I know it's been awhile. I do intend to finish this story, but I still have a way to go. If you're reading this and haven't read the other chapters the characters might be a bit hard to follow so you might want to start at the beginning.
That being said some characters that seem to be taking a bit of a Non Consensual/Reluctance turn, although there is none of it in this chapter. There are many talented authors on Lit that I suggest you peruse if this doesn't appeal to you. This story is being listed under Novels/Novellas and the short description may not be explanatory enough.)
All characters are entirely fictional and any likeness or similarities to any persons are purely coincidental.
Thanks for dropping by.
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"Marguerite, love, are you okay?" Rosaline stopped turning down the bed and looked at her friend, her delicate features marred by the concern on her face. Tucking a strand of wavy golden hair behind her ear, she smoothed her royal blue dress down her thighs a couple of times before approaching Marguerite. The redhead had all but stopped changing the pillowcase, holding the pillow and staring off into the distance.
"Marguerite..." her whisper cut off by the creaking floorboard under her foot.
Damn
. Rosaline looked down and then back up at Marguerite, who had turned at the noise.
"Are you okay love?" Rosaline continued towards her.
Marguerite shook and her slapped the pillow between her hands. "Rosaline, I'm fine, what are you doing creeping about the room?"
Rosaline stopped and put her hands on the footboard. "Are you sure you're okay? You been awfully quiet these last few days. You know you can tell me if something is bothering you?" Rosaline's large brown eyes were filled with worry.
Ah, sweet Rosaline. Marguerite almost wanted to reach out to her, but she didn't want her pity or her sympathy -- it would only make things harder for her. Marguerite took a deep silent breath and forced herself to smile cheerfully.
"Rosaline, it's nothing -- I promise. Sometimes I just think of home and my poor departed mother and father, bless their souls." Marguerite put the pillow on the bed, giving it a couple more shakes and smoothing over the material.
"Oh, yes, it's a been awhile since I thought of home." Rosaline was wistful. "Then again," She smiled brightly. "Jeremy hasn't left much room in my head!" She giggled and Marguerite laughed alongside her. It was easier this way.
It had been a couple of days since she'd see Buckley, and time was passing slowly. The more time between her the and the incident, the better she would feel. She touched her neck gingerly. Lucky for her abundance of red hair, otherwise she'd have raised quite a few eyebrows, not to mentioned questions about the angry purple bruising. Also, it wasn't good for business. Her eyes narrowed, Buckley would have more than just bruises to contend with. With that thought in mind she renewed her assault on the other pillow, punching into shape before settling it back on the bed.
--
Azalea awoke to footsteps on the stone stairs leading down to her prison. Recognising the voices, her body slumped further. She didn't have the energy to move off the floor, let alone fight again with Buckley. Considering what he'd done last time, he probably would bludgeon her to death given the chance.
"Carnus called. He's not going to be back for a couple of days." Buckley walked down the stone steps leading down to the cellar with James following awkwardly behind while he tried not to spill the contents of the shallow bowl. Buckley stood a full head and shoulders above James who suddenly wished he could dump the contents on Buckley's head.
"Why is that?"
Buckley shrugged as he absently-mindedly dug at his ear with his little finger. "Don't know."
Ugh. He really is a Neanderthal.
James gripped the bowl to stop himself from shivering. "What do we do now?"
"Nothing. Just make sure the whore is fed." Buckley surveyed his little finger.
James suppressed an involuntary gag.
When they reached the cell, Buckley hunched over to unlock cell door, dropping the keys as he fumbled with them.
Idiot.
As Buckley bent down to pick up the keys, Azalea came into view and wave a shame washed over James. He knew it was wrong, looking at the ragged woman sitting quietly in the cell. There something very surreal about the whole situation.
The woman was not normal.
