AllFreeNovel
Share Us
In the entrance hall, I try two sets of doors before I find the kitchen, which is all rough sandstone floors and high ceilings with crisscrossing dark wooden beams. The walls are an uneven pallid yellow.
Hiding my hands in the sleeves of my jacket, I wander in. It smells like lemon zest, and when I find two readymade chicken salads in the American style fridge, I notice why. Grabbing one out, I pick at the leaves with my fingers. It's seasoned in lemon juice, and on the side there's a bowl of grated lemon zest.
I think Charlie has a thing for cooking. I haven't seen a housekeeper or a cook here, so I'm assuming he made this.
I pull open a few drawers in the alcove cooking area, searching for some cutlery, then I take my salad over to the dining table. It seats ten, resting before French style doors that are set between a collection of windows on either side. The garden is enormous, perfectly cut grass that seems to go on for miles. I hover above my chair to peer out the windows: a patio area with a bistro set, then a large swimming pool that's sparkling under the evening's sun. I can see myself training out there in the garden. It's big enough to get lost in.
Surrounding the garden, far in the horizon, tall, thick trees hide the house, the majority of them blooming in white flowers.
I'm an outdoorsy person, so I'm glad Charlie has ample space.
Lowering onto my chair, I fork the salad. It's fresh, crunchy and sour with that lemon juice. It's not an overpowering flavor. It works well with the oily, grated garlic.
A faint clanging noise makes me jump. I glance about on alert, hoping Charlie doesn't join me for dinner. I'm not sure I'll be able to stomach the food with him watching me. It's been such an intense day already.
There's no one in here but me, I see, scanning every corner.
It doesn't take me long to polish off the salad—I'm too anxious to sit back and enjoy how yummy it is.
I wash up my bowl and cutlery in the sink before drying them, leaving the kitchen as I found it, then I sneak upstairs to my room, kicking off my boots on the way in and shutting the door.
I'm almost sure Charlie is going to come and take me again, so I crawl into bed fully clothed, leaving the lights on for when it gets dark. I'm not scared—or I don't think I'm scared—just a little anxious. I don't understand what he makes me feel when he... you know...
I force myself not to think about any of that. I don't want to think about being intimate with Charlie, and I don't want to think about today. I just want to switch off.
After a while of peace and quiet, listening to the birds chirping outside the window, I start to relax, counting the rose moldings on the ceiling so I can put myself to sleep. I'd usually wear headphones so I can learn in my sleep, the voice of a stranger teaching my subconscious, but I don't have any headphones here, and I quickly find out it's hard to nod-off without them.
Rolling onto my side, I give in and reflect on today, and only today, hoping the fact that it's over can put me out of my misery.
It's been okay, really, which surprises me given how our time together began yesterday. I think I might be all right here for three months, if he really is sorry that is, and we stick to business as usual.
Somehow, I don't think that's going to happen. Charlie might have been kind enough to offer me an apology but he's still a man, a powerful, needy man. I'm still here for a reason.
“Two months, three weeks, and six days,” I tell myself, closing my eyes.
15
The next day welcomes rain. I love the sound lashing against the window. I find it serene.
I'm snug in bed, warm and sleepy, staring out the window for over an hour before I strip out of my clothes to take a shower.
I'm surprised to find there's a white body towel hanging on the heating rack by the frosted window, and things other than soap. My bra is gone from the floor too. Charlie must have stocked the bathroom while I slept. I'm not sure how I feel about that. How long was he in here? And how the hell didn't I hear him? I'm trained to be aware of my surroundings even in an unconscious state of sleep.
I shower under warm water this time, washing with some kind of soft body cream rather than soap, though I don't wash my hair. I curl it around my fist and knot it up without a hair-tie.
I feel a bit better today. I'm not so anxious. I slept well and woke peacefully, just like I usually do at home.
In the towel, dripping in water, I brush my teeth and wander into the bedroom, noticing for the first time a stack of books under the window: Shakespeare's collection and Oscar Wild's The Picture of Dorian Gray, amongst other reads. I've got those books at home.
That's odd.
Charlie hasn't left out any clean clothes like he did yesterday, so I pull open the creaking doors for the armoire. My clothes—they're here! My sports trousers and jumpers hanging up, a few pairs of my trainers lined up on the bottom shelf. Even my combat outfit is here.
Is this why he didn’t join me for dinner last night? Did he leave to go get my things?
My underwear isn't here, I see, rustling through the drawers with one hand, holding the towel to my body with my other. There's a collection of lace bras and thongs and some other risqué garments that I've seen women wear before; risqué garments that I'll not be wearing, for sure.
I smile to myself nonetheless of the underwear. Charlie said he'd get my things for me and he has—I'm assuming those books are mine. I still can't stomach the fact that I didn't hear him enter my room last night but I will admit, I'm grateful to have some of my things.
