Chapter Fourteen
It had been three days since she’d seen him. Three days that felt like three years. Her entire world seemed surreal, slightly off kilter like a fuzzy dream she was sure she would wake from at any moment. There was a knock.
Annette went to the door, knowing who was on the other side before she got there. She was already weary from the conversation that hadn’t happened yet. She didn’t know why she hadn’t gone to the police when she’d had the chance.
Had she wanted Anton to come for her? Was that why she hadn’t packed Janette up and ran away? Her sister hadn’t been back to the spa during her scheduled time, and yet the world hadn’t ended, and no threats had been acted out against either of them. Didn’t that at least count for something?
When she opened the door, Anton looked as tired as she felt.
“Kiska,” he said. Just that one word. It made her want to throw herself at his feet and beg him to take her back even though she’d been the one to run. And yet, somehow she managed to stay standing under her own steam even as her hands gripped the door frame as though clinging to life.
She stood aside to let him pass. “Are you coming in?”
He stepped inside and glanced around the apartment. “Nice. Clean,” was all he said before taking a seat at the kitchen bar.
“Your sister hasn’t been to work,” Anton said.
“I know.” Could he really be surprised by that under the circumstances?
“Where is she now?”
“At school. I don’t expect you to keep paying for it.”
“You can’t afford it on what you make,” he said almost too reasonably.
“We’ll manage.”
“Come back to the house with me.” His accent wrapped around her, enveloped her like warm, dark liquid chocolate.
Although she’d wanted to fling herself at him only moments before, now that the offer was on the table… “I can’t.”
“Of course you can.”
She shook her head fiercely. “No.”
“Why did you leave?”
Annette didn’t answer, not trusting her voice, not trusting that she wouldn’t start ranting about how awful Brian was and how awful Anton was for subjecting her to his presence in the first place.
“Kiska, you know I can just take you. I can easily overpower you and take you out of here. You live in a very quiet neighborhood with a lot of empty apartments around you. No one would stop me.”
“Please, just let me go. You know I’m not going to the police. I would have already. I’m not a threat to you.” If there were a decent bone in her body, she would have gone to the police for Shannon and anybody else like her who might fall onto Brian’s bad side. And yet, she couldn’t bear the idea of Anton going to prison, which made her one fucked-up hysterical lunatic.
“And what about your sister?” Anton pressed.
“She won’t talk, either. We just want our lives back, without you. I just... can’t anymore.”
“Why not?”
Inexplicably she felt like she should bake something for him or at least make him a fresh pot of coffee, but she refused to be lured into this mindless subservience again. Who the hell had she become? Whoever that was… it wasn’t her. It couldn’t be.
“You know why not. Shannon. Brian… He could snap again. It’s just too much. All of it. I can’t live like this anymore. I want to be free.”
Anton’s expression hardened. “You want a lot of things, kiska, but freedom isn’t one of them.”
“You’d like that to be the case, wouldn’t you?” He was still so arrogant and sure of himself even as she practically ran screaming from him—at least in her mind. In reality, she found her body inching ever closer to him.
“I know you can take me away and lock me up. But if you aren’t going to do that or kill me, just leave. I’m asking you nicely to release me from this contract.”
He laughed, but it was a hard, angry laugh. “You pretend this was all some painful duty, but I watched you bloom underneath my hands. I saw your pleasure and excitement. I saw your desire to please me and be mine. You can’t erase that or pretend it didn’t happen.”
“I’m not pretending. I’m telling you to leave me the hell alone!”
“Maybe I can’t live with you free out in the world pretending you weren’t affected by me. A few days back home, and you’re already back to lying. And you know how I feel about liars.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of black leather gloves. He didn’t break eye contact with her as he slid them on.
Up until this point, she realized she hadn’t been truly afraid of him. Their relationship, as strange as it had been, had stopped feeling like a hostage situation a long time ago even in that last two weeks before she’d run away. While she knew he could take her back to the house and that he very well might, emotionally she’d remained still like a lake in winter.
And yet now, it seemed as though something had shifted in his plan. In the next moment, she knew what… though really she’d known for over a minute. He pulled a long terrifying knife out of his coat and unsheathed it. It wasn’t just a knife. It was the knife. The knife in question. The one that had done the damage to Shannon. Were there no other knives in the world?
Anton was between her and the door out of her apartment. If she ran, she wouldn’t make it to the door that led to freedom, she’d only make it to the door that led to an even more enclosed space—her bedroom.
“Master,” she said backing away, her hands in the air vaguely resembling surrender.
“Oh, so now it’s Master. Now that you think you’re about to die.”
She had thought that, and yet, when he said the word it sounded so much worse and so much more real. In their brief separation, something had clearly snapped inside his brain. Suddenly he seemed a lot more like Brian than she wanted to admit. Brian was the crazy one. Not Anton. And yet, it was Anton who loomed over her with the knife.
She backed up until she ran out of space and there was a wall at her back with Anton moving ever closer. Her legs buckled, suddenly refusing to support her, and then she was huddled in a ball on her knees at his feet.
“Master, please. I’ll come back with you.”
He made a sound of disgust. “No. It would be a lie. I don’t want a lie. I can get Katya or any other girl to play and live a lie with me. I won’t do it with you.”
“So, what? You’ll kill me instead? How is that better?”
She jumped when the carved dragon handle of the knife hit the hardwood floor beside her. It bounced once, then the blade let out a sort of death rattle as it rocked back and forth a couple of times to settle on the ground.
“Pick up the knife,” he said quietly.
“No!” Whatever game he thought he was playing, she wasn’t on board with it. If he wanted to carve her up like a Christmas ham, he’d have to do it without her assistance.
“Pick up. The knife.” he said.
She stayed where she was, huddled, trying to transport herself out of this space and out of this awful day by sheer force of will. Maybe she should have grabbed it to defend herself, but such a thought was laughable. He could take it from her. Her joke of a grip and tiny wrist weren’t going to be a threat to him. If he’d brought a gun, it might have been different, and maybe he knew that, too.
“Pick it up!” he shouted into the stillness.
If she’d had nearby neighbors, they would have heard and maybe intervened, but they both knew she didn’t. As it was, she just prayed Jan’s class didn’t end early. And then she started praying that it wouldn’t end at all as she thought about her sister finding her. And what if Anton laid in wait and then killed her too? It had been the threat that had originally bound them together after all, though she’d never imagined something so intimate as a knife. She’d thought there would be distance. Cold. Impersonal. Maybe they wouldn’t even have to see it coming. Maybe a hit man taking out his marks from a clinical safe distance.
“If you think you’re going to get my fingerprints on this knife to make it look like a suicide… no one will ever believe it,” Annette said.
“Who said the knife was for you?”
“If it’s not for me, why the gloves?”
“It just didn’t seem smart to leave my fingerprints on it. Just in case.”
“In case of what?”
Anton shrugged. “Pick it up.”
“And do what with it?” She’d uncurled herself from the balled up position, but she was still on the ground, eyeing him warily.
“Just end it. I don’t want to kill you or your sister, but I can’t leave you as a loose end, either. It’s just easier this way. You stabbed me in the heart when you ran away. This is just making it official.”
“You’re insane. You know I’m not going to stab you.”
He bent and picked up the knife, and just when she thought she was in the clear, Anton used his free hand to pull her up to stand. He held her against the wall and rested the flat of the blade against her collarbone.
Her breath barely moved in and out of her. Running away had done something strange and wild to him. She’d never seen him this way. She could hardly believe this was Anton. Looking at him now, he didn’t just look tired. He looked disheveled, his energy a sort of erratic heavy metallic grating against her skin when he touched her.
Annette felt the tears gathering behind her eyes, and then they began to slide down her cheeks. “Please just go and leave me in peace. We aren’t loose ends. We won’t tell anyone anything. Just go,” she whispered.
It was impossible to tell which way he would go in the long stretch of silence that followed. It felt equally possible that he could kill her… or himself. He seemed so completely broken, which felt wrong and indulgent since she was the one who’d been his slave, not the other way around. He’d been in control the whole time. And now, faced with a single grain of uncertainty, he couldn’t hack it? That was the man she’d given herself to?
She felt angry at him for this moment of weakness. This was the man whose hands she’d put her life into, and he couldn’t keep it together when things went south?
Finally he stepped away. “I’m sorry, kiska. I haven’t slept in three days. I haven’t eaten in two. I had vodka, but that doesn’t count, does it?” Those were his last words to her. No kiss goodbye. No final embrace. No threats. He just turned and left.
On his way out the door, he slammed the knife down into the kitchen counter so that it stood straight up and down, the point trapped in the counter. Annette slid back to the ground and cried.
***
She tried to move on with her life. But once Anton left, the finality of it had slithered up around her neck like a choking vine. It was only weeks later that she was finally able to admit what she’d hoped would happen. She’d known deep down Anton would come for her. But she’d wanted promises and assurances. She’d wanted to know he would keep Brian away from her, at any cost.
When that didn’t happen, she’d thought she could go back to being the person she’d been before him and the house. But she’d been wrong. Before that night in the apartment, she’d known he was coming, so any sadness she might have felt, she wouldn’t have to sit with that grief for very long. Because he was coming for her. If she hadn’t welcomed such a fate in some dark corner of her heart, wouldn’t she have taken Janette and run?
It was the part of the movie where the couple is separated temporarily. Then they see each other again, and work things out, and then everything is okay. Somewhere in her mind, Annette could now admit that’s what she’d thought would happen. She’d thought he would make some grand gesture, or that he would just take her no matter how much she kicked and fought so she wouldn’t have to blame herself later if everything went to hell. If Brian hurt her. If Anton did.
They both knew eventually she’d get past it. And maybe they would talk and reach some compromise, and he would promise her protection, and everything would just… work out.
But then another part of her, a more conscious part, had thought that if he let her go, everything would just be okay. She could somehow… go back, to what, she couldn’t fully articulate anymore. Her life before Anton felt like a dim, barely remembered and half-forgotten dream.
Her fingers ran absently along the scar on her lower back. She hadn’t shown it to Janette. She could never show it to anyone.
She jumped when the key turned in the lock. Every time that happened, she jumped now. As if somehow Anton had gotten a key and was coming back. But it was only her sister. He wasn’t coming back. He’d made his final drunken, nonsensical visit. She wasn’t even sure what he’d wanted or how he thought it would turn out.
When she woke in the night in the middle of a dream of him, she could sometimes piece it together in her mind, like a blurry watercolor. It was never fully clear in the daylight. But at night, in the stillness at 3 am, she thought sometimes that he’d hoped she would come back with him. But he didn’t want her cowering on the ground terrified of him, bargaining for her life. He wanted her to want all the things he wanted.
And the fucked-up part of it was… she did. Somehow when she hadn’t been paying attention, this desire to be his had snuck inside her heart. If it hadn’t been for that stupid shit with Brian. If she could have had some kind of reassurance. If...
“Annie?”
Annette looked up to find her sister standing in front of her, a worried expression knitting her brow.
“You have to get off this couch and put something else on besides a bathrobe.”
“No, I don’t. The clients don’t know the fucking difference,” Annette said. She’d been taking calls like this. She could barely stomach the work anymore because all the pretty lies she told didn’t feel pretty anymore. They only made her miss having something real. It wasn’t easy money anymore. Somehow the whole thing felt gross and degrading.
It was absurd to her that she should feel that way about phone calls and fantasy when she hadn’t felt it with Anton and all the real life debauchery he’d subjected her to.
“Annie!” her sister shouted.
“What? I’m right here!”
“No. You aren’t. It’s been six weeks. I’m worried. Maybe you should talk to someone.”
“Hell, no.” She wasn’t going to sit on some therapist’s couch and discuss how somehow her every longing and desire now revolved around whips and chains and slavery.
“Maybe we should call the police. He’s got to pay for what he’s done to you.”
“No! It wasn’t him. If you call, I promise I will never speak to you again.”
“Well you have to fucking talk to me! I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.”
This was serious. Janette almost never cursed. It wasn’t in her makeup. She was the sweet one, the one birds and butterflies followed around whenever she stepped outside.
And yet… Annette couldn’t be bothered. What if she just showed up back at the house? Would he take her back still? He’d probably moved on.