I've barely slept the past three days.
Every time I fell into a slumber, I was trapped. High bars kept me caged into the corner of a dark room, where I could only see a streak of dusty light shining from a slightly ajar door. Someone was pacing opposite it, heavy footfalls vibrating the metal against my hands.
The first night I'd fallen into the dream, I had been curious, wondering who they were as they paced and paced. I could sense their anxiety eating away at them, hear incoherent voices yelling from afar, not understanding what was being said, but feeling the uneasiness of the person.
The second night, I was in the cage once more. This time, it was shorter, so I had to duck a little, so I didn't bang my head. There was less light, but the voices were louder, mixed with screams as they chanted murderer, killer, and monster, repeatedly. They'd made the person on the other side of the door infuriated as a fist smashed against the door, but the wood did not budge from its hinges.
Last night, I was there again. But this time, the cage was so short that I had to lie on my side, desperate for my lungs not to give up from claustrophobia. My heart raced, but the person was not there. No voices. No pacing. No screams. I had tried to find a way out, panicked, and thinking I'd be stuck there forever. But I was successful when I managed to kick open a compartment of the trap I was in.
I had crawled out, quietly getting to my feet, and feeling the instant chill. I was wearing child's clothing, bare-footed, and my hair hung down to the bottom of my back, unbrushed and knotted. My nails were dirty, and the hunger pains in my stomach nearly had me hunching over.
When I pushed open the door with my small hands, I had been blinded by the light as I stood in the hallway of our old manor, the one we lived in before the dome.
A low sob caught my attention, and I'd followed it, capturing my image in a mirror. I was me, but younger, a ten-year-old Danielle staring back with worry in her eyes. My freckles were more defined, and my forest greens were far too big for my face.
Another sob, and I dragged my widened gaze from my reflection, a shaking hand pushing open a lone door. Before I could pull myself from the hell I was stuck in, a horrifying sound ricocheted off every wall in the room. I had no idea it had indeed come from me as I dropped to the ground, tears falling for my parents as they lay tied up and bloodied on the floor. Dead. Tortured. Lifeless. Their unseeing eyes were on me, pale, gone from this world.
Above them, with the biggest, evilest grin that made every muscle in my body tense, a man turned to me. His fingers were curled around a knife and a handful of my mum's bloody hair in a fist.
Eric.
He'd advanced on me with a look of murder. I knew he was going to kill me next. He was going to gut me with the knife and tear my organs from my body.
I raised my hands and pleaded with him, screwing my eyes shut, waiting for death. But when silence had surrounded me, and I chanced upon a look, my feet were buried in freezing mud. Eric was on his knees in a garden, a gun pointed to his head, begging for forgiveness.
I was me again, older, with a bump that showed I must've been heavily pregnant. I had placed my palm on it, feeling protective of my unborn child as its father stood before me, completely suicidal.
Undeserving, that was all I could feel radiating from him. He didn't think he was going to be a good dad, and didn't think he deserved to have that luxury.
"I love you. I love you," he'd repeated in a shaking voice, tears down his face, a trembling hand on the gun pointed at his head. "Please don't hate me."
I had woken with a scream as he pulled the trigger, the culprit of my nightmare hovering over me, ordering me to calm down. He got me water while my palm stayed on my belly under the covers. Eric sat on the sofa opposite the bed until I had fallen back to sleep without a word to break the silence.
Hours later, and here I am, still lying in amongst his duvet and comforters, staring into my old bedroom, willing my dreams to stop replaying in my head. Maybe it's because we haven't spoken, and the fact that Eric has barely looked at me. So all I can do is think about our last conversation, where he told me what he had done in retaliation to his family's death, and that he's been in love with me from the beginning.
He was in love with me when I stayed at his flat.
He was in love with me when we spent a week in Paris alone, while my dad dealt with business. He'd made no advances, given no indication that he felt that way.
He was in love with me while I was in a relationship. When I had split up with my ex and told him exactly how I had felt, while he was locked up from beating Robbie and his friends to a pulp alongside Gareth and David. Another one of his men I had learned died in the explosion.
Now I love Eric back, and I can't even act on it.
Not yet.
Tonight, we will be attending the Christmas Dance that has been set up in the town hall. My dad wants everything to remain the same, to offer the people of the dome attendance. Most have declined. But after my outburst the other day, he is more inclined to make sure our remaining eleven months are well spent as a family than to keep the people of the dome happy.
He's had enough. And I'm glad.
The party will be heavily guarded, thankfully, but on route and back, I've been told to wear riot gear, despite wearing a dress and heels.
Ainsley has been sending me message after message, asking me what the hell is happening and why Eric is all of a sudden becoming a dick at the mention of my name. I can't tell her the truth, either. So I've resorted to being ignorant and patching the questions by asking her what she's wearing tonight.
I'd received a picture on my tablet this morning, both Ains and Gareth with matching Christmas pyjamas by my mum's tree. His wheelchair had tinsel on it, probably his girlfriend's added touch.
Eric hadn't bothered even putting a tree up, and didn't see the point in the special day at all, from what I'd heard between him and my dad's conversation last night. He's the human version of the Grinch. I'm okay with that. I don't feel like celebrating, anyway.
I pull out a book from my suitcase, curling into a ball with a duvet. I vanish into a world of fiction, escaping my reality for a little while.
If my life was a story, I reckon it would be pretty wild. As a reader, I would be screaming at my own actions, begging me to tell Eric, but also understanding the repercussions of doing so.
It would be a stressful read.
Two hours later, and I'm halfway into an extremely erotic book. My pulse is throbbing in my ears, heart thrashing, my toes curling into the duvet. I'm contemplating ripping my clothes off and seeking out—
"Get dressed," a voice says from the doorway, knocking me from my vision of Eric bending me over the dining table and thrusting into me harder than ever. "We're continuing training."
He's topless, breathing heavy, as if he's just done an indoor workout. A layer of sweat glistens on his inked skin, veins showing on his forearms and biceps.
It takes me a second to gather my thoughts as I reply, "But the dance is tonight?" Eric raises a brow, as if to say, really? "I don't want to be sore. Can we skip and do it another day?"
"No, we aren't doing that. After what happened at the town meeting, I need to show you how to at least hold a gun. You just about broke your wrist when you fired the thing." He stares at me as I silently plead with him using my eyes. He sighs, whipping his top out from being tucked in his shorts, wiping his face with it. "I'll go easy on you."
I should not be internally screaming from his words, but I can't help it. I clench my thighs together, averting my gaze. "You never go easy on me."
He grunts dismissively when I had hoped for some snarky response or a sexual innuendo. But nothing. Eric looks down at the book in my lap. The cover is of a man running his tongue up the column of a woman's throat, and instead of giving me a smirk or anything, he turns to leave. "I need to fill in paperwork for Skye and Diesel. They're almost at the end of their training and need to go back to the centre."
My eyes find Skye on the rug in the middle of the room, eyes widening as my heart begins to pick up its pace. "The dogs aren't staying?"
He stops, turning to me. "You know I was only training them." Eric squats down to Diesel next to the doorway, patting his head and letting him lick his face. He peers up, seeing my devastated look as my eyes flit between both dogs. "I'll see if they can stay. But I can't make any promises. Things are different now that we have..." He stands, scratching the back of his neck and sighing. "Now that there is less time."
Nodding, trying to ignore the dread overwhelming me, I crawl out of bed, twisting my fingers together in my top to work up yet another apology. One that he will most likely shrug off as he'd done with the others. "I didn't want any of this, Eric. Please understand that I had no ch—"
"Don't. I don't want to hear what you have to say, to try to talk down to me like I'm some lovesick puppy. I managed years without you before. I'll get over it."
Pain surges through my chest, like an arrow through my heart at his blunt words. I can't help how angry they've made me. "By sleeping with people, yeah? Is that why you asked my dad for a day off?"
I had heard him earlier, demanding a day to himself. He chucked his tablet when my dad had refused, saying that Frank was too busy, and Gareth was still recovering.
My only vision was of Eric and one of his many conquests within the dome.
He laughs silently, pushing his tongue into his cheek. "Would you even care if I did?" Eric asks spitefully. "If I were to bring someone into this room and fucked her from behind, made her scream while you watched, would you care? If I had someone on their knees under the dining table? Or maybe I'd taste—"
"I think you forget that I've witnessed you having sex plenty of times. I've had to lie in my bed and see you have more than one girl in yours on several different occasions. I've watched as one sucked your dick and another rode on your face." A false laugh drops from my lips. "We held each other's gaze while we both screwed someone until we came, so be my fucking guest if you want to go back to your old ways. But don't think for a second that I'll be sticking around. I've seen enough."
He scoffs. "You didn't give a shit then, either. Even if you did feel the need to touch yourself during it."
"I'm not heartless, Eric," I retort, ignoring his comment about pleasuring myself. Because he isn't wrong. And it's going to take me hours to rid those images from my brain. "I obviously care."
"Debatable." I take a step back as if he'd slapped me, frowning at how much he means that one word. He glares at me when I don't reply. I can't reply. I'm gobsmacked. "Anything else?"
I gulp, my wandering eyes finding the camera in the corner of the room, silently throwing curses at them for ruining this for me, for ruining us. Eric follows my gaze, his brows narrowing when we look back at each other.
"No. Just know that I'm sorry."
"Great," he says with a snap, giving the camera a second look. "We leave in ten."
I stare at his solid, muscular back. The one I've layered with my lips and dragged my nails down while we've been joined as one, submitting to the other. I watch as he vanishes into the hallway, with both of the dogs chasing after him.
Another scowl at the camera, and I fight the urge to give it the middle finger.
By the time I'm ready, Eric is sitting at the dining table, head buried in his tablet, tapping away at the screen. He tells me he'll be a second, so I go grab a water, spotting several bottles of beer in the fridge.
The sight makes my skin crawl. Has he been drinking every night since I ended things? The more I think of it, he's cleaning away his empties every morning, attempting to hide them before I come down for breakfast.
Before I split what we had, he barely ever put a bottle to his lips, as if I was enough to curb whatever had drawn him to alcohol. But now, he's gone back to the way he was before. I mean, he isn't an alcoholic. He's still able to do his job daily, have numerous meetings, and work out right in front of me.
But the thought of me being his reason for resorting back to drinking makes me feel even worse. I need to figure a way to tell him.
Maybe if we are away from the house, away from cameras, I could tell him?
My eyes find my band, and I sag against the fridge door. They most likely hacked that too, able to listen in. Can they hear me shower? Can they see my vitals, the device Eric had installed when I was losing my mind? I know he turned off a lot of the things he had linked to my band, to give me some freedom, but I know these idiots won't do the same.
My temper fumes. It's a complete violation of my privacy.
"Let's go."
It's a blunt order, one that doesn't require a response as I tie my hair up into a ponytail, attempting to tame the wild curls as he puts the leashes on the dogs.
Once we've taken Diesel and Skye for a decent walk around VIP, we drop them back off at the house. They can't come with us. The gunshots will most likely frighten them.
We walk in silence for over half an hour on the outskirts of the dome. I slide and swear as my trainers skite in mud, where the water system is sprinkling water onto the soil to try to grow grass.
My socks are wet.
And although the snow is deep on the opposite side of the glass, I'm sweating, the regulated temperature within the dome doing nothing to cool me down as we reach our destination.
Eric doesn't say anything as he drops a duffel bag, pulls out several items, including a gun, and sets up multiple targets. My lip curls into a grimace at the three-dimensional-printed human heads he uses with his recruits. I've witnessed his vigorous training with firearms, and remember that I had felt my cheeks heating at his orders flying around with such anger, until they were trained enough to get the bullets dead centre.
Watching him be in control of so many fighters was my favourite thing to do. And now he's walking over to me, a handgun at his side, no emotion showing.
"We'll work on your posture first, and then I'll show you how to operate the safety trigger to fire the gun."
"Okay," is my only reply as he stands beside me, not quite shoulder to shoulder, but close enough that I can smell his aftershave. With spice and just his general scent, I don't pay attention to his hands, or the gun, as he talks me through how to hold it. My eyes are on his face, taking in his good looks, the little dimple I've traced my fingers on, his full lips that have littered kisses all over my body.
I love you.
"What's wrong?" he asks when he notices I'm deep in thought, my gaze now on the black tendrils edging out of his collar. "Are you even listening?"
I shake it off, the feeling, the urge to touch him. "Sorry."
He huffs through his nostrils and shows me again. This time, I listen, making sure I'm perfectly balanced on my feet. I calm my breathing as he explains that it helps to manage the mobility of the weapon, and that panicking will do nothing but throw me off my focus.
He curses to himself when I fail, for the tenth time, at turning off the safety without the need to drop my aim and look at where it is.
"You aren't holding it correctly," he tells me, arms crossed, still at my side. "Don't grip so tight."
I fume. "I'm doing exactly what you told me to do."
"I didn't tell you to choke the fucking thing while slouching."
"You're a terrible teacher," I lie, glaring. "Help me."
Eric watches me for a long second, before sniffing and coming behind me. I hadn't meant for him to show me this way, as he takes his stance, kicking my legs wider and sending my hormones into overdrive with our close proximity.
His palms manipulate my hands on the metal, so I'm holding it properly, but all I can pay attention to is his chest to my back, how warm and safe he feels behind me. Eric shifts my middle finger to the right, and the safety clicks off.
"There," he whispers in my ear, holding both of my wrists in place. The touch is making all the tiny hairs on the nape on my neck rise, shivers twirling around my spine like tinsel on a Christmas tree. "Hold this stance, remain calm, and aim for the head."
I squeeze the trigger, but I freeze, unable to shoot as my body tenses. "I'm scared. It hurt me the last time, and it was loud."
"You are expecting it this time. You'll be more prepared."
"What if it throws me back?" I ask, glancing over my shoulder and nearly bumping my nose on his chin. He tilts his head to put distance between our faces. I swallow. "Will you stay behind me?"
"Yeah," he quickly replies, dropping his hands from my wrists and resting them on my hips, shifting them slightly to tilt to the left. "Your stance is important right now. Once you're used to firing, it won't matter." His fingers feel like they are burning through my high-waisted leggings, searing my skin as I hold his stare.
I gulp, chewing on my bottom lip before saying, "Don't let me fall."
The act gets the attention of his eyes, but he averts his gaze to the head perched on top of a large stone. "I won't." I can feel his heart racing against my back, removing his hands from my waist to raise my arms a tad. But he doesn't put them back on my hips, just lets them fall to his sides. "Breathe out as you fire. Don't stress out if you miss the target. I just want you to be comfortable shooting."
The kickback, along with the loud bang in my ears, has me wincing as I'm thrown against Eric. I've no idea where the bullet has gone, but since we are nowhere near the town, I don't need to worry about hurting anyone.
"I didn't like that," I admit, feeling my heart close to bounding out of my chest. I place my hand on it, taking deep breaths as Eric chuckles behind me. "It's not funny!" I scold, turning to face him with a scowl. "Don't laugh at me or I'll shoot you."
"Cute. But your aim is that bad, you'd miss, anyway. You screwed your eyes shut and held your breath. Don't do that."
I scowl. "No, I didn't."
Eric grips my hips again, twisting me to face the target. I nearly gasp. My top has ridden up ever so slightly, so his fingertips are on my bare, heated skin. "You did. And you dropped your stance."
"I didn't," I lie again, trying not to pant out the words.
His lips are at my ear, breath against the sensitive skin making me throb between my legs. I'm embarrassingly wet, my arousal instantly coating my underwear as he drops his voice to say quietly, "What's the point in my training if you are too distracted?"
"I'm not distracted," I reply quickly. Another lie, and Eric knows it as he hums. I have an urge to clench my thighs together, to back myself against him, to screw off the threats and tell Eric to fuck me until I forget my name.
"Your pulse is going wild on your neck," he says in a low tone, deep and sultry. "Are you thinking of the book you were reading, or do you have adrenaline rushing through your veins from shooting?"
I'm definitely distracted. He knows what he's doing. He can tell from my flushed skin, my uneven breaths, that I'm turned on. Eric has seen me in this state plenty of times, and usually resulted in him either between my legs, or knuckle deep in my core. He'd tell me how wet I am, make me taste myself on his tongue, before sheathing himself to the hilt while moaning my name against the skin of my collarbone.
But instead of doing any of that, Eric removes a hand from my hip, takes the gun from me with the other, and reaches into his pocket.
"I'm sorry for what I said earlier. I was out of line and pissed off. I have no interest in being with anyone else."
I turn to face him, my eyes widening as he pulls out a tiny box—a gift. It's wrapped in black paper. A blanket of stars decorates it, like constellations, with a black bow.
"I had to ask Elaine to wrap it for me," he says. Eric clears his throat, opening my palm and placing it there.
The organ in my chest is hammering now, tears prickling in my eyes, but not falling. I won't let them fall. Pulling apart the bow, then the paper, I open the small box to see an iPod.
"I was able to find more songs, ones we haven't heard in years. I could only fit about fifty on there," he tells me, before pressing the softest, most painful kiss to my cheek. "Merry Christmas, Dan."
___________
Thoughts?
Predictions?
Not much happens here, but I wanted to update today!
Merry Christmas to all who celebrate❤!
Unedited.