Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 72854 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72854 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Maybe that was the reason he left this here; he wanted me to know he was watching. Maybe he just wanted me to wake up.
Swallowing the sweetened drug, I decide it doesn’t matter. I could wonder all I want, but I’ll never know.
The only thing that matters is that if I didn’t drink it, he would know, and I imagine he would be disappointed. Which is something I don’t want to risk happening after yesterday.
I’m determined to be cautious and smart with every decision.
To not go back to the cell, but also to help Carter. I haven’t forgotten his deal. He said I would help him and then he’d give me everything. I’m waiting, staying in his good graces. But something is going to change. I can feel it in my bones. All I have to do is obey and wait for the time to strike. Either for his plan to come to fruition or for another opportunity to make its presence known so I can escape and go back to the safety of my father’s home.
Before I even realize it, the ceramic mug is empty in my hands and I leave it on the dresser to change into the clothes he left for me on the end of the bed.
Another routine of his. It’s the routines that give me comfort. Knowing what to expect, and how to react. That’s something that doesn’t frighten me, if nothing else.
The fabric is thicker today. Nothing sheer or delicate. I have to grip the shoulders of it and hold it at arm’s length to discover it’s a black cotton wraparound dress. It’s beautiful and as I slip it on, the soft fabric tickling just above my knee where it stops, I start to feel beautiful myself.
The necklace, the dress. They’re classically elegant and hug my curves. I’m tempted to brush my hair and use some of the toiletries Jase bought for me.
More than anything, I want to draw the image of the woman I used to be onto the new canvases I was given last night. A blank page begs to be covered in ink, and I feel and look so different now. Maybe not so much on the surface, but everything I think and feel is no longer a semblance of what once was.
But first, I dress how he wants me to, I’ll seek him out, and then I’ll bide my time hiding in the art where I can remember what used to be and hold on to the last piece of the girl I used to know.
I know I’m only playing into Carter’s hand as I thread my fingers through my locks and make a braid, placing it over my shoulder and then reach for the cosmetic bag. I don’t recognize myself.
But the woman in the mirror is lovely. The kind of lovely that fills other women with envy, but as I drop the mascara onto the counter, I know that no one would envy me and all I am is a pretty fuck doll for Carter.
For now. It’s what I have to be. Or at least that’s what I tell myself. I try to dignify it by convincing myself that I have to in order to survive. But I can’t deny the thought of him commanding me to spread my legs for him sends a wave of heat and want to my core.
Stepping out of the bedroom makes me nervous. It doesn’t make much sense to feel safe at all here, but there is a hint of safety in knowing that only Carter will come into his bedroom. I know what to expect. Outside of the confines of those walls are things I have yet to explore.
I know where the den is, and I spent a good bit of time there yesterday. Photographs upon photographs and beautiful art lined every inch of wall in the den. It was easy to lose myself, and take in each one, imagining I had somehow slipped away and fallen into the art, away from here.
Someone in here has a fondness for old trucks. Nearly ten photographs had trucks in them, rusted and worn down, the hoods covered in snow or blue flowers peeking out from under the tires. I’ve never felt so strongly that old trucks are beautiful until I felt the emotion from the photographs. Maybe I’ll draw that instead. Or both. I have plenty of time for both.
I know where the kitchen is from Carter’s bedroom too.
And I’ve ventured there on my own once, but the other times Carter’s brought me there.
Yesterday he made me kneel in the kitchen. The way he said it reminded me of the punishment in his bedroom, and I quickly fell to the ground to obey.
The cold floors were smooth and unforgiving against my legs, but I stayed still and at his feet as he fed me bits of his meals. I think he truly enjoys doing it. Having me on my knees beside him and at his mercy. And I have to admit, I didn’t hate it, at least not until someone came into the kitchen.