All I ever tasted anymore was blood. The metallic flavor coated my mouth like a stain I couldn't remove no matter how many times I tried to clean it. But the taste was my reminder. It kept me grounded, cautious, and afraid. I had to stay afraid. It kept me in line, showed me the boundaries that I never wanted to test. And it kept Darren happy—the only thing that mattered anymore.
The things Darren did to me, the words he made me say, the pain he caused, the psychological torture—I'd never snapped in half so hard in my life. I could feel my mind being warped each day, twisted and pulled in so many painful directions that I didn't think it would ever end. For weeks, he made me suffer relentlessly and severely. The smallest transgression was like ringing Hell's doorbell and asking for an invitation for another dose of pain. Nothing could have prepared me for what I went through or how broken I'd become. I was nothing. Less than nothing. I was just his now.
And I thought of nothing else.
But when I found myself drowning in the misery of my despair, the hopelessness of my life, Darren had reached down and dragged me out, breathing a different life back into me. When I was good, when I made him happy, my reward was more than I could have ever expected. He was kind then—gentle, warm, and comforting. Everything I needed him to be.
He chased away the cold with his body, drove back my nightmares with his touch, and dried my tears with his lips. I was consumed with the need to be comforted, cared for... cherished. And when I was good, when I made him happy, I felt safe. And all I ever wanted after all the pain and anguish I had suffered was to feel safe.
Darren had been my tormentor and my savior. And I had to do everything I could to keep the tormentor at bay and stay with my savior. The one who cherished me as if I was the most precious treasure in the world. That was the key to my survival.
When I was finally released from that room, waking up unrestricted and warm, I'd broken down right in front of him, expressing my full gratitude and relief to be trusted. But what was worse was the realization that I was finally and officially broken; otherwise, Darren wouldn't have released me. He was confident in his conditioning that I was as twisted as he wanted me to be, and my heart broke in two knowing it was true. I was so fucking dependent on him to love me and cherish me that it terrified me. Because he couldn't hurt me if he was loving me. I was safe that way. I could survive that way.
But it was so fucking hard to live that way.
I was so goddamn paranoid that the smallest thing would land me back in that basement, and then I would never be able to leave. I'd die in there if I went back, so I did everything possible to stay out of trouble. I avoided temptation like the plague. I didn't train. I didn't speak unless spoken to. I kept my head down and avoided eye contact unless requested. I ate all of my food no matter how sick it made me and forced myself to keep it down. I kept up my appearance and wore heels around the house. I even tried to cover up the scars of my wolf bite with makeup, so he wouldn't see the defect in my skin and remind me of my stupidity. And I smiled every time I saw Darren because even though I was still petrified of him, I didn't want him to focus on that. I wanted him to see my smile because I knew it made him happy.
The only thing I couldn't do was sleep. I'd try so hard to find the comfort I sought in his arms, his heart beating against my ear and letting me know that everything was okay. That I was okay. But then I'd close my eyes, and all I would see was darkness. All I would feel was cold and lonely confinement. I'd hear my own screams and wake in a panic when Darren held me too tightly. But then I'd realize he wasn't hurting me; he was comforting me, stroking back my hair and kissing my tears away.
His touch always made me feel better. And when he wanted me... God, when he wanted me...
I desperately threw myself into his passion, thriving in his affection, feeding off it like a drug. My need for him became insatiable. I'd often find myself shaking with anticipation and need when he wasn't around. I had to know that he was happy with me. It was the only thing that kept me together. When he was fucking me, I was complete. I was serving my purpose and giving him what he wanted so he would give me what I wanted: security.
I knew I was brainwashed, but the exhaustion of constantly fighting it was too much. I was human after all, and I could only take so much. I wanted it to be over. I wanted to be happy, and maybe if I did accept my life and knew there was no escaping it, maybe there was a chance, if I let myself, I could be happy.
My plan for vengeance was officially gone, obliterated, and replaced by a different need. My goal was to try to salvage what was left of my life, make peace with it, and live as happily as I possibly could. I was still learning how to do that, still adapting, but in the end, I still felt nothing inside. I lived to please, and when Darren wasn't around for me to please him, I felt useless and incomplete and feared he would think I was slipping back into my old views and punish me again. I had a feeling he was worried about me, but I didn't know why. I was never leaving him. I was his. I wanted him. What more was there?
After a lonely lunch one day, I sat in the library for a while to read. Camaro laid at my feet while Clive and Owen sat quietly on the leather chairs not far from me when Darren suddenly walked in. The hardened expression on his face made my stomach twist, his stride too determined to convey a casual visit. But when he stopped before me, his features immediately softened as he looked down at me, and it allowed my heart to quiet once more.
"Reading again?" he asked, his voice lighthearted.
I nodded, trying to give him a small smile. I had been reading a lot lately. It kept me out of trouble.
He crouched down to my eye level and gently took my face in his hands. Their warmth had me leaning in to them, and I couldn't help but show him my appreciation. I found myself admiring the beauty of his face, the treacherous candy coating that hid the evil inside. I wanted to taste the candy for the rest of my life if it meant I never had to see the evil filling within again. Darren regarded me closely, his eyes peering deep into mine, and I wondered what it was he was looking for.
"I want you to train with Scott today," he said.
I furrowed my brows. He hadn't had me train with Scott since we left the island.
"When?" I asked. Never why. I never asked why.
"Now."
"Okay," I said with a nod and closed my book.
Darren stood to allow me room to rise, and I followed him out of the library with Camaro, Clive, and Owen. I quickly changed into some workout clothes in my room and met Scott in the gym. Darren was not present. Scott stood in the middle of the cage with a focus mitt on each hand. He looked just as determined as Darren had been.
Making sure I was well stretched before I started, I sat on the floor in a full split while I wrapped my hands and put on my gloves. I kept my eyes on Scott as he paced the cage like a tiger, waiting for his chance to strike. It didn't even faze me.
When I was ready a few minutes later, I stepped into the cage feeling absolutely nothing. I was a robot who followed commands, and if Darren wanted me to train with Scott, then I would train with Scott.
Scott gave me a list of complex strike combinations, and I already had them configured in my head. I was able to deliver everything he asked for, putting all my focus and energy into each strike, but it wasn't for me. It was for him. And for Darren. I was on autopilot, my muscle memory capable of repeating hundreds of combinations without even thinking about them. Scott didn't stop at striking. He tested the height and speed of my kicks, my chokeholds and takedowns, even my flips and handsprings.
But even though I successfully did everything he asked, he did not seem satisfied. He seemed pissed off, actually.
"Where the fuck are you right now?" he asked, his voice rough and angry.
I jerked my head back in confusion, sweat trickling down the side of my face as my heart continued to beat out of my chest. "Excuse me?"
"Your head. Where's your head at? Your body might be here, but your head sure as hell ain't."
I couldn't help but raise my eyebrows as I focused on calming my breathing. "I don't understand. I did everything you asked," I said.
He shook his head, and tore off the mitts. "Your body did. But you didn't."
I placed my hands on my hips and furrowed my brows, still trying to catch my breath but remained stoic. "Well, I–"
"We're done for the day," he said, completely interrupting me as he headed out of the cage. I watched him walk out of the gym and slam the door behind him.
Shaking my head, I grabbed my boxing gloves from the floor and headed out of the cage while removing my wraps. I didn't know what to make of his reaction. What had I done wrong?
"Did I do something wrong?" I asked Clive and Owen as they took my gear from me.
Clive simply sighed while he set my stuff on the nearby bench, and Owen just shook his head.
"Why did you train with Scott?" Owen asked me.
I almost glared at him. The answer was obvious. "Because Darren told me to."
"And if he hadn't told you to, would you have wanted to?" Clive asked.
I shrugged. "Only if it would have made Darren happy."
"And that's the problem, isn't it? You only do things that make Mr. Davis happy," Owen said. "You need to do things that make you happy as well."
I felt taken aback by that, the inappropriateness of the conversation suddenly weighing on me.
"I don't think we should be having this conversation," I said.
Clive rolled his eyes and began to usher me out of the gym. "Come on. You need a shower, little girl."
I got halfway up the staircase when I suddenly realized I didn't even care that Clive had called me little.
What the fuck had happened to me?
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