Page 43 of Unorthodox
But the fucking floor cleaner…
“Get up.”
My hand clenches into a fist. I don’t want to go back to that room of dead air he chained me in.
But I don’t want to do as he says, either.
Fuck him.
Fuck this.
I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak.
As always, Max is dressed immaculately, in a suit jacket, white shirt, tailored pants that hug his thighs, black, laceless shoes that I want to spit on. The contrast between our clothing, between our positions, it’s enough to make the anger flare brighter beneath my fear.
He crosses his arms, and I see his biceps flex beneath the tailored fit of his jacket. “If you do as I ask,” he says quietly, eyes never leaving mine, “I’ll take care of you.”
I would laugh if I had the strength to. But I don’t. I’m exhausted, my eyelids heavy, my stomach empty, head pounding. I do nothing.
Max sighs, takes a step into the bathroom. Then another. And another. Until he’s looking down at me, looming over me.
He extends his pale hand, adorned with scars. “Get up,” he says again, his tone emotionless.
I close my eyes, bite my lip. I don’t want to get up. I want to get out of here. I want to go home. I want to wake up in a world that is far, far away from here.
“Do you need me to drug you again?” he asks calmly.
Panic seizes me, and I feel as if I’m smothering.
“Do you need me tomake youobey, or can you do that of your own free will, love?”
I feel sick all over again, faint. Tears build up behind my eyes along with my anger. I try to take a deep breath, then I open my eyes to meet his cold ones boring down on me. “Fuck you,” I whisper quietly, one hand still slung over the toilet seat, to keep me upright. “Ihateyou.”
He smiles, slips his hand into his pocket as he looks at me as if I’m nothing. “Touching.”
My eyes find his shoes again and I can’t stop myself, the anger bursting through the box in my mind. Before I can count to three, before I can think it through, I spit on his shoe, bile working its way back up my throat as I do.
For a moment, I just stare at it.
For a split second, I feelgood.
But when I wipe the back of my hand over my mouth and turn to look up at him, my heart slams into overdrive in my chest.
Because he’s still smiling as he stares at me.
Chills slide down my spine.
He looks completely and eerily calm.
“I really, really don’t want to hurt you, Addison,” he says quietly. He angles the toe of his shoe up, and I see the clear saliva mixed with yellow bile. “But Iamgoing to need you to clean this up.”
I shake my head, my hand trembling by my side as I grip the cover of the toilet to keep myself steady. “No,” I tell him, trying to maintain my defiance.“No.”
“You’re going to get on your hands and knees, and you’re going to lick clean the mess you made, and I won’t hurt you. But if you don’t…” he shrugs, “I will.”
My stomach twists into knots.
I close my eyes tight, trying not to let the tears fall.
