The silence that surrounds me. The night terrors that haunt me.
One day I wake up, and after assisting me with washing, Jacky gets me dressed not in another nightgown but in a soft, blue pantsuit that looks like it’s from the early two-thousands.
“Why am I getting dressed? In proper clothes I mean?” I ask, giving her a quizzical look.
“Well, your uncle and I agreed that you needed some fresh air and to stretch your legs,” she tells me, her face split into a big smile as she takes me over to the small table, and I sit down, a bowl of creamy porridge in front of me. “So, after breakfast, I’m to take you out for a walk.” She beams at me like this is her life’s biggest achievement thus far. Shit, maybe it is for all I know. I hear a familiar masculine chortle that makes my head swivel, expecting to see Ash next to me. But then I remember that he might not even be real, just a figment of my imagination, otherwise he’d be here, right? Jacky would know about him, right?
Shaking my head at my apparent craziness, I feel excited flutters in my stomach at the prospect of leaving my gilded cell, and I rush to finish my food. I do pause as the depressing thought that this is what my life has been reduced to hits me.
Helping me to stand, as I’m still so fucking unsteady on my feet, we make our way towards the door, and I can feel my pulse becoming faster the closer we get to it.
Taking a small, silver key out of her pocket, she unlocks the door, opening it into the room. It’s funny how an object so tiny can exert such control over my life. In front of me sits a wheelchair, and I baulk at the sight, halting our movements.
“It’s just to help you get outside. You’re very weak, dear,” she tells me kindly, her face sincere.
Taking a deep sighing breath and nodding, we move forward once more, and she supports my arm whilst I sit in the chair, tucking a fluffy wool blanket around my thin legs. Even with all the food that I’ve been given, my muscles have started to waste away with inactivity, so I’m determined to at least try and walk a little today, in the hope that I’ll build my strength back up.
Jacky begins to wheel me along the corridor, and I realise that I do recognise the light blue colour of the walls and the various old portraits and landscape paintings lining them. We go past the carved wooden staircase, stopping in front of a light-coloured panelled door that looks the same as all the others that we’ve just passed. Stepping away from me, Jacky presses a brass button, and a second later the door slides into the wall revealing a lift.
“That’s new,” I mutter, not remembering it from before as she pushes me in, pressing the down button. The doors close with a soft swish, and I feel a jolt as we descend. For a moment, the wild thought that I’m descending into Hell flashes across my mind. Then I remember I’m already there; too weak to walk, in love with dark Knights that may not exist.
“Your uncle put it in specially, thinking that you might need it, especially once the baby arrives,” she tells me, her voice soft, interrupting my pity party.
“Huh,” I reply quietly.
Chewing my lip, I think on her words. On the surface, they show my uncle as someone who’s thinking of the comfort and ease of others, a selfless person who’d spend a small fortune ensuring that a relative has all that they might need. On the other hand, I can’t help wondering why he’d think that, as a normal, healthy, young woman, I wouldn’t be able to manage the stairs. Regardless if I’m pregnant or not.
We come to a stop, and the doors open with another quiet swish, disrupting my swirling thoughts. I realise with a start as we exit the lift, that today my mind feels clearer than it has in weeks. I’m able to hold onto thoughts, they don't slip through my fingers like sand as they did just yesterday or the days before.
As we approach the double front doors with their clear glass panels, the sunlight floods in, shining all around the large entrance hall, making it feel light and airy. Very un-Hell-like. The tight knot in my chest lightens the closer I get to freedom. I can practically taste the fresh, English countryside, like newly mown grass and daffodils. A wide smile takes over my face when the doors are opened by my Uncle’s butler, Smith, and I can take a deep lungful of the sweetest air I’ve ever tasted.
We pause at the top of the entrance steps, and my eyelids flutter closed, the sun warming my face and heating my blood as though I’m a cold-blooded creature that needs light to survive, or I’ll waste away.
“Allow me, Miss, ma’am.” An unfamiliar deep voice startles my lids open, and I’m staring into laughing, brown eyes the colour of fallen autumn leaves. I study him as he bends down to grab the front of the chair. He reminds me of a slightly older Jax—if Jax is real of course and not a figment of my fucked up imagination—with his dirty blond hair tied in a messy man bun, and his facial hair that’s more than stubble but less than a beard. He’s less stacked than my Viking, though still muscular. “Rowan, give me a hand, will ya?” he calls in a pure west London drawl, and I look to the side to see the same man walking towards us.
Doing a double take, I hear Mr laughing brown eyes chuckle.
“Are you…” I begin, looking back at him.
“Twins? Yes,” he tells me as I feel the chair shift when they lift it and start to carry me down the steps.
“But I’m the better looking one,” a smoky voice says behind me—Rowan—and a surprised bark of laughter slips from between my lips, my hand flying to cover my mouth. The guy in front just smirks, and I must admit, if I wasn’t in love four times over with possibly imaginary guys, I’d be tempted to fall because of that smile alone.
“Thank you, boys, that was very gallant,” Jacky flutters, coming up next to me with a blush on her cheeks as they set the chair down at the base of the steps.
“You’re welcome, ma’am, Miss,” the first twin says, straightening back up as Rowan comes to stand next to him. They look at me intently with an unreadable expression, as though they’re studying me. “Anything else we can help you with?”
I interrupt before Jacky can say anything. “What’s your name? And why are you here?” I ask, my eyes narrowing, noticing their all black clothing, and the radios attached to the belts at their hips.
“Apologies, m’lady,” the first twin replies, hand on his heart, a boyish grin on his face that has my lips twitching, followed by a crippling twinge of pain that lances through my heart at the memory of another cheeky boy I know—maybe know—but with red hair instead of dirty blond. “My name is Roman Kent, this is Rowan Kent, and we are part of the security your uncle has hired to help keep you safe.”
My brows drop at his words.
“Safe from what?” I ask, but before they can answer, Jacky clears her throat.
“Well, thank you once again, boys, I’ll be sure to call if I need your assistance,” she says, her tone not unkind but a little brusque. “Right, dear, let’s take a turn around the house, shall we?” She starts pushing me in the damn chair, turning me away from the intriguing Kent brothers.
Feeling a prickling in my skin, a shiver that’s completely at odds with the warm sunshine, I turn around, leaning past Jacky, only to find both guys where we left them, one of them with a phone to his ear, staring after us.