Tears of Tess

Eyes remained dry, but my heart wept. Q was my punishment for making Brax so uncomfortable. The bitch, Karma, would make me live my sick fantasies—realize that I wasn’t normal, that I needed help.

My rib ached from fighting, but I poked the bone, enticing more pain. I deserved to be in agony, to pay for the sins toward the sweetest man I ever knew. A man I may never see again. Pain confronted all the nastiness harbouring in my soul. No wonder your parents never loved you. They hated you for stealing their retirement, but also because they saw what you didn’t: that you’re broken.

I was a bad, bad person and deserved my fate. I brought this nightmare with my wicked thoughts.

Q was my curse.

When Suzette arrived in the morning, she tried the door, followed by French slur and a loud knock. “Open up. You aren’t allowed to block the entry.” She must’ve leaned into the door as it opened slightly.

My eyes widened as she squeaked the dresser aside, inch by inch. Shit, if a woman her size could break my security, Q could come in whenever he damn well pleased.

Was there no way out? I’d looked out the tiny postage stamp-sized window, searching for downpipes or something to scale to the ground. But nothing could be used—trees grew too far away, and the fall looked at least five stories. Not to mention, once I managed to climb down, guards patrolled and the GPS anklet would alert Q to my location.

Suzette squeezed through the gap in the door, and placed hands on her hips. “You mustn’t do that again, esclave.”

The word conjured everything from last night: Q’s smell, his touch, his aura of power. I shuddered. I should just take my own life. It would stop the internal battle and put me out of my misery. I gulped, hating the hopelessly weak thought. Never! Shit, Tess never. Whatever happens, you can and will survive.

Suzette crossed her arms, staring. “It becomes easier.” Her voice twisted with anger, her own issues and hurt. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know she’d been through similar circumstances.

My eyes shot to her. “Was it the same for you?” Did Q break her down bit by bit, with his odd mixture of controlling and gentleness?

She shook her head, fingers digging into forearms. “Not Maître Mercer. Another.” Her hazel eyes blazed then settled. She sighed, “Q is many things, but never as bad as others.”

My ears pricked. Q’s name on her tongue sounded strange. I was used to her calling him Master Mercer. What sort of relationship did they share? Not that I cared.

“Let me give you some advice.” She moved closer; I watched warily. I didn’t buy her friend act. “Let go. It doesn’t have to be forever, but allow yourself to relax. It doesn’t have to be wrong if he treats you right.”

Her words were blasphemous, but some small part of me considered it. How would it feel to forget about Tess for a while? To play a pantomime of the perfect slave. Tess would disappear and Esclave would take her place. I’d be the perfect toy, all the while searching for a way to run.

It might be best for her to think I accepted the advice. I stood, bowing my head. “You’re right. I’ll try.” How did other victims get through this? I needed a safety mechanism, something to protect my soul like a suit of armour in battle.

I’d found the protection in Mexico. I’d been ready to do anything to keep my mind whole. I just needed to do that permanently.

She smiled, dropping her arms to clap. “Super. Now, have a shower and dress so we can begin the day.” Her eyes dropped to my dirty sweater.

I hated the pleasure beaming in her eyes, all because I agreed to give Q a chance. She bounced with happiness because I allowed the horrible new existence to rule my life. Terror iced my spine. Why her vested interest? Mental note: never let my guard down around her. Whatever I said would most likely get back to Q.

“I don’t have anything else to wear.”

Suzette clucked her tongue, striding toward the free standing wardrobe. “You obviously haven’t looked at what Q bought for you.”

Q bought me clothes? Creepy bastard. First, he forced me to admit I belonged to him, then expected to dress me like a Barbie doll.

I climbed off the bed and looked over Suzette’s shoulder. She was shorter, but her personality made up for her pigmy stature. She pulled out a gorgeous slinky, silver gown with diamantes across the bodice. “Fantastique, this would look amazing on you.”

I snorted, forgetting for a moment where I lived and indulged in talking clothes with another female. “There’s no way I would wear that.” I shuddered to think of the elegant material whispering over skin, enticing men’s attention—Q’s attention.

Reaching over, I grabbed a pair of fitted jeans and knitted cream sweater. They were the least blingy clothes available, but screamed designer and money.

“These will do.” I cuddled them, anxious to change the Mexican sweater-dress for new clothes.

She shook her head, giggling. “If you’re trying to hide your figure so Q doesn’t want you, it will never work. You don’t know him like I do. He’s… different around you.”

My heart swooped and stomach rolled. I hated her tone—the almost maternal love in her voice. What did she mean, different? Perhaps he wasn’t normally a horny bastard—just my luck to bring out that side of him.

Before I could ask, she brushed past and hovered by the door. “Come down when you’re done. I’ll give you some privacy.” With a kind smile, she shut the door, leaving me with my thoughts.

Not wanting to be alone to wallow, I quickly grabbed a white lacy bra, and matching knickers, and headed to the bathroom. Funny how, over a week ago, I dressed in expensive purple lingerie in the hope to catch Brax’s eye. Now, I wanted a sack to hide in.

The shower helped settle my nerves somewhat. I should’ve taken one last night after Q manhandled me, but the thought of being na**d in the house, with him lurking somewhere… well, I couldn’t do it. I’d rather reek—maybe he’d be repelled.

But showering in the daytime made me comfortable. Q seemed to leave during the day, and for that, I was thankful. I had alone time—away from his prying fingers and eager mouth.

Once dressed, I headed downstairs and found Suzette in the lounge. The weak winter sun shone patches of brightness on the white carpet like golden pools. Everything about the house looked as if it belonged in a waxworks or museum. Too perfect. Too neat. Where was the haphazardness of life: the pair of shoes by the door, a dirty glass on the coffee table? It was sterile.