17
For a while, things with Charlie are somewhat platonic, like in the gym when he wouldn’t fuck me. We kiss and stuff, and I get so turned on I rub my body on his—especially after a hot workout session—but he won’t screw me.
I find his restraint weird, given he forced himself on me to steal my virginity. I suspect he feels guilty for the way he first took me. Or maybe Dr. Shyam told him to leave me alone and indulge in other ways until I’m well again? The latter is a plausible explanation, since all Charlie wants to do is talk, train, play fight, read books, or watch movies.
Movies are a new addition to our relationship.
One night when he comes back from a meeting, I spot he’s holding a few DVDs—plus a royal blue, oval jewelry box. I’m a little pouty that he didn’t ask me to go with him, hiding in the kitchen doorway as he enters the house. He’s clad in one of those fancy businesslike coats Maksim used to wear, expensive black material hanging to just below his knees. Beneath it, he’s wearing a tidy black shirt unbuttoned to his dusty chest, tucked into dark blue fitted jeans and shiny oxford shoes. I watch him strip out of the coat as he mutters something in Spanish to one of his men. The Los Zetas replies to say she’s been relaxing. “Very quiet and intriguing that one,” he adds, as if he’s been analyzing me. I haven’t even noticed him around. I’ve been anxiously shifting from room to room, waiting on Charlie’s impending return.
“Hmm, Blaire is an enigmatic creature, yes,” Charlie says, stepping up to look down on his man. “I hope you haven’t been lingering around her? I told you all to stay away from her, didn’t I?”
The Los Zetas guy nods, maintaining eye contact with his Señor as a display of truth and loyalty. It’s then Charlie spots me prying in the kitchen doorway. He walks up to greet me with a deep kiss, lifting me clean off my feet with his arms bound around my body.
I’m mortified he’s doing this in front of people, but he’s just happy to see me.
I ask where he’s been once we settle at the dining table for dinner, and he explains that he closed a big deal today at a meeting in London, while tucking into his food.
“A big deal, huh?” I say, reaching for the jug of water, but he takes it before I can and pours me a drink. “How was it in the city?”
He shrugs, unbothered by the day’s events. “Nothing changes there.”
I try to hide the fact that I’m still offended, switching off emotionally by yes’ing and no’ing on autopilot to all his questions: am I all right, did I miss him, blah, blah, blah. He asks if I want to watch a movie, and my head snaps up from my plate, eyes alight with curiosity. We haven’t done that before.
“You can cut the nonchalant act, baby,” he teases, grinning from ear to ear. “I know you’re upset with me.”
My expression morphs into a scowl. “I am not upset with you.”
“Don’t lie, Blaire. It doesn’t suit you.”
I snort at his mockery, but his features soften. He watches me for a second in silence, creating a sphere of intimacy around us.
“I didn’t want you to come today because of all that’s going on with Robert,” he says eventually. “You should know I wouldn’t give anyone a chance to get their grubby hands on you.”
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Charlie.”
“I know I don’t, but I will. I respect you enough to offer an explanation.” His head turns to the frail housekeeper who’s passing the royal blue jewelry box Charlie arrived with. “Obviously, this is for you,” he says to me.
I take the box and click it open, frowning at a string of sparkly crystals wrapped around a suede cushion inlay. I don’t know what to say. I force a smile and put the box on the empty chair next to me, now feeling stupid for being annoyed with him over something so trivial. I cannot fathom why it bothered me that he went out without me, but it did.
“When we’re in Mexico,” he says, knotting his fingers under his chin, “I’ll take you everywhere, Blaire: restaurants, dancing, late evening barbeques by the ocean...”
“You have restaurants at your Site?”
He nods. “It’s a built-up community, completely self-contained, except for a few things we need to source from the mainland—like pretty diamonds for pretty girls.” He smiles when he says that, making me feel hot all over, and I realize that must be a string of diamonds in the jewelry box. Not crystals.
Charlie’s charm charges on full beam as he goes in to practically selling his homeland to me, adding little details about a boat he owns, so he can travel between Cuba and the Bahamas.
I’m enveloped under his spell, smiling and nodding without restraint when he asks again if I want to watch a movie with him. He goes up to change in to more comfortable attire, then we nestle in each other on the couch in the living room to watch The Great Gatsby, a classic in literature and television. Charlie is lying on his side, spooning me from behind with one arm under my neck, wrapped around my chest. I use his bicep as a cushion, shoving my feet between his thighs for warmth.
I’m surprised by how engrossing the movie is, content silence hanging between Charlie and me for hours while he fiddles with the bracelet on my wrist. But then Gatsby and his lover are reunited after five years of separation, and it sparks untold questions in me. They say they’re certainly glad to see each other, standing in a room inundated in beautiful, colorful flowers—courtesy of Gatsby. The music is perfect, a lady with a voice so deep yet melodic, enchanting. The visuals are second to none.
“This isn’t a real story, is it?” I glance back at Charlie, arching my neck to see his face.
“Some say it’s a true story.” He smiles down on me, gazing with wholesome affection.
I don’t believe it for a second. No one is that in love.
“But, a man wouldn’t get all those flowers for a girl,” I say, blinking at him in a state of processing. “It’s too much hassle, no?”
He touches my face, picking lengths of hair off my forehead. “Do you like flowers?”
I shrug, turning back to the television. “I guess they’re beautiful to look at. They’re really beautiful in this movie.”
Charlie’s ex—or whatever she was—Celine, mocked the idea of us watching movies together. I’m not sure why. I turn right around to Charlie this time, curl up in his middle, and tell him what she said, evidently confused. “Why would Celine say that with sarcasm?”
He smirks, glancing between my eyes and my mouth while tucking lengths of hair behind my ear. “She’s just jealous of us spending quality time together, is all.”
“By watching movies, like now?”
He nods and bends to give me a soft yet full peck on the mouth. “Couples do things like watching movies, going out to dinner, and dancing, baby.”
I sigh. I really don’t understand. I never did any of those things with Maksim—not that we were a couple or anything.
I ask Charlie if he’s ever watched movies like this with anyone else other than me, ready to catalogue names just in case I need to get rid of them. But he insists he hasn’t, and I believe him.
“That’s...good...” I say with a frown, trailing off in my thoughts. The idea of Charlie being intimate with another woman bothers me. It makes my stomach twist with the strangest, angriest emotion. When Maksim used to fuck about with other girls, I didn’t care. But I don’t want to share Charlie—and I won’t.
“Did you ever do things like this with Maksim?” Charlie questions. I turn away, telling him a flat no. He doesn’t press me, just sighs. He never presses me anymore. The only thing Charlie seems interested in is ensuring my happiness.
The next day, he wakes me before dawn. I initially think something is wrong as Charlie never wakes me up anymore. My thoughts hamper on James. He’s in trouble. He’s dead. Robert is here! But the mood in the bedroom is serene, flickering candles dotted about on shelves and side tables. A rich, woody scent lingers in the air from the burning fireplace in the corner. It’s spitting with wild, ginger flames, glowing orange over Charlie’s large frame bent over me in the bed.
“What’s going on?” I ask, croaking to clear my throat. I rub my eyes, trying to wake up because I’m sure I’m dreaming.
“Nothing’s going on,” Charlie whispers and taps the bed. “I got you something.”
I turn my head, and my jaw drops at the sight of a huge bunch of white flowers on his pillow, decorated with wild leaves. The silver packaging crumples in my hands as I lift the heavy bouquet to my nose, to feel the cool, silky petals on my skin. I snag my cheek on a card with a note reading, You deserve these, baby. X
I’m so stunned by them that I can’t even thank him. How did he get these so early? The sun hasn’t even come up yet.
He kisses my mouth, chuckling while trying to tell me he’s also run a hot bubble bath for me. “When you’re done, there’s a vase on the coffee table for the flowers.”
Still, I’m stumped for words. My mouth doesn’t even close when he kisses me one last time before disappearing for work.
I wake the day after to another bunch of flowers, and the following day to another...it becomes a diurnal treat. The cards become the muses of my days, tender, handwritten notes that are different every time. I ask what his infamous X means over dinner one night, beyond curious. “Google says it denotes a kiss.”
“You actually Googled what does an X mean?” he says through a mouthful of rice, staring at me from the side with wide, interested eyes.
I tell him that I did. “When I lived with you before, when you gave me your laptop to use, I Googled it then.”
His expression thaws, and he tilts his head to gaze at me with longing affection. “You’re so damn sweet sometimes, Blaire. It does denote a kiss, yeah.” He beams, glancing up and down between my eyes and my mouth. “And you’re the only girl I’ve ever written kisses to because you’re the only girl I’ve ever been in love with.”
A power of pride takes over me, and I stare at him so he can see it scorching in my eyes and in my smile. He’s. All. Mine. It’s still so hard to believe we’re solely each other’s. I’m nervous for the day we mingle with other people—specifically other women. But I guess I’ll deal with that when the time comes.
Eliza clears the table when Charlie vanishes to make a phone call in his office, and I go upstairs to hide all the cards under my pillow, so no one can take them from me. That’s when I find a lighter on the floor near the bed, like it fell out of someone’s pocket by mistake. It’s a clear case nearly full to the brim of gas. Glancing around, I check for evidence of an intruder. Charlie and I don’t smoke. Maybe he used it to light the candles the other morning?
That makes sense.
I scoop it up off the floor and flick it on to watch the angry, auburn flame flicker with its tango. I don’t know why, but I burn one of the flowers Charlie bought today. I hold the stalk and set the silky petals alight, bewitched by the black smoke and the strange, metallic scent. My eyes divert to Maksim’s bite mark on my wrist, the silvery-white scars fading day by day. I think about how neither James nor I have mourned our master. No one even speaks of him anymore. It’s as if he never existed. It’s as if his death didn’t really happen. It’s as if I dreamed the whole thing and somehow awoke from the nightmare in an alternative universe. An almost perfect universe.
Most would think my master doesn’t deserve James’ or my respect of mourning him since he did unspeakable things to us, but we spent ten years of our lives with him. To me, that warrants mourning him in the proper fashion. In Russia when one dies, mirrors are covered so the soul doesn’t get trapped between worlds, and we drink vodka to say goodbye.
Perhaps James and I will do just that once he’s home.
I flick the lighter again and hold the flame under the bite mark, hissing as it boils my flesh from the outside in. As odd as it sounds, the pain brings back reality. Life with Charlie is a big coast of serenity. He rarely makes me angry or unhappy, and if he does it’s fleeting. To feel the scorch of the flame reminds me that this isn’t reality. This is a dream. A wonderful dream I never want to wake from.
Reality is being on all fours under Maksim about to take a bloody beating.
“What the hell are you doing?!” Charlie yells from the doorway, and I flinch in astonishment. I drop the flower and the lighter on the floor at my feet, gawking at him in a state of white shock.
He storms in before I can catalogue his expression, snatches my wrist, and glares at the hot, angry red patch marring the scar. It pulses with pain, amplifying when I curl my fingers, pulling at the flesh.
Charlie’s dark mood sets off like an erupting volcano, and he isn’t even speaking.
“Let me go,” I whisper while yanking at my hand, wanting to put a mile between us. “I-I want to go. Let me go, Charlie.”
“Why would you do this, Blaire?” he growls with his features narrowed, eyes blazing under pure wrath. He tugs on my arm, demanding an answer. “Why the fuck would you burn yourself?”
“I-I don’t know.” I blink at the floor, unsure of what to say. My shoulders arch, breaths coming deeper. There was no reason for burning myself. It just happened.
He drags me to the bathroom off his bedroom and heaves me over to the sinks. Flicking on the faucet, he stretches my arm under the icy flow. I wince through gritted teeth when the water hits my skin. It heightens the burn, making my hand tremor with pain.
“Does that feel fucking good, hmm?”
I shake my head to answer him, and he glares at me.
“Stupid girl...” he spits, turning up the flow so it’s gushing and spitting about all over the place. “Stay there while I get a bandage, and I fucking mean it. Don’t you dare move.”
Charlie rushes out of the room, leaving me with the isolation of what I’ve just done. I look around, nervous, while the sink fills up to nearly overflowing, but I don’t move to undo the plug. I just let it run. He told me not to move.
When Charlie comes back he pulls the plug, causing a rowdy, gulping sound in the pipes. He’s holding a bottle of gel and a whole stack of bandages, laying them out on the vanity unit. He doesn’t say anything, and neither do I. With steady hands, he smears gel on the hot wound, using his thumb in gentle, circling strokes. It tingles and burns with a particular coldness. It throbs as he wraps the bandage around several times before tucking it in the edge.
“Now, Blaire”—he bows at the knees, putting us eye to eye—“why would you burn yourself?”
“I don’t know, Charlie,” I say. I try to walk past him but he extends an arm, refusing to let me leave.
“You can go once you’ve answered my question.”
I shutdown royally, cuddling my sore arm. I keep my eyes on the floor, regardless of how hard he stares at me.
“I want to know why you burned yourself, Blaire. This is fucked up!”
I slowly lift my face to his. “I’m, fucked up?”
He huffs while lifting his hands in a shrug, at a loss.
My hackles come up raw, starting as a spidery prickle on the back of my neck and spreading throughout my body.
“You’re fucked up!” I scream in his face at the top of my lungs, and he steps back with surprise. “Don’t you dare stand there holier than thou when you’re the one who’s taking meds for psychotic episodes! You’re fucked up! You are! It-it’s not just me!”
Words don’t pass his lips. He crosses his arms, surveying me with intense interest.
It riles me to new depths.
Fists clenched, I really give it to him, shrieking that he’s a bastard. He slaps a hand over my mouth and rams me up against the wall, one knee pressing into my middle. I groan on impact, so stunned my thoughts blank. He shoves his other hand into my pants, and my stomach flips with a muddle of panic and strange violation. My eyes dash away from his, squeezing shut as he fingers his way into my tight hole.
“Well, it doesn’t feel like pain gets you off,” he says, pulling out of my dry channel. Letting go of my mouth, he steps back to observe me again.
I melt to the floor on all fours, hugging my head in my arms to hide from his scrutiny. I don’t even know what’s happening. Not half an hour ago, we were having a nice dinner, enjoying each other, and now...
“Why did you do that, Blaire? Why did you burn yourself?”
“I don’t know!” I shout, tensing to get it out.
“Why did you burn the flower?”
“I don’t know...Maksim used to burn flowers,” I say honestly, hoping it’s enough to shut him up. But it’s not. He asks why, and I tell him, “He used to burn them and put them on his parents’ graves because he hated them.”
“Whoa...so, you hate me?”
“What? No!” I hug my head tighter, wishing he’d let this go. “I just...I just burned it because—I don’t know why!”
“Why did you burn yourself?”
“I! Don’t! Know!” My throat tears, screeching so hard my eyes nearly pop out of my skull. “I said I don’t know! I don’t fucking know!”
The sound of metal clanging on metal makes my stomach drop. I know what it is. I don’t need to see to know. He’s fumbling to unbuckle his belt.
My entire body sinks with nerves. I’m sorry. I try to say it, but I’m paralyzed.
“Is it the pain, hmm?” Charlie’s breaths expel, rugged and tense. “Does it turn you on? Do you want my belt across your fucking ass to get you wet? Answer me!” I cower under his yelling, nearly shattering to cry, no, I don’t!
“There are rules to indulging in things like this, Blaire, and for a good fucking reason,” he snaps. “You’re not some puta I picked up in a club. I fucking love you! Safety is priority!” I flinch every time he shouts, mentally begging him to stop. “Is this what you want, yeah, to indulge in pain play? By my Dios, if you don’t answer me...”
Panicking, I shake my head in my arms to signal no because I definitely don’t want to indulge in pain play if it means he’s going to hit me.
“Then tell me why you burned yourself, baby?”
“I said I don’t know, Charlie,” I whisper, calming under his tone of voice. I gulp a few deep breaths, tongue weighing heavy in my mouth. “I just did it. I saw the lighter, and I just...I just burned the flower, and then I just burned my arm.”
Charlie doesn’t say anything now, and formidable silence encases us. I can feel his stare boring into me, but I don’t dare look up. I lie here curled up waiting for his hands to pull down my trousers and my underwear. I lie here waiting for him to belt me. But then I hear a deft clang on the floor near my head. I flinch. Then I hear heavy thuds getting further and further away, flinching with every one. Removing my arms, I peer up and ahead to see Charlie’s tanned boots rounding the corner out of the closet, into the bedroom, until he disappears out of sight.
My heart roars in my ears as I listen for the bedroom door to shut. When it does, I take the opportunity to get up and hide in the only place in this house I know isn’t under his Big Brother watchful eye—my old bedroom.