Page 34 of His Captive

“It’s Sorrento, he’s got the go-ahead on that huge development in Cooper’s Ridge.” Buddy looks down at the floor as he speaks as if the news will displease me. Though I don't know why, Sorrento can do whatever the fuck he wants with Cooper's Ridge, so long as it didn't affect my town.

“You know what Bud, right now I don’t give a fuck.” I carry on walking.

“Sorry boss man. I just thought you would wanna know…. Hey, do you wanna hang for a while? We could play some pool. I’ve been practicing that trick shot you showed me?” he asks, hopeful.

“No,” I answer firmly, starting to climb the stairs, then stopping when I feel bad for snapping at him.

“Sorry Bud, maybe another time. I’m real tired.” I rub the space between my eyes. I’ve hardly spent any time with Buddy since Lysetta has arrived, and I have no right taking all this out on him.

“Don’t sweat, I guess I’ll just practice some more.” He shrugs, disappearing down the hall toward the games room.

I don’t look at her bedroom door when I get to the top of the stairs, fearing that if I do, I’ll have to enter it. I’m well aware that the door is unlocked, there’s the potential she could escape if she wants. And I’m either being naïve or cocky when I listen to the hunch telling me that she won’t, that for some reason she feels safe here. For all I know, Sorrento might scare her, he could have manipulated her into doing his dirty work. She wouldn’t be the first. Maybe she’s scared that being out in the big wide world makes her vulnerable to him again. That sleeping in a cage with this monster doesn’t seem quite so bad when a greater beast lurks outside.

My bedroom is pitch black, everything black from the walls, to the sheets on the bed. Even the upholstered chair that sits beside the window is black. This is where I hide myself away. Some might argue that my life is solitude enough up on this hill, but I still share my space with more people then I’d like too. Buddy lives with me, while Mrs. Pritchard, Joel, and Tristan all have their own homes within my grounds. They are always around, and sometimes I find it to be too much.

The air is tight, so I pop open the window, closing the curtains and stripping down to my boxers. My head is pounding, weighed down with confusion and ready to erupt with frustration.

I want to hate the girl, she’s the reminder of everything I’ve lost. The beckoning to painful memories that even my stone heart can’t shield me from.

I spend a good hour lifting weights and using my pull up bar. Anything that might ease my frustration. Just hearing his voice down the phone line earlier had made me want to rip his intestines up through his throat and hang him with them.

And then there’s her, sweet, delectable Lysetta, who up until now has taken everything I’ve inflicted. My head is telling me that if something seems too good to be true, it probably is. But that hollow cavity in my chest is starting feeling heavy for the first time in years. And I can’t turn off the compulsion I have to protect her. Fiercely.

After a shower, I decide my best option is to try and sleep. To write off the day, and wake up to live a fresh hell tomorrow.

I slip between the sheets and shut my eyes. Surprised that sleep finds me almost straight away, but horrified when it brings along with it a memory that’s been etched in the back of my head. One that has been waiting for its moment to resurface, so it can nail the final stake into what is left of my self-control.

It’s the perfect day....

The sky clear blue, just like you’d see on a postcard. The sun shining brightly, but not scorching, and the grass on the square is freshly cut and lushly green. Every flower bud seems to have found its bloom, and the town has never looked brighter.

The pretty little chapel that’s centered in Cannonville bursts full of color, all of her favorite flowers, their fresh fragrances catching at the back of my throat and itching the tip of my nose.

The pews are packed full with well-wishers.

The whole town has turned out for today, all of them dressed up in their finest. Everyone, from the mayor and his wife, to old Mr. Scunthorpe - who we all knew only ever leaves his house to go to church on a Sunday or to pay his respects at funerals.

Everything is ready, exceeding elegance, and exactly how she deserves it to be.

Waiting outside for her to arrive is a bad idea. A torture that I don’t need to put myself through, yet can’t stop myself from doing. I pace...up and down the sidewalk, so many times I worry I’ll wear a divot into the sun-bleached tarmac. My hands shake so much, I have to force them inside my suit pockets to steady them.

I curse under my breath, trying to overcome the nerves that are swirling in the pit of my stomach. Palm sweating, heart thumping nerves that I’ve never experienced before and can’t seem to gain control over.

She’ll show...

Why wouldn’t she?

This is the day she’s dreamt of ever since we were kids, and we used to play bride and groom. She’d dress up in her mother’s lace gown, collecting together whatever flowers grew in her garden, and I would play along because it made her so happy.

We’d made vows to one another so many times I could recite them from heart.

But today is different. Today those words aren’t being spoken under the willow tree over rings that I’ve made out of reeds.

Today isn’t a game.

Today she’ll be making a real promise.

A promise in front of everyone.

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