Page 15 of Enraptured

She pursed her lips, then grabbed my wrist hard, “No one is coming to help you.”

“What kind of person are you? Do you know what he does to me?” I drop my toast, jerking my arm free. My other hand places the cup of tea I was holding down so hard, hot liquid sloshes over the rim.

My fingers rub where her fingers gripped me feeling a small bump on the inside of my wrist that I don’t remember having.

“That’s Mr. Devillo’s business. Now shut that mouth of yours and eat. Don’t judge me. You have no idea what he’s done for me. He saved my son’s life. Got him medication that isn’t even approved by the government yet. Gave me a job and pays for my son’s care…as long as I keep my mouth shut; my son lives.” Her small eyes glance over me. “You don’t appear hurt. I didn’t hear you scream. The man’s nursing you back to health as far as I can tell.”

“He’s not a good man. Don’t let his deeds fool you.”

“I don’t care if he’s the devil himself. A mother does what she needs to for her child. Maybe someday you’ll understand that.” She shakes her head, her face a mixture of pain and love momentarily softening her harsh features.

My eyes fall to the tray. Me? A mother? Sharp, longing pierces my heart as I remember a day, a few months earlier where I fell asleep in Christos’ arms dreaming of the pitter patter of little feet. But now, I know that will never happen with him. He’s not the type of man who would be a good father. A child needs love. And love and Christos cannot coexist.

The door clicks firmly as she leaves. I sigh picking up my toast blaming my stupid, foolish heart for cracking wide open for a man who doesn’t deserve one piece.

I’m tired but can’t sleep after sleeping for days. I’m weak as a newborn foal trying to find its legs but somehow I limp to the bathroom where I shower and relieve myself. Wrapped in a warm fluffy towel, I hesitate seeing boxes on the bed and Mrs. Fritz unpacking them.

“Where are my things?”

She points to the chair by the window. My old backpack sits on the expensive cream chair sticking out like a sore thumb. It’s tattered, frayed, stained with engine grease and oil. But it’s mine, carrying familiar things inside. And that is keeping me grounded, sane for the time being. I’m still Jessie Montgomery. I need to never let go of that. No matter how hard he tries to make me.

“Dinner is served at six, sharp. Mr. Devillo will be expecting you in the formal dining room. This isn’t America,” she pauses to look down her nose at me, “we dress for dinner here. Your ratty jeans and jumpers won’t do.”

“I don’t own any jumpers.”

“Never mind,” she mutters, “wear dress slacks, a skirt, anything I hang on the left side of your closet. You do know how to match colors and fabrics?”

“Of course. There was an entire course dedicated to that at finishing school.”

She pauses, thinking I’m serious, before her face prunes. “Bloody Americans.”

I flip her the bird as I stride towards my backpack, pulling my leggings and my Chargers T-shirt out. It’s wrinkled and smells of flour and spices. I drop my towel, hugging myself as the familiar smells of Yaya’s café surround me.

“And do, fix that dreadful tangle of hair,” she shakes her head as she finishes placing new clothes away. Clothes that must have cost a small fortune. What a waste. I’ll never wear them. And Christos can go back to hell. There’s a better chance he won’t eat alone there than in the dining room downstairs.

He drugged me.

Kidnapped me, it’s worse than before. Before I didn’t know what he was capable of. And I’m afraid to find out he’s probably capable of so much more…the murky depths of who he is, too far down for even me to see.

But I won’t delude myself into thinking my love can bring him out of the dark. I’m not that “foolish girl” anymore, the one who sobbed at his feet, begging him not to cast her out.

I wish I had left him when I had the chance. Before he took me to Dimitri’s. But deep in my bones, I knew it was all bullshit. He had no intentions of letting me leave. He was bluffing. Twisting the truth in ways so warped, he had me believing I was in the wrong. And I fell for it. Fell for his DOM shit, despite telling him I wouldn’t. All he is; is a beautiful shell. A perfect façade but past that he’s nothing. Nothing at all. It doesn’t matter how he tries to get me to submit to him. He’ll never have me, naked and begging under him.

The only way that will happen is with the help of drugs lowering my walls. And I’ll fight tooth and nail before ever letting anyone drug me again. But right now, I’m too weak to do anything but sit in the chair by the window and dream of the life I could’ve had if I never met Christos Devillo.

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