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When my cell beeps, I almost drop it as I fumble to bring the screen to life and see who’s texting me.
Princess
I’m just taking some time. I texted Izabella, she knows I’m okay.
I devour her words, but instead of consoling me, they only make me angrier.
Me
What the hell are you playing at ignoring her until now? She was worried.
Penelope
I already told you I spoke to her, she gets it.
My jaw clenches, and my fingers start typing a reply before I can even consider that I shouldn’t be doing it.
Me
Come to the boat, now. You’re mine until it’s over…and it’s not over yet.
Hitting send, I throw my cell across the couch, hating that even though I was telling her to do something, it feels like I’m the vulnerable one. Having her walk away so easily has definitely been a hit to my ego, and maybe that’s why I’m so determined to have her back under my control again. “Or maybe you just like her. Maybe you just see her as more than just the villain now,” my internal voice taunts me.
But what the hell do I do if that’s the truth? If she’s not just the villain, who is she? Is she meek and broken, or is she just an incredible actress, playing the role she needs in order to get what she wants? I have no fucking clue, but instead of putting me off, it just makes me want to break her down until I can see who she is at her core.
She doesn’t reply, and I’m not surprised. Once she puts on her unaffected front, she’s so fucking cold and disassociated that it’s like she truly does become a different person. The cruel, angry part of me wonders if she felt anything other than an ache between her legs after I took her virginity. Did what we shared affect her, or was I just a means to an end? But maybe her elusiveness and the fleeting glimpses of a different side of her are part of the reason that I want to control her so much. Either way, I’m probably a fucking fool for giving her even an ounce of power over me.
Frustrated and tense, I stomp across to the kitchen, throwing open the refrigerator door and cursing when I find it empty, except for the remains of last night’s takeout. I enjoy cooking, and I usually keep my kitchen stocked, but after everything that’s happened in the last few days, my mind has been too occupied with thoughts of my wayward Princess to worry about placing a grocery order.
Eyeing my cell like I can will her to reply through sheer angry determination, I quickly order dinner from a nice local restaurant, then grab a beer from the wet bar that’s built into the wall of the galley. For the first time in years, the emptiness of the boat seems to shrink around me, and I feel truly alone.
I have places I could be, friends I could spend time with rather than being here alone, but tonight when I’m feeling this raw and frustrated, I can’t be around my Princess’s twin.
By the time my food arrives, I’ve come to a decision. Tonight, I’ll give Penelope space, but tomorrow, my Princess either comes to me willingly or I hunt her down.
10
PENELOPE
Hawthorn
Come to the boat, now. You’re mine until it’s over…and it’s not over yet.
I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve read his message, but no matter how many times I close down the app, then reopen it again, the words never change.
I don’t understand. When he agreed to help me, he said it was a one-time only thing. That’s what we agreed to. Those were his rules, not mine. He was in charge, no condom, and it was just once to break the will, nothing more. So, what’s changed? What does he mean it’s not over?
My skin shivers a little as I think about the way he sounded when he told me his rules. Memories of that morning have been haunting me ever since I left, and even though I should be trying to forget him and the way it felt to be under his control, I can’t stop thinking about him. It’s only been a couple of days, but already the pain has faded from my memory, and now all I can see and feel and taste when I think about us together is pleasure. So much pleasure, that now I’m not sure how much of it was real and how much I’ve fabricated to gloss over the fact that it was just an act and not something deeper.
I know he’s expecting a reply, but I have no idea what to say. Is he playing with me, toying with me to see how pathetic I am? Or does he really expect me to just go to him because he demands it?
The hardest part is that I want to go to him. My body remembers his touch, and my mind craves his dominance. Since I handed over that letter to my sister, I’ve felt completely adrift. For nearly four years, I’ve had purpose, and now I’m just here, wallowing in my misery but knowing that I’m not worthy of anyone’s sympathy. But thinking about him wanting me somehow makes everything easier.
I’m still in bed, beneath the covers, the same way I have been since I dragged myself out of the bath last night. I know I should move, that I should start to embrace my new life, that I should plan what I’ll do now that I’m free of my parents’ and dead great-grandfather’s control. But my limbs feel too heavy to move, and I’m so incredibly tired.
The last time I ate was the breakfast I had with Hawthorn, but every time I think about food, I start to panic because I don’t know what I can eat now. Mom has meticulously planned every morsel of food that’s gone into my mouth for so long that I’m not sure I’m even capable of choosing without her directive.
The realization of just how pathetic I am adds another layer of weight on top of my already heavy body, and I sigh, pushing the pang of hunger I feel away and locking it in the box I’ve been conditioned to keep it in.
