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I am not allowed.
Somewhere inside the castle, a door bangs shut, its echo creating a wave of tremor that I even feel inside my core. My back melds against the back door as my pulse picks up. I swear I can smell the waft of a cigarette. Once more, my grip on the knife tightens. Dimmed voices. Someone’s coming. My gaze shoots left and I stare into the darkness. My gaze shoots right and as I stare into the darkness, I want to believe it’s nothing. But there?—
I squeeze my eyes to slit as I zoom in on the stairs, but still come up empty. If there’s nothing, then why do I hear something? A loud rap on the door behind me makes me nearly jump out of my skin. I turn and stare right at a group of cloaked boys that carry torches. They’re the same ones from before. Jerking away from the door, I grab for the knob immediately, and start pulling like a maniac, keeping it shut, the knife handle biting in my skin.
“Tranquille, tranquille,” I try to tell myself. But I can’t relax. I’m going fucking crazy. I feel hot with anxiety and am losing all common sense. “It’s a game. A game.” But it doesn’t look like one when from the other side, they start pulling on the handle as well. We’re fighting for balance, a strife I won’t win, because there are four and I am tired, and not so alone as I thought I was…I jerk my gaze to the right at the slightest movement in the corner of my eye. There, right by the door to the canteen, and too close already from me, stands a tall, black cloaked frame. On his face, a treasure made of gold that has my eyes burning in awe, even though my hands won’t stop pulling, won’t stop giving up. The tip of his burning cigarette floats through the air as he quietly smokes.
“Hello again, mon chat,” Edouard purrs. “Looks like you’ve found your way inside.” He gazes toward the other side of the door. “It was so hot to watch you wrestling outside. On the ground, kicking and snarling. Did you stain your suit?”
I hate that I look down at my clothes on instinct. Hate that my stomach fills with flutters at the picture he draws, the reality swirled into one of his many naughty deviants of what truly happened. I don’t reply.
“Do we need to clean you up for the party?” He takes another drag of his cigarette. Outside, the pull becomes stronger, and I am dragged forward, flat against the window, my nose pressed against the cool glass as I pull with all my might. My muscles ripple from the effort. “You’re still far off from the location by the way. I’ve seen it. It looks all pretty for you tonight. Do you want me to escort you there safely? You never know with these hungry brothers.” I turn my head, face flushed from the effort, the soft mask sticking against my skin. Edouard gives me his wicked smile, then slowly takes out a silk, golden thong, and the equally golden harness I used to wear from his pocket. “You’d be very safe in my hands, mon chat.” My gaze drops at the familiar items that stand for safety, for sweet, sweet memories. Everything around me falls still, except for the cacophony in my mind. My thoughts are rioting.
Non. I want to say, but the word doesn’t leave my mouth.
Jamais. My legs tremble as I need to fight the urge to let go of the door, to surrender in the game and just give in. Give in to my urges, to my need for this bad, bad boy who has played me before, and surely will again.
“Because I want to,” he says, flicking his cigarette carelessly away before squeezing it with his shoe. He moves toward me. His footsteps echo through the dimmed castle. The master of ensnarement, taking his time to close the distance, leaving me to battle between the decision to let go of the door and choose him, or to hang on to the door and be chosen by him. Right now, I can’t decide. Every bit of common sense has left my mind.
You have been chosen.
“I have changed,” I whisper.
“No, you haven’t,” Edouard rumbles, pressing his chest against my back. I can feel his nose in my nape, where he inhales deeply. “You’re still mine. You have always been, and you always will be.”
Claimed.
I squeeze my eyes shut. “I can’t,” I say. It’s pathetic. It’s the truth. I can’t be who I so deeply crave to be.
“Romain,” he orders, and the need to slide onto my knees and crawl back to him blazes through me.
Keep me, keep me. Garde-moi pendant toujours.
“The wait is over. Come back to me now.”
I think of the words spoken by the old man with his golden cane. “Don’t trust each other, don’t make any friends. You’re on your own here. Keep your mask on at any time, and stay put, even if you’re wondering if you’re the only one left in the game.”
“Now.”
“Fight back, if you have to. For only one of you can win.”
“Romain.”
“You are here for our entertainment. And entertained we shall be.”
“Mon amour.”
My chest clenches at those words. Those sweet, heady words. In my mind, I glide down gracefully, offering him the fragile skin right above my heart where he has left his mark of property. He’s right. He does own me. Has from the moment the Dictator allowed him to exchange Maman’s debt for my freedom. Or maybe even before, when the vision of those lush, blond strands and his dark, brilliant eyes started invading my mind. When his voice, smooth and taunting as it commanded all his lackeys at school, was the only melody I heard.
Did I really think I could escape him the day he set foot in our college here at Monterrey Castle? Did I really believe that he would let me go after his father freed me from disgrace and bought me my ticket to Saint-Laurent? To freedom?
My thoughts are overcrowding my brain, the cacophony of whispers and recollections not enough to break my habit, my primitive need to comply and be the pet he wants me to be. The pet I need to be.
Edouard brushes his lips over the dark hair on my nape, humming as he does so. “Why are you running from me?” He whispers. “Do you think I can’t catch you?”
If you see darkness…
My sweaty hands lose the grip on the knob, and slowly start to glide back, giving way to the boys outside to increase their hold, pushing and pushing until I make up my mind. There’s only one way out. The moment I let go of the door, the outside roar is an instant reply as it pushes open with a violent swing. My direct opponent falls inside with the knob still clutched in his hand. It takes him a few seconds to realize he’s won.
