Joseph

 

 

 

She’s shy about letting me see her apartment when we first get there, and already begins to make excuses about its alleged chaos when we’re still in the car. It’s cute to see her this flustered about showing me a part of her that’s new to me.

Her hand is visibly shaking when she unlocks the door for us, and she casts me an apologetic smile as she beckons me to follow her inside.

“Please, remember no one has been here for more than a month, there might be dust and-”

“Dead plants?” I ask, nodding toward a sad-looking fern on a dresser in her corridor.

She laughs and shakes her head. “Oh no, that’s been dead for a while.”

Her place is small, but very homey. I don’t think I’ve ever lived in a place like this, small and simple, but so affectionately decorated that it reflects the character of its inhabitant. I don’t understand why she would make excuses for any sort of mess because she’s clearly a very organized person. Everything matches, everything has its place, even the pen and notebook next to her phone are lined up parallel to the edge of the little table they’re lying on.

She keeps casting me insecure looks as she leads me through her place, and I hate that she feels the need to excuse any of it or even feels inferior to me. She has no reason to.

“I love it,” I say, as my eyes rest on a few photos she pinned on the wall in her living room. Most of them don’t show people, but places and landscapes.

“Oh, that’s… I didn’t have time to remove those,” she hastily says, covering one of the photos that shows her with the guy I assume is her ex-boyfriend.

I smile at her, gently taking her hand and pulling her close to me.

“Relax, my pet,” I tell her. “You’re mine now, but we both have a past that we shouldn’t be afraid to share.”

She huffs. “You’re one to talk.”

“Touché,” I say, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

“Do you want something to drink?” she asks. “I could make you a tea or something.”

I shake my head.

“I’ll be fine, just do what you came here to do,” I reply. “I’ll wait here and just invade your privacy so I can learn everything about you that there is to learn.” I wink.

She furrows her eyebrows, but beckons for me to sit on her small couch.

“Alright, have fun,” she says, before she leaves the room.

On her way out, I can see her checking the answering machine on her phone. She flips through the messages without listening to them, looking distraught.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

She sighs, shaking her head.

“Yes, fine,” she says without looking at me. “It’s just… him.”

“He must have been worried, too,” I say, assuming she’s talking about her ex-boyfriend.

“I guess so,” she retorts, before disappearing into her bedroom.

I take a seat, my eyes scanning the room as I try to imagine the life she was leading before I ripped her from it. The kind of woman she was, what her daily routine looked like. It’s obvious that she’s an avid reader. The bookshelf that covers most of the wall to my right is filled to the brim with books of all genres, but her favorites seem to be thrillers and psychological crime fiction. That shouldn’t surprise me.

She’s a good and timid girl who’s worked hard to keep her life in line, well organized and responsible. But her mind is in a constant struggle, yearning for a breakout from all of this. She’s told me about her dark fantasies and how I - unknowingly - made them come true. The terror she felt was real when I kidnapped her, but it excited her as much as it scared her.

For every sick person out there with these dark desires and needs, there is someone else who is willing to serve those demands. I found my match in her.

She has changed clothes when she returns from her bedroom, and is now wearing a black dress, topped with silk tights and a black flower in her ash blonde hair.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I just thought this would be more suitable for…”

She bites her lip and lowers her eyes. I know that this is harder for her than she wants to let on.

“Don’t worry about it,” I tell her. “I think you’re right. And you look lovely no matter what.”

“I will change back into the dress you gave me, once we’re… done,” she promises.

I get up from the couch, placing my hands on her shoulders.

“Look at me, my pet,” I command her.

She raises her eyes up to mine, sadness reflected in their gray-blue depths.

“Don’t ever apologize for yourself,” I say. “Especially for something like this.”

She nods. “Yes, Master.”

Our lips meet for a slow and soft kiss, comforting in ways that words could never be. My hand rests below her ear, while my thumb caresses her cheek as our breaths mingle. I don’t break our kiss until I know I can no longer resist the urge to want more. We have things to attend to.

“Are you ready?” I ask her, and she nods, a sad smile fleeting across her face.

The drive to the cemetery is long and filled with pensive silence. Liana is sitting next to me with a white French daisy bouquet resting in her lap, as she stares out the window. She takes a deep breath when we pull up to the cemetery and I park the car.

“Do you want to be by yourself?” I ask her, before she opens the door.

She looks at me, her face already lined with a sorrow I cannot take away from her.

“No,” she says after a moment. “Please come with me.”

“Alright.”

I walk next to her while we follow the directions she’s been given to find his grave. She’s gripping my hand tightly, while pressing the flowers against her chest with the other.

“I’ve never had to say goodbye to someone,” she says in barely more than a whisper. “Not like this.”

“It’s the hardest thing we as people have to endure, if you ask me,” I say. “It’s bad enough to be aware of our own mortality, but to be faced with it when we have to say goodbye to others is even worse.”

I can feel her eyes on me from the side, but am not ready to return the look.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I forgot that you’ve had a much harder parting in your life.”

I shake my head.

“It was hard,” I say. “But it’s true what they say about time. It’s the only thing that really can heal all wounds. Even the ones that run as deep as mine.”

She squeezes my hand in lieu of a reply. We walk a few more steps in silence, not encountering another person, which is probably because of the murky weather. It’s foggy and cold, providing a perfectly gloomy atmosphere in this deserted cemetery.

“This is it,” she says, as she stops in front of a newer-looking tombstone.

She freezes in front of it, her lips parted as she lets go of my hand.

“Professor Miller,” she whispers, and as soon as she says the name, a tear rolls down her pale cheek.

I want to touch her, hug her, take the pain of grief away from her, but I know I can’t. This is something she will have to overcome herself, and I know she will.

There are many things I can do for her, though. And I vow to do every single one of them.

I’m relieved to see her smiling as she goes down on her knees to place the bouquet on the grave.

“A tombstone that looks like an opened book,” she says, directed toward the grave. “Just plain and simple, with no silly quote. I bet you’re glad they didn’t bother with any of that nonsense.”

She gets back up on her feet, still smiling.

“He hated it when people expressed themselves with quotes,” she explains, wiping away her tears as she turns to me. “He always called it lazy.”

I smile. “Smart man.”

“He was, very straightforward, and a great mentor,” she tells me. “I’m going to miss him.”

I wrap my arm around her, pulling her closer, while she finally gets a chance to grieve the man who was more than just a boss to her.

We stay for a few more minutes, standing mostly in silence. I want to give her all the time she needs, and wait until she asks to leave.

“Goodbye,” she says as we turn away from the grave.

Her words are heavy with meaning, addressing not only her former boss but an entire life she leaves behind.

Then we turn to head back toward the car and the new life that awaits us.