Page 61 of Spark

I shook my head. “No, no. Let her think she has the right idea, and I’ll show her it was wasted effort.”

“Yes, sir,” they both said.

“Good. Dismissed.”

Clive and Owen both left without another word, leaving me to deliberate the future ahead. I expected some resistance from Jaden, some new forms of rebellion, whether they were sneaky or up front, she would find new ways to seek an advantage. And I feared I would have to let her fail in every attempt before she would finally succumb to her fate. She needed to come to the conclusion that every idea she had, no matter how small, was useless to her, that her efforts would be foiled and her ass reddened for even thinking of it in the first place. I had to quash the idea of escape. I knew she wouldn’t make the same mistake of fully escaping a second time, not with her family hanging in the balance, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try to line up her dominos and wait for the right moment to watch them fall. I had to make sure there were no dominoes left for her to take—until she finally came to realize she no longer wanted them.

22

Shrink

* * *

Two weeks back at the estate and it was as if I never left. The staff and other guards still ignored me like I was invisible, except for the two stupid fucking stalkers who never left me alone. If I thought I annoyed the shit out of Hank and Benito, Clive and Owen deserved awards. They directed me everywhere—where I could go, what I could do, how long I could do it, and whether it was considered productive. They analyzed everything I did down to the tiniest detail; suspicious I was trying to thwart them in some way. It was kind of cute.

I had to admit for the first day or so, I did test my boundaries with them, but to their credit, they never gave an inch. They never cracked a smile, no clever comebacks, not even so much as a smirk. They were like ice, and they never melted. I’d only been threatened to be tranquilized twice since they first started, which I thought was decent enough on my part—once, when I refused to paint the first time they introduced me to my “art room,” where I deliberately put my knee through a canvas, and another time, when I argued too much to continue my workout. I was only allowed an hour since Darren didn’t want me exhausting myself, which was bullshit. He worked out at least two hours a day, so why couldn’t I?

But after a few short days, the fight in me began to die. With zero inches to be given, I felt stuck, moving in a single file line with no deviations in sight. It was do as I was told without argument or wake up back in that fucking cage I hated so much. I could feel myself slipping back into my depression as I went through my days, mundane as ever, like the good little robot they all wanted me to be. Most days, I felt emotionless, doing things of no interest just to keep Darren happy.

He tried to spend more time with me, though I was less than enthused. I was still pissed about Holly’s death, and when he explained that it was unlikely she would have made it off the island alive in the first place, it didn’t help much. I didn’t argue with him; instead, I’d nod my head and do my best to remain complacent, almost to the point I thought I would bore him. When we fucked, I didn’t fuck him back; I just laid there, came when he made me, and waited for him to finish. I no longer cared. I didn’t know if that was a good thing or not, but I had a feeling if I became too dull, he would once again try to light my fuse. But the truth was I wasn’t interested in interacting with him, not in the same way, at least.

I no longer felt the need to push his buttons because that would require attention on my part; that would only give him the edge he wanted. I knew I couldn’t ignore him. I’d been punished for that before. So I just gave him the bare minimum, which I had a feeling would become exhausted soon. The push was coming. I could feel it. I just didn’t know what form it would take.

But the more troubling problem was… I almost wanted him to light the fucking fuse.

As more time inched by, I quickly became bored out of my fucking skull. I had no short-term goals, nothing to motivate me to accomplish anything except for Darren’s orders that I do something “productive” every day. With everything as controlled as it was, it didn’t take long for me to realize how much I lived for the tension between Darren and me.

Yeah, he was dangerous as hell, terrified the shit out of me, and would hurt me if I got out of line, but fuck if I didn’t love to play with fire. It got me off, and I knew it worked the same way for him. Maybe I was truly becoming a masochist because when I knew shit was about to get real, I felt more alive than a baby bird taking its first flight from the nest.

In the middle of the week, Darren was working from home, and after I’d finished painting a new piece, I’d been told I’d be meeting Sid for a reason that no one would tell me about.

“Wait, what?”

“Please follow us, Miss Jaden,” Clive had said, directing me from my room out into the hallway.

“I want to talk to Darren,” I retorted, remaining firm in my position. I wanted to know why the fuck I was meeting with Sid. I hadn’t seen him much since our last “private” conversation on the island.

“He’s busy. Now, come on,” Owen quipped.

I balled my fists in my bands until my knuckles turned white. This was it. This was Darren lighting my fuse. But he wasn’t just putting a match to a wick. This was gasoline on a bonfire.

“Fine,” I spat and stormed through the hallway as they escorted me to some private office downstairs, coincidentally, not far from Darren’s office. This was stupid. He was just going to listen in on everything I said and then I’d be in trouble for telling the truth when he didn’t like it. This was a fucking trap, and it wasn’t fair.

Clive and Owen opened the double doors, and I found Sid sitting on one of the couches in the center of the room. There was another comfy looking couch across from him, with a small coffee table with a tray of tea and snacks laid out.

“Hello, Jaden,” Sid said with a warm smile. I responded with my usual bitchface.

“Sid,” I said.

“Have a seat, please.” He gestured toward the couch, and I took a seat while Clive and Owen closed the door and stood a few feet behind the couch. “Would you like some tea?”

“No, thank you.”

Sid took a sip of his own mug before setting it down on the tray and picking up his notepad. I felt the tension increase.

“Well, I thought you and I could have a nice private chat, just between the two of us.”

“Private?” I said, pointing my thumb over my shoulder in the direction of my shadows.

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