Page 65 of The Woman I’ve Become

“Prepare whatever you would like, but I’m not hungry.”

She sets her hands on the counter and leans slightly toward me. “Why are you so afraid of me? I’ve told you the truth—about everything. I’m trusting you. Why can’t you trust me?”

More of that overconfidence. “I’m not afraid of you, Acacia.” Perhaps I should be. “But I do prefer the ability to protect myself from those plotting against me. Being drugged is counterintuitive.”

She sighs. “I wish you would believe me. I’m on your side. I didn’t see what Phillip was doing as harmful until we talked and things fell into perspective. I swear I will do all I can to help you from now on. Total honestly. And if this man who showed up at Helen’s house comes here, I’ll do all I can to protect you. You have my word.”

Which is worth what exactly, I wonder? Not a whole lot, I’ve recently discovered. But I do firmly believe there is a far bigger plan than killing me, at least right away, so she might actually mean what she says on a purely selfish level.

The fact of the matter is, I am the key to everything, and anyone involved knows it. I suppose that’s why I started this. The moment I realized something was up with Eleanor’s death and Acacia’s appearance, I began to prepare for this moment.

It was little things. So seemingly insignificant. Yet I instinctively recognized with each passing day and each small misstep that Acacia was not who she appeared to be. Further, I understood whoever was using her had a much bigger plan in the works.

The trouble with bigger, more ambitious plans is they are quite often like a Greek tragedy where hubris leads to a great downfall.

“Thank you. I appreciate your concern,” I say in response to her plea for understanding. Then I leave the kitchen.

I make my way to the living room and lower myself onto the sofa facing the wall of windows so I can watch the coming darkness. I am so tired. My fingers close around the cross under my sweater. I acknowledge the feel of the gun nestled against my backbone. This is all I can do for now.

That and wait. The waiting is the worst part.

I close my eyes and think about Olivia. Her sweet face . . . her beautiful smile.

She is my everything.

Twelve Years Ago

27

Wendy

Manhattan, New York

I don’t have to keep a count of the seasons anymore. The calendar displayed on my wall is filled with events. It sounds exciting, but it’s really not. He has created a schedule so that I know what he wants each day of the week. I am to be prepared. The performance of my life is required each time.

Today is belly dancer day. After dinner when he comes down, I will entertain him with the perfect performance. He has ensured that I have a beautiful costume as well as a number of videos to watch so that I can practice for the event. He expects nothing less than perfection, and I have learned to give it to him every time.

Five years ago when the woman came and gave me medicine, I listened to her warnings and her words of wisdom. I have shown the utmost respect and readiness to do whatever my keeper requests. I never fail to please him. I have made it my sole mission to ensure he wants to keep me. I cannot even remember the last time he punished me. No more whips and days of starvation. No more torture with all those little gadgets he keeps in the dungeon room. I am now his pride and joy. His perfect pet who caters to his every desire.

More recently he has brought others into our games. Sometimes he likes to have a threesome. Most are women, occasionally there is a man.

He is older now. Although he works diligently to maintain his body and to thrive, the years are taking a toll, and it makes me incredibly happy to watch. I, of course, act as if I don’t notice . . . as if he is as virile and handsome as he believes he is.

Lately he has even started allowing me upstairs to his study with him. A chain attaches me to him so there is no worry that I will run, and his study is on the third floor so no one can see inside the richly decorated space. I am never allowed near the windows. Instead I use my time to read the newspapers. The New York Times, The Wall Street Journal, USA Today. He reads many and so do I.

I tell myself that when I’m free again, all this knowledge will come in handy. He seems to like when I read seated on the floor next to his chair. I can’t decide if he sees me as a dog or a child.

But this is good, I tell myself. He is kinder to me when I do all that he asks without hesitation or complaint. I am submissive when he wishes and aggressive when he gives the order.

I think about my old life sometimes, but I try not to look back. It’s painful and it makes me sad. He does not like it when I am anything less than happy and attentive. So I focus on the now. At night when the lights are out, so he’s not checking on me, I exercise. I am stronger than ever now.

I stare up at him with loving eyes. I actually think I might be able to take him. And I would if I were not chained.

He smiles, and I promise myself that this will soon be over. Very, very soon I will escape. The plan is coming together.

All I needed was patience and humility. Just like the woman told me.

For now I am his.