I take my time in the shower, letting the conditioner set on my hair for a long time while I exfoliate and shave. I don’t go through the routine for anyone else. Definitely not for Stone. I will never let him touch me. No one associated with Lorenzo or my past will ever get through the walls I built around my body and my heart.
This is about taking advantage of my situation. If I am going to be locked up in this gilded cage, I might as well take advantage of the amenities. When I am good and pruned, I turn off the showerheads and lift a thick, white towel from the warming rod.
I can’t deny how luxurious and refreshed I feel. After drying off, I reach for the thick robe hanging on the back of the door and slip into it. Stone said the clothes and accessories were for me. He’d shopped, or rather, had his people shop, for me.
Somehow, they discovered my favorite scents, my favorite designers, and knew my exact size. I’m creeped out by all the stalking he’s done. Tension builds back up in my chest. My breakfast threatens to make its way up my throat. I rush to the sink and splash cold water on my face.
Stone knows everything about me. My new life, the horrific life I fled. He may have a vendetta against my father, but that doesn’t make him my knight in shining armor. I am trading one captor for another.
I dry my face on the hand towel and concentrate on calming my breath. It won’t do me or Mama any good if I have a panic attack. Stone’s words come rushing back to me.
Mama is taken care of. She is safe. But am I? And really, is Mama? I have no one to turn to; no one to trust but myself. Even Mama slips from time to time, her dementia making it hard for her to remember not to mention certain things from our past.
Thankfully, the brain damage has blurred most of her memories of the abuse, or she subconsciously blocked it from her mind.
I need to devise a plan, but with no phone, no computer, not even a notepad and pen, it is hard to do much of anything. I’m a visual person. I need to write lists, to make T-charts and weigh out the pros and cons.
However, if I write anything down, I’ll risk the chance of Stone or one of his men coming across it. I pick up a comb and run it through my hair as I open the bathroom door.
“Did you leave any hot water for the rest of us?” Stone leans against the opposite wall looking all too calm and comfortable in my suite. My prison.
I clutch the opening of my robe and hold it tight with both hands. “What are you doing in here?”
“You’ve had twenty-four hours to consider the arrangement. Are you going to do things the easy or difficult way?”
“I...” I grasp at the right words. I’m stuck. I have nowhere to go, no one to bail me or Mama out. No one to trust.
“Lorenzo or me?”
I choke back my tears as my stomach shakes from fear. I can feel it coming. I can’t hold it back. It took me four years to get my panic attacks under control, but this is too much.
My body shakes with vicious tremors and the tears spill. I can’t stop it. The waves of nausea take over my body and I lose control of my limbs. I drop to the floor and curl in a ball, willing my body to stop betraying me. I sob because I’m crying. I don’t want to cry. I need to stop the tears, but I can’t, which causes me to convulse even more.
My face sits in a pool of tears on the tile floor while my fingers clutch at the rug just inches away. I need something to hold on to. My teddy bear is thousands of miles away. A pillow. I need a pillow. Something to hold tight to my chest, to stop the panic. To stop the shaking.
I can’t hear, can’t see, can’t feel anything around me but sheer terror. I close my eyes and think about purple and Plumeria and the ocean. Mama’s favorites, which she used to talk about to soothe me as a child. I faintly hear my soft cries when strong arms lift me from the ground and carry me to the bed.
As soon as I sink into the mattress, I reach for a pillow and hug it into my body, spooning it as I breathe through my fears. Finally, my crying slows, but my body still shakes from the occasional tremor.
As I come to, I’m aware of a cold washcloth on my forehead. I manage to slow my breathing and loosen my hold on the pillow. I blink a few times until the room comes into focus again. A blur of black stands before me.
If I had the energy, I would roll to the other edge of the bed away from Stone. Embarrassed that he witnessed my panic attack, I bring the pillow to my face and bury myself in it.
“Here,” he says, not kindly but not mockingly either.
I move the pillow to the side and see the water he offers me. I take my time to bring myself to a seated position before I reach for the water. He is being too kind. Too quiet.
Then he leaves.