Page 22 of Scar

"I ran from her, obviously. But she chased me through the house. I ran up the stairs to lock myself in my room and when she grabbed onto my shirt, I shoved her. She fell down the stairs and broke her back. She wasn't dead, but she couldn't move. I didn't want to go to prison, so I walked down the stairs and snapped her neck while she told me I would die for doing this to her. Then I called the police and said she fell."I explain.

There, it's all out. Okay, not all. Not the killings that I still do. But the shit with my mother is out there and it will have to be enough, for now. "I was hysterical when it happened, they had to put me in a psychiatric facility for two months because I couldn't figure out how I felt about it. On one hand, I was distraught that my mom was dead and that I killed her. On the other hand, I was relieved. But Iwas confusedthat I felt relieved."I explain. I won't go into more details than that, but that fucking facility was more traumatizing than killing my own mom. She doesn't need to know that. She doesn't need to know how broken I was at sixteen or how to this day I'm still not sure if I'm whole.

Maeve surprises me by taking my hand and linking our fingers. "I'm sorry." She repeats. I just nod, my eyes fixated on the ceiling.

Some days I don't feel like a person. I feel like a monster that my mother created and I hate that. I hate to think about the man that I could have been today if I was whole. He slowly started to shrivel and die when my mother made me her test subject. I finally killed him the day I killed my mother. I wouldn't recognize that man if he were standing in front of me right now.

I bet Maeve would have preferred the man I should have been. He wouldn't have fed her food that made her sick. He wouldn't have had to kidnap her so she'd love him. She would be better off with him, but he's been gone for a very long time. "Me too." I say after a long silence. I don't know if I'm apologizing for what I'm doing to her or if I'm just sorry about what happened to me. Probably both.

Chapter 31

Maeve's POV

Things are weird now. I don't know how else to describe it aside from weird. Leon leaves me alone, he hasn't touched me since that night on the couch. I wish I could say I was grateful, but a small part of me deep down, wishes he would touch me.

A dark part of me wishes he would come back to his house in a bad mood, throw me on the bed and have sex with me while I can't squirm or kick away from him. Maybe he could duct tape my mouth shut and my wrists together so I was helpless to stop him. The thought alone has me almost panting with need. What is wrong with me? Why am I like this? More importantly, why is he like this? What makes a man want someone so badly that they'd kidnap them? What makes Leon want me that badly? Nobody has ever wanted me, let enough desperate enough for me that they'd kidnap me.

I'm so scared of getting sick again. I'm so scared of feeling how I felt that day, I know it's only been a few days since I was last sick. But I can't handle that again. I know if Leon hadn't intervened and given me medicine, I would have ended up needing to go to the hospital, and I'm not so sure he would have let me. It scares me to think that if he hadn't given me medicine and I'd gotten worse, would he have just killed me? Would I have been too much of a headache and I wouldn't be useful anymore?

I'm scared to find out how he'll react if he ever finds out celiac can cause infertility. I'm scared that he'll kill me and dump my body on the side of the road if he finds out I may never be able to give him a baby. So, I guess part of me hopes that I'm pregnant, or will be soon. At least then I'll know that I'm still useful to him.

That also means I can't risk eating any gluten, not just for my health, but for any potential baby's health. I don't know if a fetus would survive an immune system flare-up like that. I've never really looked into it since I've never even gotten past a first date with a man. If I had my computer, I'd look it up. But I can't, he probably knows I'd try to get help. I wonder if he knows there's nobody I could even go to for help.

God that's embarrassing to even admit. My mother would just be excited that I'm 'dating' a doctor, and none of my friends would really care. Not that I can say any of them are actually my friends. If they were, I'd assume someone would be looking for me by now? I've been gone for what, eight days? Nine maybe? I don't even know. It could be longer for all I know. All I've done is sleep, read, and cook.

That's a new thing, too. I'm too scared to eat his cooking. I'm too scared to even let him cook in his own kitchen. What if he doesn't disinfect well enough and I get sick? So I'm cooking everything. Today I found a box of gluten-free pasta in the cabinet. So I made that into a vegan Greek pasta salad with Kalamata olives, tomatoes, red onion, cucumber, vegan feta, homemade dressing, and roasted chickpeas. I don't really know how Leon eats, but nothing in this house is something I wouldn't eat. There's no meat, no dairy, and nothing with gluten. I have the feeling he did this intentionally, that he'd been watching me and copying my ways so I feel comfortable. It's sweet, in a very disturbing way.

Leon walks through the door as I am putting dinner in a container, filling another smaller one for his lunch tomorrow. "Good evening, ma fleur. Did you have a nice day?" Heasksme. What kind of question is that? I'm trapped in this house, I'm a human incubator, I have no contact with the outside world other than him, and I don't even know how to use his fancy TV. I've read the same book at least a dozen times now. All he packed with me was my textbooks and like three of my books for enjoyment. The rest I had borrowed from the library anyway, so I assume he took those back.

Leon crosses the living room once his shoes are off, coming up behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist. I don't want him touching me, but I don't want him stopping. It's confusing how I feel right now. "Whatever youmadesmells wonderful, fleur." He says against my ear. I feel chills up my spine from his breath on my ear, but I don't react. I can't give him that satisfaction to know that he affects me. "Greek pasta salad." I explain flatly.

I feel his hands move down to my hips, holding onto me tightly. Again, I can't react. Not even when I feel him lean into me, his erection pressing into my back, and his mouth trailing down my neck towards my shoulder. "Have you eaten? Sit. I will serve you." He insists. I want to tell him to piss off, but I also don't want to be a jerk and risk making my captor mad. That seems like a bad idea. "I got it. Take your leg off, I'll bring you dinner." I say instead.

I'm telling myself that I'm doing this because he's an amputee. That I can't take advantage of the small kindness he's offering when I am not disabled. Is that wrong to say? I don't know what's correct in these situations. It feels wrong to treat him differently because of his leg, but it also feels wrong to treat him the same. I'm so confused about that. Like I'm sure he wants to be treated like a normal guy, but shouldn't I account for his comfort and his pain with his injury? Maybe I should ask? No, shoot. I can't ask, he'll think I care about him.

Leon kisses my neck again, releasing my hips from his hold. "I've got it. Sit. I want to hear about your day." He insists. What does he want to hear? That I stared at the wall for a solid hour after he left? That I saw a few deer in his yard and stared out the window half the day to see more? Or that I threw this dinner together in less than thirty minutes and it's the only productive thing I did today other than shower and shave? Maybe he's just mocking me. He's mocking that he knows my day consisted of nothing since he's trapped me here with no friends and no entertainment.

I take a seat at the kitchen table, fidgeting with my hands until Leon comes back with two plates of my pasta. He squeezes my shoulder while he heads back into the kitchen for drinks, bringing me water and himself what looks like liquor in a short glass with ice. "What's that?" I ask curiously. He takes a sip of his glass, sitting it down before pushing it over to me. "Bourbon. Would you like to try it?" He asks.

I stare down at the glass. I've read that bourbon is gluten-free, but it's made with wheat and barley so I don't see how they can say that. I've read it has something to do with the distilling process. I don't know, but I'm too scared to trust it. "No.” I say quietly. I push the glass back to him, taking a sip of my water instead. Leon nods, probably knowing why I said no. With the way his kitchen looks after I got sick, I'd say he researched a lot about celiac.

Leon and I eat in somewhat silence for a few minutes. I just want to eat in peace and go to bed. It feels like that's all I do anymore is sleep and eat. I liked living a simple, boring life before this. But now it feels like punishment. I feel like a child who's been grounded from everything. "How was your day? What did you do?" He asks me about halfway through our meal. I scoff, trying to hide the full out laugh. "Very exciting, I have a packed schedule." I say sarcastically. "What do you want me to say? I stare at the freaking walls half the day. I've read the same book like fourteen times. Ooh, I watched a deer walk across your yard today. Exciting stuff." I say with a huff. I truly feel like he's mocking me for not being able to do anything.

Leon sighs, reaching across the table and taking my hand. "Why are you so unhappy? I don't understand. All you did before was go to school and work, read, garden and watch TV. I bought you that reader tablet thing, I have every channel and streaming service available, I grew you a garden, and you have your textbooks." He asks.

I pick my head up, raising an eyebrow at him. "You bought me a reader?" I ask. He simply nods. "Yes, petite fleur. It'sin yournightstand, have you not noticed it?" He asks. I shake my head no, I hadn't. I hadn't opened his nightstands. I didn't want to snoop. "I'll help you set it up after dinner. Has nothing on TV interested you?" He asks next. Now I feel kind of stupid. I stare down at my dinner, picking at a piece of onion with my fork. "I don't know how to use a fancy TV." I admit quietly.

Again, he sighs at me. Why does he always sigh? "I'll show you after dinner. You should have told me sooner, fleur. I want you to be happy." He says. It feels genuine, but how can it be when I am a prisoner? I want to tell him that I miss Shelby, but I kind of don't. Leon might have kidnapped me, but at least he cares about me. The more I think about it, it feels like Shelby only wanted me for sex. I don't know what Leon wants, but he seems to care more about me than Shelby ever did.

Chapter 32

Leon's POV

I walk in the door to see nothing made for dinner. I don't ever expect dinner from her, I don't even ask. I'm just surprised. The last two weeks, there has always been dinner already made when I've gotten home, and my lunch is always packed for the next day. It's the sweetest gesture, one I'm not even sure Maeve realizes she's doing. She just makes dinner, and always packs me a dish of it for the next day. She also stacks a few snacks with the dish to go with my lunch. I love how considerate she is, even without noticing it.

But today? Nothing. No dinner, no dinner in the oven, nothing made in the fridge, and no sight of Maeve. "Ma petite fleur?" I ask as I walk through the house. I finally find her when I see the bathroom door is locked. I don't know why she still bothers with that, she knows I have the key. She knows I will use it.

I let myself into the bathroom, seeing Maeve sitting on the toilet, she's looking a little pale actually. I hurry my steps, squatting down in front of her. "Are you alright, fleur?" I ask her sweetly. I run my hands along her thighs, trying to comfort her from whatever could possibly be wrong. I know she hasn't been fed gluten again, I made sure nothing in this house could possibly make her sick. Maybe she's finally getting morning sickness? But she's sitting on the toilet with no trash can in front of her. I'm running out of possible options unless it's a simple bug. "Tell me what's wrong so I can help you." I insist. She's my girl, I'll do anything I can to help her.