Finally, he steps away, discarding the measuring tape with a flick of his wrist. I watch it flutter to the floor as he begins to wind his way around the mannequins. He stops in front of one, gives it a long once-over, and shakes his head before continuing on.
“Ah!” I hear him say, now much farther away.
I can’t see him from where I’m standing, and I remain still, crossing my arms around my chest in a vain attempt to stay warm.
There’s a rustle of sounds, then more silence before he reappears with what I can only make out as black clothing.
As he strolls back up to me, his grin widens, as if every moment of this bizarre game has him tickled with amusement.
He’s psychotic. Out of his mind.
“Arms up,” he orders.
My lips thin into a line, and I hope my stare conveys every horrible thing I want to yell at him, but I slowly raise my arms anyhow.
“Hold still,” he says before tugging a tight, long-sleeved maxi dress over my head.
His hands smooth over the curves of my breasts, over my stomach, then hips while slipping the dress down my body. I note the lack of underwear.
I tremble under his touch. A maddening cognitive dissonance muddling my thoughts. His seemingly harmless behavior is at war with the countless mannequins staring back at me, their faces expressionless and frighteningly uncanny.
Gemini circles me once again. The dress is backless, and I jump when I feel a finger smooth down my naked spine.
“So many tattoos, and yet you’ve left your back unmarked,” he muses, his finger idly drawing spirals over my exposed skin.
I expect him to ask me why.
But the question never comes.
Instead, he faces me, holding up his finger as if to tell me to wait there, and heads to the left-facing wall, where a large collection of shoes and jewelry are displayed.
Shortly after, he returns, holding a pair of black platform boots and a thin pair of socks.
Beginning to learn his quirks, I’m not surprised when he drops down on one knee and asks me to hold up my foot. One after the other, he slips the socks on my feet and then fastens theboots. By the time he’s done, I’m ready to implode, his careful and meticulous ministrations starting to burn a hole in my chest.
I’m beginning to wish for his violence. It’s upsetting and so illogical, but at least I would know the extent of his evil. His current behavior feels a lot more insidious. Like the feathery touch of his fingers when he clasps a necklace around my neck, the pendant falling just above my cleavage. I don’t look down to see what it is, only knowing that it feels heavy against my chest.
Breakfast is servedon the terrace. It’s a mild winter day, and my long-sleeved dress is enough to keep me warm when paired with the strong morning rays. The terrace overlooks the harbor and is built so close to the edge of the cliff that it appears we’re floating in midair.
On the table sits a wide array of food—from mountains of fresh-cut fruits to eggs, bacon, and toasted bread. My mouth waters, and my stomach rumbles loudly. I know Gemini hears it by the entertained look I catch from the corner of my eye, but I ignore him.
I suspect he wasn’t the one who cooked all this food, but I haven’t seen or heard a single soul aside from Gemini since he dragged me here yesterday.
Yesterday …
How time has morphed into anything but. My existence feels much different now, not even twenty-four hours later.
Gemini pulls out a chair for me, and I give him a small nod before I sit.
“Hands on your lap, my pet,” he casually announces as he drags a chair as close to mine as he possibly can.
“But …” I begin to say, but never finish my sentence.
He intends to feed me.
An intense burst of hysteria overcomes me momentarily. I feel like I’m losing all sense of control, even the ability to feed myself.
Gemini pops a raspberry into his mouth, unbothered by my current state of crisis, before sticking a fork into the juiciest strawberry I’ve ever seen. He offers it to me, and my reservations crumble with the need to have a taste.
