“We’re leaving?”
“Yes. Together.” He leaned in and rested his forehead against mine. “Would that make you happy? To be with me forever?”
Something poked me in the back of my mind. My thoughts felt confusing and jumbled.
“I…no,” I said, the fog clearing in my head a bit. “I feel weird.”
He pulled away from me and reached into his jacket and produced a small bottle of water. “Drink,” he urged softly. “You’ve got to be thirsty.”
I was thirsty.
I parted my lips for him as he pressed the drink to them, and I swallowed down the water. It had a strange bitter taste to it that I had long since become accustomed to.
The fog returned quickly, making my body feel light and weak.
“Good girl,” he appraised. “Let’s get you undressed.”
I pulled out of his hold, my heart racing.
“I. . . no. I-I don’t want you to see me—”
“Don’t make me regret saying you’ve been good,” he warned. “Do you remember what happens when you deny me? It’s our one-month anniversary. Let’s have a nice night, OK?”
I chewed my bottom lip, the memory cloudy. He’d hit me. Beat me. Make me bleed. Make me cry.
I nodded.
“Undress,” he said again.
I swallowed and unbuttoned the new shirt he’d given me some time ago to wear. It dropped to my feet as I slowly undid my bra.
Did I want to do this?
I felt like no. But yes. Like my brain couldn’t understand the implications as I pushed my skirt down and removed my panties to stand in front of him.
“Perfect,” he murmured, returning to me, shucking his own clothes off along the way. He held his hand out to me and I took it, allowing him to lead me to the tub. He got in first before helping me in. We settled in, the niggling feeling that something wasn’t right. This was wrong.
“This feels. . . weird,” I said, crinkling my brows.
“How so?” He poured water onto my head in a gentle manner and began soaping up my hair.
“I don’t feel like I should be here. With you.”
He was quiet as he continued to work, but I could feel the tension seeping from him as he washed my hair.
We sat in our silence as he finished washing my hair.
When he spoke, he placed his hands on the top of both my arms and brought my back against his chest, his thick erection poking me in the back.
“You belong with me, Bianca,” he said softly, his lips brushing against my ear. “Forever. You’re mine, remember?”
I frowned. “I am?”
“Here, have something to drink.” He reached over the edge of the tub and grabbed a second bottle of water and handed it to me. I drank like he wanted me to, the strange buzzing growing in my body until I was nothing but air and apathy inside.
“How’s that?” he asked.
I nodded. “Good. I feel. . . odd.”