For the first few seconds after I woke up, I thought I was in the master suite of Phelim Tower tucked under the sheets in my bed. That my head hurt, that my arm throbbed in agony and I was having a bit of trouble breathing convinced me that I must have had some altercation with Edward after my return.
Maybe he finally made true on his promise to keep me away from campus. Perhaps he'd finally taken a knife to the brand on my thigh and cut off the flesh with Dominic's name on it. I, of course, must have retaliated. Edward probably got angry and did what he did best... Yes, it would explain why I was in so much pain.
As carefully and as slowly as I could, I finally peeled my eyes open, allowing the fog in my vision to clear before I dared to move any of my limbs. My ankle was sprained, the skin on my calves felt chafed, my hip hurt, my shoulder was also sore and my arm... What had he done to my arm? My ribs were also bruised, but not as badly as usual.
Distracted by thoughts of a possibly dislocated limb, I pushed myself up and reached over my shoulder to touch it. I grunted, my arm too tender to nurse. As gently as I could, I cradled it close to my chest and threw my legs over the bed, intent on booking an appointment with a doctor.
I didn't notice the old, coarse, brown carpet until I was a few feet from the bed. Then I stopped, looked down at my bloodied toes and froze. My gaze swept over the carpet, and then the wall and the one little window on the wrong side of the room...
Fuck.
I peered at the bed, only now noticing that it was a single instead of the double-king Edward and I shared. I was still wearing the dress from last night, dirty and torn as it was.
But where the fuck was I?
I hurried over to the window, pushing back the curtain as far as I could with my good arm. I leaned over and gasped, because instead of the majestic New York cityscape, all I saw were fucking trees. A lot of them spread out randomly.
What the fuck was I doing in the forest? Had Edward brought me here to punish me? That evil fucker, I should have known he would pull some shit like this. Likely fucking one of his many whores while I was battered and bruised in the middle of fucking nowhere because he wanted to teach me a lesson. I marched over to the door, turning the lock this way and that to escape. But it was locked shut. I banged my fist into the wood as hard as I could.
I yelled, "You tell your boss I'm going to castrate him with a broken bottle while he sleeps, the degenerate fuck!"
I grunted when pain flared through my shoulder and arm, forcing me to retreat to the modest-sized bed. I sat down and carefully sifted through the events of the previous night even as my head pounded painfully. I reached for my forehead, ready to massage the discomfort with my fingers, but I winced when I touched an open wound. What the fuck happened last night?
I was just recalling the army waiting for me in the parking lot when the lock on the door clicked. As quickly as I could, I rose and walked around to the other side of the bed, creating some distance. The door swung open and two men with large rifles marched into the room, a middle-aged doctor behind them. I expected them to point the guns at me and force me to sit, but they just calmly stood on either side of the physician and waited. Nobody said a thing.
Then another person walked into the room, carrying a plastic tray with several plates of steaming hot food and a jug of water. He swept his gaze over me quickly, then left without a word. The door closed behind him, leaving me with two armed guards and a medical professional. The latter took a step forward, and I took one back.
"If you touch me, I will strangle you with your own stethoscope."
He smiled softly, his dark blue eyes searching. His head cocked to the side, and then he nodded as if he'd come to a decision. Placing his kit on the floor, he took the only seat in the room and gestured towards the bed. I narrowed my eyes, and he shrugged as if my decision changed nothing.
"You were in a car accident last night and I'm afraid you sustained some injuries."
"No, I was not. My husband did this to me. Whatever sick game he's playing isn't going to work. He's tried to fucking gaslight me before, but it won't work."
Something I said must trigger him because fury flashed across his face before he schooled his features. He sighed, interlocking his fingers before placing an elbow on each knee. "I am told that your car was rammed off the road. I am terribly sorry that you were hurt. I am here to tend to you-"
I laughed.
Threw my head back and laughed while my ribs ached. I sat down on the bed, facing away from the doctor and the others, my peals of laughter slowly fading.
"I'm sorry, you'll forgive me if I don't believe you-"
"Avery, I am here to tend to your wounds. How you think they came about won't prevent me from doing my job. Now," he said, vacating the chair and picking up his kit. "Please have a seat so I can begin."
I was in pain.
And did it really matter how it happened? I could piece all of that together myself later, but I have to get checked out right now. Especially since I was having a bit of difficulty drawing proper breath. Plus, there was something oddly disarming about this guy. His soft smile put me at ease and his intent gaze made me feel safe, in a way.
So I sat down on the little chair with my arm cradled against me. The doctor chased the two guards out so he could get me out of my dress and do his job. He poked and prodded at me, asking me questions about how this felt and whether I was dizzy. He's much more thorough than the guy I've been seeing lately, but that might be due to the other guy's incompetence.
"Why did he bring me here?"
The doctor continued his examination as though I hadn't spoken, but he did sigh softly and said, "I think it would be best if you asked him that question. Unfortunately, I cannot speak to his intentions."
As he stitched me up and carefully placed my arm in a brace, he confessed, "He won't be happy about this. You weren't supposed to get hurt."
"Then he shouldn't have done this to me," I whispered, too drained to offer much else. The entire process must take close to an hour, I think. Finally, when the doctor was satisfied he'd done all he could, he wrapped my arm back in the sling and gave me a lot of instructions on the best treatment.
"How long until I'm not broken?"
"Four to six weeks to be certain," he said, packing up. The doctor closes up his shit and hands me a couple of pill bottles, which I take.
"If the pain gets worse, you call me immediately. Do you understand?"
I nodded, and he placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. As quickly as he had come in, he was gone, leaving me alone. I ate some of the food they'd brought me, then took my medication like a good patient.
I finally managed to get back on the small bed and lay down with the fabric-softener scented sheets covering my lower half. As I drifted off to sleep, I found myself asking, why did he keep calling me Avery?
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My new prison lacks the splendour of Phelim Tower. Instead of the thick carpet by the bed, and the softest Egyptian cotton, I was treated to some coarse ugly thing and polyester bedding that reeked of fabric softener. Rather than my expansive bathroom with both shower and tub, dark marble floors and fantastic water pressure, I have a tiny space where the toilet and shower are almost fighting for space. The basin is tiny too, with no hot water. But I am grateful that everything is clean, and that I am able to wash the blood and dirt off my body. I have a towel to wrap around my body, a toothbrush to cleanse my teeth and even a variety of disinfectants and lotions for my skin. Everything a normal bathroom should actually have, including band-aids, deodorant, feminine hygiene products.
The injuries make movement difficult and it takes forever to wash all the blood off, but I have nowhere to be. Once I'm done, I blot my skin with the disinfectant-soaked cotton balls and patch myself up as best I can with what I have. My time with Edward taught me a lot, including this exhausting self-care process. I left the bathroom in search of something to wear when I noticed that a few things had been left on the bed for me.
Sensible undergarments, a few comfortable clothes, slippers, socks and a few books for entertainment purposes. I should have been happy about everything, but it just reaffirmed that I would be here longer than I wanted to. As carefully as I could, I pulled on a pair of grey cotton panties, shorts and a t-shirt. It took longer to put the brace back on, and I was so exhausted by the end of it that all I wanted to do was lie back. It isn't long before I'm asleep again.
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Over the past three weeks, I have developed a routine.
I woke up to the glare of the sun in my face. A few minutes later, the same guy who had brought in the tray that first day does so again, placing it on the bed where I'm lying. He'll ask me how I'm feeling and whether I need the doctor, but I never respond. I glare and wait for him to leave so I can eat my breakfast and take the little pills that come with the meal. I shower afterwards, taking the time to groom myself and all that nice shit.
Noon is always marked by lunch, and an offer to walk around the property for some exercise, which I am always eager to do. Supper is a much grander affair, served with dessert and a tea that immediately puts me to sleep.
Between meals, I read. And plot. And scheme. And seethe. I think of very creative ways to kill Edward, most of which involve a very sharp blade or the heels of my black Louboutins. Sometimes I'd work a chainsaw in there, just so I could revel in his screams.
You get it... I'm angry and I'm bored.
But I adjust to the routine, even though I want to be anywhere but here.
It's difficult being here.
Not because of my quaint living conditions or the restrictions on my movements in the house. In fact, I had learned to like the simplicity of my new living arrangements quite a lot, and now that I was "behaving myself", I was allowed the freedom to roam around the house without a guard following me all the time. Edward was using my demand for freedom against me, bribing me for my obedience with the allure of returning home. I decided to start taking walks around the perimeter, remaining where they could see me. More books are brought to my bedroom, and more clothes are packed into my closet, but none of that can change that I was still in a prison.
Had he found out about my plotting? Was Luis alright? Why hasn't he come to see me since I've been here? And how the fuck was Dominic supposed to find me if I was literally in the middle of nowhere? Not knowing whether I would actually see Dominic again made the helplessness much worse.
How long would Edward keep me here? How long would I be confined to a meal schedule and mandatory exercise? How long would I dress in these drab garments and have no mental stimulation except for books that they tossed my way? He was taking advantage of the fact that I desperately wanted to please him, that I yearned for his forgiveness, so he would let me go. He was testing me.
But I could not stay here forever.
I wouldn't.
I had plans in place that I was very eager to return to. I had a coup to implement, a husband to murder and an empire to rule. If I was stuck here forever, waiting for a man who was content to let me rot in a prison, then I would never get anywhere.
I had to get his attention.
I had to bring him to me, so we could face each other. Maybe then he would finally make up his mind about whether to let me live or if I had to kill him.
After mulling over some ideas, I realised that smashing his shit and trying to kill one of his guards would be regarded as a tantrum, and that he might actually stay away even longer.
... But maybe burning down the cabin wasn't the best idea.
Because not only had I given away our position to the local authorities, but I had managed to piss off the guy with the foodtray to unmitigated ends. After tossing me into the back of an SUV and driving for twelve hours to God knows where, I'm dragged into a dark bedroom and left there.
No scheduled meals this time.
No walks around the property.
No books to entertain me and no comfortable clothes to change into.
Eventually, I passed out on the bed, drained from my arson exploits. Only to be woken up with the feeling that I was being watched.
I lifted my head when I sensed his presence. My heart leaping, I began to tremble and hyperventilate and looked around in the darkness for any signs of where he might be. But apart from the shivers running up my spine and the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end, I had nothing. But I knew he was there.
I could fucking feel him.
