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“Come on, Little One, I need to get you home. It’s been too long since I was inside of you.”
Before I can even start to argue, he lifts me off my feet and swings me into his arms again.
“You can’t just pick me up every time I try to disagree with you,” I protest weakly.
“Why not?” he asks, completely serious.
“Because it’s not normal.”
“Neither is me getting you pregnant or us getting married within days of us reconnecting. Fuck normal, this is our normal. Plus, you like it when I take charge,” he says airily as he opens his truck and lowers me into the seat.
“In the bedroom, during sex?—”
“All the time. You like it all the time. You like when I tell you to eat, you like it when I tell you to touch yourself. You like that I bulldozed my way into your life and took over. So stop pretending you don’t, because I love it just as much as you do. If you’d let me, I’d make every decision for us, and I’d be happy to have you entirely under my control for the rest of our lives.”
“That’s not?—”
“Normal.” He smirks. “Who fucking cares? No one has any idea what other people’s version of normal is. But if I tell you to strip out of your hose and panties and show me how wet you are, I’d lay money on you being soaked. The more control I take from you, the more aroused you get. That’s why I didn’t ask you to marry me, it’s why I won’t ask to breed you, I’ll take what I want because it’s exactly what you need.”
My mind goes quiet as I try to process his words. Is he right? I do enjoy his controlling nature in bed and how he demands I follow his rules when he’s not there. But that’s just because I crave care and attention, isn’t it? It doesn’t mean I want him to take over my life. “But isn’t that exactly what he’s been doing since the day he said your name at the bus station?” my inner voice chirps.
I’m lost in thought as we drive away from town and back up the mountain. When he first brought me to his home, all I wanted was to leave, now I’m going willingly as his wife.
Before I came to Rockhead Point, just the mention of Oscar’s name made me shudder in fear. So why aren’t I scared of him now? Was my memory of him worse than real life?
No.
I was scared of him when he dragged me to his truck and strapped me into the seat. So when did I stop fearing him?
“You’re thinking pretty deep thoughts over there,” he says, shattering my inner diatribe.
“Why aren’t I scared of you anymore?” I blurt.
“You were scared of me?” he asks, like I’ve shocked him.
“Terrified.”
“But you’re not anymore?”
“I don’t know,” I confess. “I think I’m still scared of the memory of you, but I know you won’t hurt me physically.”
“Right now, I don’t want to talk about all the things you remember from when we were kids. Soon, I want you to tell me everything I ever did so I can make it up to you one thing at a time. But I never want you to fear me, Little One. It fucking kills me that I was such an asshole to you, but I can’t erase the past. I’m not the same person I was at fifteen, just the way you’re not the same person you were at twelve. Back then I was a fucked-up, angry kid, and you were the only person in my world who I had power over. It’s not a fucking excuse for what I did, but it’s the only explanation I have.”
“I don’t know if I can give you the control you want, there’s too much history between us,” I admit, bracing for his reaction.
“You already gave me all the control I need, Etta. You married me, you’re pregnant with my kid. I’ve taken it already, and I won’t give it back, but I’ll never abuse it like I did when we were kids. I’ll nurture the gift you’ve given me. I’ll protect it and worship it, and it’ll grow and flourish beneath my care because I’ll do anything for you, wife. I’ll do fucking anything.”
I’m as reassured as I am frightened of his words. I know he means them, his gaze is open and honest, but I don’t know if I can just forget my fear when he’s been the monster lurking beneath the bed my entire life.
Whenever I watch a movie or a show with a villain, I compare them to him. I don’t have many friends, but when we compare war stories, mine all feature him. Perhaps I’m lucky that I’ve never experienced trauma as an adult, but he’s the reason that I withdrew from life and stopped trying to make friends or form relationships.
Octy is literally the only person I’ve allowed myself to bond with since my middle school friends bullied me so bad I had to drop out. Yet here I am, in his truck, driving to his house, after he strong-armed me into marrying him.
What is wrong with me? Did he coerce me, or did he take me to the courthouse and I just went along with marrying him because I’m too pathetic to fight back? Honestly, I don’t really know. I’ve had some cocktails, but I don’t feel drunk anymore, perhaps a little hazy, but not enough to cite drunkenness as an excuse for doing something reckless.
I’ve always considered the metaphor of things feeling like a runaway train barreling down a track as being slightly absurd. If things are getting out of control, you step back, you withdraw. But I haven’t done that with Oz, in fact, I’ve done the complete opposite. My life has been spiraling since I stepped off the bus in this town, but when I had a chance to leave and protect myself, I didn’t take it. I stayed. Does that make me an idiot, or was I choosing to stay because of him?
I don’t know why I’m here, but I’m not trying to leave. I read a book once where the victim of a kidnapping fell in love with her captor. At the time, I thought it was scarily romantic, but I can see these odd similarities between the story and my life.
