, and I stiffened for half a beat. I noticed the muscles in his shoulders tense, and it was then I realized I was fucked.

Suddenly, he moved to me so quickly, he was like a fucking panther. I was already attempting to move off the bed when I felt his hand shoving me down. I went crazy, screaming, trying to snake out of his grip. Something hard and heavy rested on my lower back. His knee. He threw my clothes next to my face, and then he grabbed at my arms in one quick movement, securing them above my head. I tried to move. My legs flailed, but I went nowhere. He kept me like that for minutes. I heard his steady breathing over top of me, waiting, waiting…waiting.

“Fuck you!” I screamed, unable to stop myself as I continued to writhe. “Let go of me!”

He didn’t. He patiently listened to me scream, holding me down effortlessly as I tried in futile to get out from under him. The scent of him was everywhere. A faint cologne, completely different to Logan, or to anything I’d ever smelled before. It was a nice smell. The nicest I’d ever smelled off a man. Dear God, why did Jungle Man smell so good? It made me rage even more, exasperating whatever energy I’d accumulated throughout the day. I didn’t stop. The more he held me down, the angrier I grew, the more frustrated I was, the more I wanted to fight.

Finally, after what felt like forever, my body gave out. The adrenaline drained from my limbs. I lost the fight. My body was fucked and soaked in sweat. I lay there, his scent in my nose, his hold on me firm, knowing I was vulnerable now. Fear coiled inside me, wondering what he was intending to do with that blade.

I thought of Tony’s words. “I’m going to stick the handle end of my blade so far up that cunt tonight.”

Was this guy just as fucked up?

Probably worse.

“No, no, no, don’t hurt me,” I begged without thinking. My pride was long gone now, and I was growing hysterical. He had reduced me to a weakling; a puddle of nothingness. I’d never felt so helpless, and he’d done nothing but hold me down! “Please, don’t. Please…”

My spine tingled something fierce when I felt him glide the blade down it. The terror in that moment was unequivocally the worst I had ever experienced. The vulnerability brought me back there again, to when I was a little girl, too scared to leave the tent in fear of Bogeyman being there.

I waited for pain, for the searing burn of his blade cutting into my spine, but I felt… nothing. Instead, I heard the pop of buttons, one after the other, all the way to my lower back. Then he secured the blade back into his belt. He only used it on my dress, not on me, but I was still trying to get a breath in.

Still locking my arms in place, he used his other hand to tear open my dress, forcing it down my chest. Finally letting me go, he grabbed the dress, and in one swift movement, he slid it completely off me. I was stiff as a board, shaking, my brain scrambling to process his actions. It took a few moments for me to accept that I hadn’t been cut into, but still, I shook uncontrollably, my teeth rattling.

Conscious of him more than ever, he lingered over me, his body going still now. I didn’t know what he was doing, until his hand rested on the white lace bodice I had been wearing under my dress. I didn’t move, and it wasn’t for lack of trying. I was too tired. I shut my eyes, unsure of what he wanted, only knowing I was utterly exposed in front of a monster and he could do as he pleased with me.

His hand went from my lower back to the space between the clasp of my strapless bra and the lining of the bodice where my bare flesh was. It must have been red because it ached like fire. All that rubbing from the dress had chafed the shit out of my skin.

His fingers were surprisingly cool, seeping through my skin. It was a gentle touch. A featherlight brush of his skin against mine. I made sure not to move, but my breath lightened in response.

No man had ever touched me there.

No man had ever touched me, period.

I didn’t know what he was intending on doing. I was scared, but curious too. Mostly because it had gone quiet, and his touch was gentler than I expected. Plus, he smelled so good. Why did he smell so good?

His fingers roamed back up to my upper back, tracing my spine to the back of my neck. He dug his fingers there in that meaty bit, loosening the tension I built there. I fought the way my body wanted to sag beneath his touch, but my shoulders relaxed on their own. I opened my eyes, peering at the dark void around me, wondering why my body was softening like butter and what kind of sick game this was for him to massage me. The knots in the back of my neck loosened and it felt… amazing. I tried to resist that feeling, but the chemicals in my brain were already releasing those feel-good endorphins. The shaking subsided. My teeth no longer chattered. For a moment, I felt like I was drifting on a cloud, the fear stripped from me. If this was his way of comforting me, I didn’t know, and frankly, I couldn’t bear to think a man like him would try. Still, I relaxed further against his touch. I made a light noise at the back of my throat – a noise I hadn’t anticipated to come from me – and his massage stopped abruptly.

Tense silence filled the air.

He withdrew his hand, ending the quiet moment. Then he patted my head once – like I was a fucking animal – and removed his weight off me. Standing up, he balled the wedding dress and stood over me. I didn’t want to dare look at him, but I couldn’t stop my eyes from glancing.

I felt foolish when I saw him. He had the faintest smirk on his face. The look of pure domination. This bastard was content. He had won again, and I couldn’t be sure why I let him. It troubled me, and I hated myself for letting him touch me at all. I shouldn’t have stopped squirming. I should have fought ‘til the end.

“I’m not marrying you,” I whispered, shakily. It was the only thing I had left to fight about. Everything else he’d stripped away.

This time he cocked his head to the side, his eyes narrowing on mine. He looked thoughtful and…impressed? The smirk had faded, turning softer. He looked me over, limp as a noodle but fierce in the face. I could see how ridiculous it was. The contradiction colliding. The weakness mixed with determination. The fight I was still trying to win.

“I’m not marrying you,” I repeated. I didn’t know why I was saying it. I sounded like I was talking to myself more than I was talking to him.

He dragged his front teeth over his bottom lip, scrutinizing me with those soulless eyes. Then he knelt to my level and his head wavered close to mine. He looked into my eyes as thoughts blazed behind his. I didn’t breathe. I eyed him warily, watching as he leaned closer to my face, his mouth parted slightly now as he took me in. It felt…intimate. It felt like…he was trying to look into my soul.

Jesus, he was… attractive. His nose was straight, his lips red and full. Wafts of his goddamn delicious scent wafted to me, making me a bit hazy as I struggled to keep my eyes on his. His face softened further. Maybe he was aware of the way I was feeling. He could probably see it in my slow blinks and dizzy gaze. Now he was looking at me differently. In a way I couldn’t interpret, but it sent warm shivers down my spine and made me ache for something I didn’t quite understand.

My focus was transfixed to his lips as he parted them again. An image of his mouth on mine lit up inside my mind. I didn’t even try to push it away. I thought about it as I dizzily inhaled his scent and wondered how close he was prepared to move to me.

His hand reached up and, slowly, he brushed away a few strands of hair that had fallen over my face. My blinks slowed in reaction to his touch. My lips trembled, unsure of why I was feeling like I’d swallowed a rock. But…the gesture was so gentle, and…I’d lacked so much gentleness in my lifetime.

Nothing but distance.

Nothing but isolation and…stagnant emotions.

Just pure apathy.

Apathy that acted like another cage in my life, containing my emotions.

And this touch was bringing me back to the past, digging up a kind of memory of affection that I couldn’t recall, yet it triggered me so suddenly. I could feel the memory, but not see it. My sight went blurry. A tear fell from my eye. And I did what I always did when confronted with pain. I felt a sharp lightning bolt of anger and lashed out.

Shoving his hand away, I snapped, “Don’t touch me!” His expression went cool in an instant. “I’m not marrying you,” I had the audacity to add. “Keep me in here all you want. Starve me, deprive me of fucking air, I don’t care! I’m not going to marry you. I’m not.”

This time I felt he understood my defiance, and who wouldn’t with a tone like that? But instead of anger, his face remained cool and…passive. He didn’t seem concerned in the slightest. My words meant very little, if he even understood them at all. It made me feel unimportant and small, and that surprised me because I was so used to that feeling anyway.

He looked me over again, this time with a faint jut of his lips. He was smirking the way someone did when they were amused by something. It was the same look I’d been given all my life by people. When they stared at me like I was a spoiled bitch having a fit. Was that what he thought, that I was having some rich-bitch-fit?

“You think you know,” I whispered to him, my voice thick with anger and…pain. “You know nothing.”

His eyes found mine just then. He held my gaze for a few moments – a few moments too long. Then he stood up, and I was sure he was about to leave. It panicked me to be alone again, but I held it in. I craned my head up and watched as he strolled to the barred window. He stood there, gazing out, his profile visible to me. I slowly sat up, resting my back against the wall. I crossed my arms, unused to the feeling of my skin. I felt less suffocated without the dress. My skin was breathing for the first time in what felt like an eternity. I was secretly glad he forced it off me.

I was nervous as he peered out. I spent the day where he was standing, watching him. I wondered if he knew that just then. Maybe I was being paranoid, but I couldn’t afford to lose my window. I didn’t know how long I was going to be trapped in this shithole.

“Don’t take it away from me,” I whispered. “You better not take it away from me.”

He didn’t hear, not when a chorus of laughter flooded the room, drowning out my words.

Backing away, he finally turned to me. My back straightened at his sudden attention. His face was shrouded in darkness. I couldn’t be sure what part of me he was looking at, but it made every inch of me hyperaware.

His footsteps were slow and heavy toward me. There were brief moments when the moonlight hit his face. I caught his eyes focused on my face the first time it hit, and then they were on my exposed legs the next time. I didn’t breathe as he bent over and tugged at the blanket beneath me. He slid it off and leaned closer to me. I felt his breaths against my cheek. I stared at him as he quickly wrapped the blanket around my body, covering me. I twitched, thinking he was going to grab at my throat again, but he didn’t. And the lack of contact was strangely disappointing.

“You’re going to leave now, aren’t you?” I asked, shocked at how upset I sounded.

In response his eyes travelled slowly from my blanket, to my arms, to my bare neck and, finally, to my eyes. I fought the flush spreading to my cheeks in futile, feeling warmed again by how close he was. Once more, my bubble was totally obliterated, and I wasn’t fighting to regain it.

Reaper watched me for a short while. We breathed in and out, a quiet exchange amid loud laughter. I stared at his wide chest as it moved up and down with each calm breath. His dark hair was loose, the way it usually was, some strands stuck to the side of his left cheek. He was the epitome of rough. Nothing subtle or pretty in his features. Just…raw.

I felt a pinch in my chest. I closed my eyes for a few moments, trying to clear my head of my body’s confusion. When I reopened them, he was already backing away from me. I watched him leave the room, his sole attention drawn completely elsewhere. He didn’t even look back once before he shut the door. I didn’t matter at all. He had come in here, forced my dress off with a knife, wrapped a blanket around me, and walked off like it was nothing. Nothing at all.

I wanted to scream. Back to the isolation, to the faint sounds of laughter and music. I felt like a prisoner inside my own skin.

The anger that his touch evoked in me still burned like lava. I felt disgusted with myself. I had imagined his mouth on mine! I didn’t put up a better fight. I just...laid there. Like a piece of furniture! I let him get close to me! I dared him to with my own eyes! And he still hadn’t. He didn’t even want to, did he? I had opened myself, let the walls down for a moment, and nothing even happened as a result.

What is wrong with you?

Without thinking, I got off the bed, grabbed the shirt and stuck my foot against the hem of the neck hole and stretched it until it ripped. I did the same with the pants. They were a thin material and stretched easily with a little bit of strength. There, I couldn’t wear them now. And there, a piece of my rebellion returned.

This defiance made me feel like I was back in control. It made the imaginary shackles he put around my arms and legs loose. They weren’t gone, but goddamn, I was going to put up a fight. The growing curiosity I had for him needed to be silenced. That wall of mine needed to be fortified because, goddammit, it went down just like that after years of keeping everyone out! It had never been strong in the first place then, had it?

When I finished, I crawled back into the bed and waited for morning to come. As I did, I looked down at my arm, remembering his finger tracing along it softly. I realized it was over the faded eternity symbol I’d drawn on the day of my wedding.

It seemed, perhaps, he was curious of me too.