Darkest Before Dawn (8 page)

When I open my eyes, I lean against the door. “I will stay. And do you want to know why? Because whether you want to believe it or not, I’m
not
a bad person.”

And really, at the core of it all, I am no different than her father.

And she loves him.

B
racing
his body weight with his arm, Max lowers himself to the floor. After he sits, he leans against the door, his stare aimed at me as he casually rests his arms over his bent knees. “I’m
not
a bad person,” he says, almost offended that I would think of him any other way.

And I can say nothing because part of me believes him, and how fucking insane is that? Nothing I do makes sense anymore. I begged him to stay. It sounds crazy, but I just can’t take the solitude, and even though I hate him, his company is better than no one’s.

Then again, there
is
something about him that’s
almost
caring. My mind begins to travel down a dark, warped rabbit hole. The thing about people like he and I—our normal
is
twisted and fucked up. And as ludicrous as this may sound: some bad people
are
actually good. It’s all a luck of the draw, much like being born into royalty. You become a prince due to your lineage, and sometimes you’d prefer to be anything but. It’s the same for criminals, well, some of them. I want to believe Max is one of those people who don’t belong in this world, but are in it merely from inheritance. I want him to be lost because I feel he’s too beautiful to truly be tainted. No, I want him to be lost because what terrifies me is the thought that maybe he really does belong to this darkness, just like I do, and if that is the case then there is nothing I can do to stop where we are heading…
What the hell am I saying?

“You okay?” The lull of his deep voice snaps me from my thoughts.

Taking a seat on the edge of the mattress, I shake my head. “I just don’t want you to leave.”

“And for whatever reason, I don’t fucking want to.” He laughs and I find myself becoming lost in the way his eyes light up when he does that. “Fucked up, huh?” he says, his smile quickly fading. And here we sit in an odd silence. Our eyes are locked, and pieces of me know I should break this stare, but a larger part wants to keep looking, digging deeper, hoping I will see something he doesn’t let anyone else see.

He grabs my knee and my gaze breaks from his because I can’t look at him when he touches me like this. The gentle movement of his thumb as it glides over my skin feels too right. It should feel cheap. I want it to feel cheap because this—this, it makes me feel vulnerable.

“I
am
sorry, Ava,” he huffs and I look back up at him. “I am…it’s just one of those things I have no control over.” His eyes fall to the floor. “It’s wrong, it is, to take you like this, but in this part of the world it’s business, you understand that? I promise you though, I won’t let anything happen to you. I
will
keep you safe.”

And my heart does this little flitter because that sounded so sincere. Max’s gaze sweeps the room, stopping on the bed. “Do you need another blanket?”

“Um, no.”
God, this is fucking insane
. Why am I even having this conversation with him? He is horrible. He is keeping me here…but…the way he touches me. He’s nice. He brings me things. He
cares
. Right? That is caring? Why else would you act that way when you don’t have to? I feel like my brain can no longer make sense of a damn thing. Up is down and down is up.
Fuck!

I’ve lost myself so deeply within my thoughts that when Max reaches for me, the sudden movement startles me. I panic and jerk away from him, and my back hits the cold wall.

“Chill, Ava. I just wanted to touch you. Just…” His eyes narrow as he reaches out again—cautiously, and swipes a strand of hair from my face. “Fuck.” His head slams back against the wall. “I hate this.”

He silently stares at the floor for a long minute while I sit here wondering how I can convince this man to let me go. Wondering why in the hell I am attracted to him. Why I want to run my fingers through his thick hair. Why I want to strip down to nothing and have him touch me, have him look at me like I’m something he can’t be without. Why do I want
that
validation from him?

A short-lived smile flickers over his lips then disappears. He swallows. I swallow.

“I have to…” His gaze trails down to my lips and I know that look. He wants to kiss me. And I want him to, so I do what any normal girl does in a situation similar to this, I lean in, close my eyes, and wait.

“I have to go,” he says. My eyes fly open as he abruptly stands. “I’ll come back though. I promise.” And with that he walks to the door, opens it, and leaves.

Worthless…

I sit on the mattress for a few moments, dumbfounded by what just happened. My heart is in my throat, pounding with an uncomfortable force. Closing my eyes, I try to recall the feel of his hands on my cheek again. I crave his touch and I wonder if it’s because, down here, there is no human touch.
No, that’s not it, it’s because I want him. I want him to want me. I want him to fuck me.
I imagine what it would be like to have his hands on me, to have him rip my clothes from my body and throw me down on a bed. What it would feel like to have him inside of me, and I realize I
have
lost my mind. I see now how fucked up I really am because the fact that he doesn’t crave me the way I crave him, it makes my chest go all tight. It makes me angry and disappointed all at the same time.

The longer I sit and stare at the door, waiting for him to come back inside, panic sets in. With him gone, I’m once again forced to see the filthy room, the locked door I can’t get out of. Death. That is what this is: the holding room for death.

Sweat pricks my entire body. My breathing grows erratic and every last inch of my skin buzzes with the fear of dying in this room. The walls seem to shrink in on me. The silence so strong I can actually
hear
it. My senses are overwhelmed by the deprivation.

No sound.

No touch.

Nothing to see or do.

I am nothing. I am in a state of absolute nothingness—no longer in existence outside of these four walls. And it is in this moment of despair I realize we are always alone. Even when surrounded by people, it truthfully is no different than this right here. Our bodies are prisons. Our minds a captive no one aside from us will fully understand.
Oh, shit. I am losing my mind!

I don’t know why I do it, but I jump up from the bed and run across the room to the door. Screaming for Max, I pound over the wood until the skin on the sides of my palms split open. Blood seeps from the wounds, but I continue to beat over the door. Each hard hit leaves a stamp of blood. I want to feel I have some control in this, even though I know I don’t. I just want him to come back. I just want to see his face. I don’t want to be alone, whether that means sitting with the proverbial devil or not. I beat over the door again and again, screaming until my voice goes hoarse, until I am exhausted and fall to my knees, resting my forehead against the door.

Out of breath, I give into the fact that I am never leaving, and if by any chance of God I do, my sanity’s already gone.

I
don’t know
how long it’s been since Max left me alone. To be honest, the entire concept of time is lost on me now. I don’t need time. It doesn’t matter to someone like me.

I’m lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling, watching the water drip from that goddamn pipe. A rustling sound draws my attention to the side of the room. A tiny field mouse scurries over the shopping bag Max left on the floor. It sits up, running its little hands over its head before taking off again across the room and disappearing behind the toilet. Rolling onto my hands and knees, I make my way to the side of the room and grab the bag, digging through the contents. Jeans, shirts, sweaters, panties, and bras. At the bottom is a hairbrush, some toothpaste and a toothbrush.

My stare remains fixed on those items as I run my tongue over the thick film that’s built up on my teeth. I tear the boxes open, already covering the toothbrush with toothpaste as I hurry to the sink. I turn the tap and brush so long and hard that when I spit the foam is full of blood.

I bring one last handful of water to my lips and swish it around in my mouth before I spit into the sink and turn the faucet off. The lock to the door clicks and I spin around, wiping the back of my hand across my mouth as I cross the room. The hinges creak and Max walks inside, holding a tray of food. A plastic bag, beige with brown writing that I recognize well: Barnes and Nobles, hangs from his left wrist.

“You hungry yet?” he asks, setting the tray beside the cot.

I shrug as I take a seat on the mattress.

“Sorry, I was out all day. It’s dinnertime…and.” He pulls the bag from his wrist, steps toward me, and extends his hand. “Got you something to help pass the time and all.” His smile deepens, dimples popping on each side of his face.

Reluctantly, I take the bag and peer inside. Books.
Four Past Midnight, Revival, Frankenstein,
and
The Full Collection of Edgar Allan Poe.
My brow wrinkles. These are my favorite books. How the hell does he know?

“How…” I trail off as my gaze meets his.

“I checked your Facebook profile.” He sits on the mattress, clasps his hands, and leans over his knees. “You really should have that set to private. And not post your every fucking move…‘Excited to go to WJ Park with Bronson tonight.’” His face lifts, those ink-black eyes boring into me. “
Bragging
about going parking. Strange how comfortable everyone is, letting strangers into such intimate details of their lives.” He shakes his head.

A lump rises in my throat. I think back to that post. I regret it. I wish I could take it back. To know something as stupid as
that
may be the reason I am in this room at this very moment… I take the copy of
Frankenstein
out. The silver cover blurs behind tears. The fact that Max brought me something I
love
… I glance up at him. “Thank you,” I whisper, blinking away the want to cry.

He nods. “I told you I’m not a bad guy, Ava.”

And I’m starting to believe him.
When you have nothing good for comparison, anything can appear to be good.
See, I’m not going completely crazy.

I’m not.

I
lie awake
, my mind unable to stop. I glance at the clock and it’s already past three in the morning. Groaning, I wipe a palm down my face before reaching for the lamp on the nightstand. One click and the bright-ass light nearly blinds me. I grab the well-worn book from the bedside table.
The Art of Seduction
by Robert Greene. I flip to the beginning of chapter 15, titled: “Isolate the Victim.” My eyes skim the first few lines before I drop the book to my lap.

Sad to say, but over the past few months, I’ve lost count of the women I’ve done this to. I should be able to do this in my sleep by now. Ava should not be a problem. But what makes doing this to Ava more difficult—there is something about her that I want.

With just a look she makes me forget what I’m trying to do. I found myself on her Facebook page earlier today looking at pictures, reading posts because I am curious about
her
. Those books, those weren’t in the plans—although I must admit it was a nice touch. She’s most likely down there reading one right now, and deep within the recesses of her fragile mind I am being connected to something pleasant, to a kind act of remorse. This is how you manipulate someone: you take everything away and suddenly the slightest act of kindness seems like you’ve moved a mountain. Stripped of everything, people rearrange their view on life—on kindness and love. And eventually, once they come to depend on you for everything, when you are all they can see, you are left with the power to rearrange the way they view
everything
.

Things which were once good can become bad. Things that were once a joy can be turned into an annoyance. When a person has one person and one person only in their life—that person controls everything, right down to their captive’s ideas and logic. So simple yet so complicated. And if you are truly a master at it, they’ll never even realize their entire moral compass has been rearranged, they’ll not be capable of remembering what is truth and what are lies, and most importantly, they’ll be unable to remember who they really are.

The thought of Ava losing herself—it makes me somber because I want to know who she is, and if she loses that identity, I’ll never really know.

I flip through the pages until the early morning light filters through the old window beside the bed. After placing the book back on the bedside table, I crawl out of bed. I piss and brush my teeth, then I grab a piece of rope from the dresser drawer and make my way down to the cellar. Ava’s curled up on her cot, the copy of
Frankenstein
still in her hands. I cross the room and gently take a seat next to her, watching her sleep.

She looks so peaceful, so damn perfect. Her porcelain skin is flawless, her thick, dark lashes such a contrast to her fair skin tone. High cheekbones. A perfect cupid’s bow in her full upper lip. And if I’m honest, I feel much like Lucifer luring an angel from the realms of heaven; however, the devil wouldn’t feel guilt pressing down on him like I do. Leaning over her, I tenderly trail my finger across her cheek. Fuck if her skin doesn’t feel good under my touch. “Ava,” I whisper. “Hey, darlin’?”

Her eyes flutter and she makes a subtle movement.

“Ava, time to wake up.”

Her eyes open, dazed and confused before she startles. I lay my hand over her thigh and pat her. “It’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you. Just wanted to take you up for a shower while Earl’s gone. Maybe have you eat up at the table with me? He’ll be gone most the day so I thought—” I narrow my eyes—“if I can trust you…that maybe you would like to get out of this fucking room?”

For a second her stare falls blank, and I wonder if she’s planning how she can get out if I let her upstairs. But then she smiles and drags in a heavy breath. “That would be great. Thank you.”

Because she trusts me. She has no one to trust but me.
And so she holds her wrists out and I tie them before opening the door.

***Break***

The sullen midday sun streams through one of the kitchen windows. Ava’s sitting at the table—hands bound, of course—staring down at her lap. She’s had a bath, put on a new pair of jeans and a fitted long-sleeved shirt I bought her, and now, we’ve just finished lunch. I clear the plates, stacking them in the sink and running water over them. Bear’s asleep under the kitchen table. He whimpers, kicking his legs wildly in his dream. A small smile tears at Ava’s lips as she peers beneath the table at him. “My dog does that all the time—pretends to run in her sleep,” she says.

“Oh, yeah?” I turn the tap off, glancing at her as I dry my hands. “What’s her name?”

“Sadie.”

“That’s not a dog name.” She tosses a playful glare at me, and I laugh. She’s so fucking adorable.

“It most certainly is. She’s a miniature Collie. And besides, it was from one of my favorite Beatles’ songs.”

I cock a brow, throw the towel down, and step away from the sink. I drag out the chair across the table from her and take a seat. “The Beatles? You”—reaching across the table, I flick her hair from her face—“pretty girl, listen to the Beatles?”

“Yeah, I listen to everything. My mother…”

And the mention of
that
name brings a flood of tears to her eyes.
Fuck. I fucked up. I brought up the things she should forget about.
I clear my throat. “Earl will be back soon.” I stand, holding out my hand to her.

She lifts her bound hands and places them in mine.

“Maybe we can do this more often. It’s been nice having you up here with me for the day,” I say as I open the door to the cellar.

Tears trickle down her cheeks, and without thought, I swipe them away. I want to hold her and comfort her. “It’s okay to be upset, but the thing you must remember is I
will
keep you safe. I won’t let you hurt, Ava. Understand?” I attempt to regain the upper hand. She gives a halfhearted nod and I take her chin between my fingers, forcing her eyes up to mine. “Look at me,” I say, and when she does, something inside of me becomes crippled.

That look of innocence—you don’t see that often here because the girls that come here are already corrupted. Ava is anything but. Hope and love and family, those things are still very fresh wounds here. She is still very much a person—a woman that at one point in my life I am fairly certain I would have chased after, loved, coveted.
And the man inside of me still wants to chase her, to love her, to covet her.
I sweep my thumb over her soft skin, my eyes drifting to her plump lips. I’m so lost in instincts that I barely notice myself inching closer and closer to her. Bare centimeters before my lips meet hers, I stop myself, gritting my jaw in an attempt to restrain that part of me that wants to take her.

“I promise,” I breathe the words against her lips and she shudders. “I will protect you.” And it is with those words that I turn to head down the wooden steps, to lock her back up in a room and leave her.

“I believe you,” she whispers.

Closing my eyes, I inhale. In this world, innocence is a downfall.