I tilt my head back, resting it against the cold tile. Lost in my own skin, I fucking hate this. I hate all of it and sometimes I wish I could go back to the night I was taken and have that bullet go through my skull instead of Bronson’s. Or maybe, back to the night I drowned myself, because this time I would have waited until mother had gone to bed.
Guilt bears down on me over the thought. But to me, death seems like such an easy way out because once it devours you, there is nothing else. Blackness. Emptiness. Nothingness. A dead man no longer struggles with demons.
Tears fall down my face, losing themselves within the trail of water from the shower. And just like that, tiredness falls over me. I can barely keep my eyes open and all I want to do is sleep for days. I want to sleep all of this away. And I can’t help but think sleep is a form of death for the living.
I quickly wash myself, turn the taps, and climb out of the shower, grabbing the towel from the vanity and drying myself off. When I wipe the fog from the mirror, I notice the door is wide open.Did I leave it open?My pulse immediately goes into a sprint, but somehow I manage to calm myself down. Maybe partly because, where I am tonight, I wouldn’t care if someonehasbroken in to kill me.
Huffing, I reach up to the top of the mirror, almost like someone else is controlling my limbs. “You’re scaring me…” I pen those words through the fog before walking to my room.
Call me a sadist but right now, the way this depression is rattling my insides, I just want to wallow in it. I want to let it consume me, so I skim through the playlist on my laptop and pick “11:11” by In This Moment, pressing play before I grab a pair of underwear and a T-shirt from my dresser. After I pull them on, I fall back onto my bed.
Rain begins to fall over the roof, and I smile because, so it seems, the rest of the world feels the same as I do. A gust of wind blows raindrops against the window. Branches from the tree outside scratch across the window pane. And I lose myself in thoughts of him. Of that room...
A floorboard creaks and I feel the energy of another person. My skin prickles. I catch the shadow on the wall just before a hand covers my mouth, another one grabbing onto the top of my head.
“Shh,” he whispers, the heat from his breath fanning over my neck. Sobs rack my body. My muscles go weak. “Don’t scream, understand?”
I nod, choking back the tears becausehecame for me.
He removes his hand from my mouth, and I feel the rough texture of rope scratch against my arm as he grabs both my hands and crosses them over each other. Quickly, he wraps the rope around my wrists and sits me up, turning me to face him. I bite down on my lip, tears pouring down my cheeks. I want so badly to touch him, but I can’t with my hands bound like this.
“I love you,” he whispers before tenderly pressing his lips against mine. “And it’s nearly driven me insane, but this is just how it should be. Me and you, like this.”
There’s a pause where we stare at each other, and it takes me just a moment to form words. “I love you, too,” I whisper.
A sympathetic smile forms on his face. “Youwill…for the right reasons this time.” He stands and grabs my bound wrists. “Come on now, darlin’.”
And I stand, following him without a fight, smiling. Beaming. Because he loves me to the point of insanity—with such a fierceness that he is taking me. Stealing me. People search entire lifetimes wanting to be owned and imprisoned by a feeling so strong that nothing can break it. That is what this is.
I don’t make a sound as he leads me through the back door, along the side of the house, and to a car parked across the street. He opens the door for me and when I climb in, I find my book in the floorboard. My heart flitters in my chest. My stomach flips and flops. Sweat builds in my palms and my cheeks flush. This is love. This feelingiswhat makes me know I’m not crazy.
The interior light comes back on when he opens the driver’s side door. Those dark eyes of his lock with mine. He seems even more beautiful than I remember. And maybe that’s because I now know he is mine. I am his. And I amsafewith him.
He climbs in and turns the ignition, checking the rearview mirror before pulling away from the curb. By the time we’ve reached the end of the road, his hand is on mine, his thumb gently stroking over my knuckles. “The rope’s not too tight, is it?”
I glance over at him. “No.”
The streetlights flick over his face, the shadows accentuating his cut jawline. For a moment, I fear I’ve finally given into the pending nervous breakdown my mind has been battling, and I panic, tightly closing my eyes.He’ll still be there. He will…Because so many times I’ve dreamed of him coming for me, and waking up to the reality that I am free has nearly killed me.
“Max,” I whisper. I can’t open my eyes. I can’t bear to. “Max?”
“Yes, dear?”
“What’s your last name?”
“Carter.”
But that’s not enough to convince me he’s real. “What took you so long?” I ask, then open my eyes, and he is still here.
“I had to get things ready.” He squeezes my hand, looks over at me, and smiles. “Because I have to keep you safe with me.”
I settle back in the seat, bliss falling over me like a haze. “You know you don’t have to keep me tied up.”
“I know.” He smirks.
“I’d never leave you.”
“I’d never let you.”
