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  This girl has never been any of those things. But she lets them think it. She lets them think she’s that way. And I understand it all too well. I would tell her so, but she would not believe me.

  I set down the tray with her sandwich and move to leave. But she catches me around the arm.

  "Javi?"

  I glance down at her fingers, burning me even through the material of my hoodie. I want to know what her fingers would feel like on my scars. On my body. A place that I have not allowed anyone else to touch.

  When I look at her beautiful face, I know that I will never allow it to happen. She is tricking me with her looks and her soft words. When only hours ago, I took her virtue and fucked her in the dirt like the toy that she is. She should not be so agreeable with me now, and this is how I know she is a skilled liar.

  "I'm sorry," she whispers.

  Her voice is sad. And I don't believe it.

  "I shouldn't have gone into that room. I'm sorry."

  I move to leave. She doesn't let me.

  "And now it's your turn to apologize."

  I remain still and quiet, and her face changes from soft to hard.

  "You can't just do whatever you want to me," she says. "That isn't how life works, Javi. I know you've been up here alone for so long. I know you don't understand normal social conventions, but even you must know the difference between right and wrong."

  "You are mine," I tell her again.

  She has always been mine. Since the moment I first saw her. Since the moment my obsession began.

  "I'm not yours," she says. "I'm my own person. And what you're doing here is wrong."

  "According to who?” I ask. “Who exactly says what I’m doing is wrong?”

  “I do,” she says, but her voice lacks conviction.

  “Funny you did not say so when I was fucking you,” I answer.

  She is quiet, lost in her thoughts, fingers still wrapped around my arm. Small and delicate.

  "I can’t protect myself from you," she murmurs.

  Her words anger me. And I can't stop myself. I lean down into her face, and she stops breathing. She stops moving. She trembles before me, and her fear makes me hard.

  It makes me want to lose control.

  "I did what you wanted," I tell her. "What you wrote."

  Her mouth falls open, horrified. I squeeze her face in my palm and kiss her. Taste her. She squirms in my grasp and balls my sweatshirt in her fists.

  She isn't pushing me away. Or pulling me closer. She is always so tormented about her feelings. The same holds true for me.

  I pull away and stop myself.

  "Eat your lunch," I demand. "And then write more."

  She looks up at me, indignant.

  "I'm not writing more. You never should have read that journal in the first place."

  "You shouldn't have left it lying around then."

  "You mean in the privacy of my own home?"

  "Write more," I tell her again. "Or I'll write the story for you."

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I ESTIMATE that I have been at Moldavia now for a little over three weeks. In that time, I have read more than I ever thought possible. Books upon books upon books.

  Javi's library cannot be rivaled.

  I don’t think I could come close to putting a dent in it even if he did keep me locked here forever.

  On my bad days, I wonder if I will ever be free again, or if it’s true what he says. If I will remain forever in his garden of roses. If I will live and breathe and die here in this enchanting prison.

  I write.

  I write a lot.

  And then I tear the pages out and hide them. Hide my darkest thoughts and fears and... wants... from the monster.

  He must know. He must know that when he comes and reads the things in my notebook, they are not the only thing I have been writing. But he doesn't ask.

  The story I'm writing now has captured his attention. He reads the new parts every day. Little by little. Chapter by chapter.

  The story about the girl with the absent father. At first, the details of her life are mundane. But he reads them nonetheless. He reads how she goes to school and none of the other kids talk to her. So she sings, and she loses herself in the world of books. And then he reads the parts about her growing up. How her mother died when she was only a baby. She was lost without anyone to guide her, and her father was always too busy.

  She decided it was a good idea to have several identity crises all before the age of eighteen. How her black clothing and nail polish prompted stares and whispers, but it also brought her peace.

  She didn't want to fit in. She wanted more than anything to be different than them. To let them know that she wouldn't be stuck in that town forever. That she wouldn't be doing the things they all wanted to do. She wanted more.

  She wanted time with her father. And she acted out to get it. But he never noticed. Even when she sabotaged her grades. He didn't notice. He was too busy.

  With him.

  The boy that he'd been spending so much time with. The boy that he seemed to care about more than his own daughter.

  This is the part that Javi is reading today. He is enrapt as he scans over the journaled pages. His eyes are dark, barely discernible beneath the hood.

  I wonder how it makes him feel when he reads about how she always hated the boy. How her jealousy got the best of her, and she resented him so much. But now she knows. She knows why her father spent so much time with him.

  He felt sorry for him.

  And now- against her better judgment- she does too.

  He looks down at me. I want him to take off his hood. I want to see his face. I want to believe that the man who lurks beneath the shadows is still human. That there is still something to be salvaged inside of him.

  Society has cast him out. Labeled him a murderer. Locked him away in a sanitarium as a child. I don't know if anyone has ever really helped him. I don't know if anyone besides my father has ever really tried to understand him. But I am trying now. By being honest with him about my feelings. By provoking something in him too. I need to understand him.

  And I want to believe that if I help him... that if I do the thing that nobody else ever has... that maybe he will set me free one day. That maybe he can be more than just the monster society has created.

  Maybe he can be a man, too.

  "Javi?"

  He is still silent. Lost in his own thoughts. I need something from him.

  Anything.

  But he doesn't give it to me. He hands me back the journal.

  And walks away.

  WHEN THE TIME for dinner passes, I start to worry. Maybe I pushed him too far. Maybe this was all a huge mistake.

  I'm worried for nothing. Because tonight when Javi comes, something is different. He's quiet, like always. Locked up tight, like always. But something has shifted between us, and I can't quite understand what it is.

  He sets my tray down on the table beside me. And the food is different too. I recognize the pasta from my favorite Italian restaurant in the city.

  It occurs to me that he ordered this.

  For me.

  But I don't know why.

  "How did you know?" I ask.

  It's a stupid question, and I learned early on he doesn't answer stupid questions. Nothing has changed in that regard.

  He's on the verge of leaving.

  "Wait," I stop him.

  He pauses. Lingers in place.

  "Will you stay for a while?"

  He thinks I'm tricking him again. I'm certain of it. It occurs to me that I might be. That I could and should be. But instead, my own mind is the one playing games. Tricking me into craving his company. His time and his attention.

  He has not punished me since he took me that first time. He has not touched me again either. He has even given me clothes to wear. Like he doesn’t want to look at me anymore. Like he doesn’t want to see me.

  I am lonely and afraid and confused, and I don
’t know what comes next. Something is brewing inside of him, and I’m afraid I won’t like whatever it is. So I have to take these moments- these small kindnesses from him- while I can.

  "Please?" I ask. "I am tired of eating alone. Will you have dinner with me?"

  The very real vulnerability in my voice does not faze him. Because he does leave. And I sigh.

  I pull the tray closer and pick at my dinner when the door opens again. Javi stalks back into the room, and this time he is carrying another tray. With his own dinner.

  I bounce my knee and try to keep my cool when he takes a seat opposite me and starts eating his food.

  He eats like a caveman. It is too fast for him to possibly enjoy it, and he is done within minutes. Meanwhile, my plate is still almost full.

  I don't want him to leave though. So I use the opportunity to ask him some questions in hopes that he will answer them.

  "You have an accent,” I observe. “Where are you from, Javi?"

  "Chile."

  "Chile?"

  I don't know why this surprises me so much. But his accent is not watered down, and he has been here for so long.

  "I like it," I tell him. "I like the way you talk."

  It is not a lie.

  He does not answer.

  "Will you tell me about the roses?"

  "Your father said they were your favorite."

  I smile, if only a little. They were my favorite as a child. But I suppose now I'll never look at them the same way again.

  Something so beautiful and yet... so dark.

  I have always been drawn to dark things. Even now, my fingers trace over the petals that have fallen onto the table beside me.

  The last time Javi spoke of my father, it was explosive. It would be foolish of me to bring it up again. But how could I not?

  “Do you know what happened to him?” I ask. “To my father?”

  My heart is subdued while I wait.

  “I do not,” Javi answers. “I do not know, Bella.”

  I believe him.

  I don’t know why, but I believe that he is not lying about this. His voice betrays the certain torment he feels about my father. They were close once. Like father and son. But something happened to fracture that love. Something fractured it so badly that it has turned to hate in Javi’s heart.

  I don’t believe my father capable of hurting anyone. It isn’t the man that I know him to be. To believe anything else would be a betrayal of the worst kind.

  I am loyal to my father.

  My love for my father is unconditional. Something that has been proven time after time over the years. But I still find myself sympathizing with Javi for whatever wrong was done to him. The only conclusion I can draw is that it must have been a misunderstanding. Because my father would never intentionally hurt Javi. He’d never intentionally hurt anyone.

  This much I know to be true.

  But I know Javi won’t see it the same way. And I don’t have the energy to travel down that path today. So I change the subject.

  "Will you show me your face?"

  I can't look at him when I ask.

  "No."

  His hands curl into fists at his sides, and I sense he is getting ready to leave again. Logic tells me I should be careful. I shouldn't push too much too soon. But I need to feel like we're making progress. At this rate, it could take years before we get anywhere.

  "I've already seen you," I point out. "So what harm will come..."

  He's out of his chair before I can finish the sentence. Hauling me up into his arms and squeezing my face in his hand.

  "You want to see the beast?" he asks. "Is that it?"

  "No."

  I try to shake my head, but it doesn't move in his iron grip.

  "I just want to see you, Javi. Please."

  “You want to see me so you can hate me?”

  “No.”

  My voice sounds less and less sure, and that isn’t helping the situation right now.

  Javi spins me around and pins my back against his chest, caging me in with his arms. He’s impossible. I can’t fight him. I can’t fight him, and he knows it.

  I wonder again if this is it. If he’s going to choke me to death. I close my eyes and wait.

  He drags his nose along my neck, breathing me in. I shiver, and something else invades the space between us.

  Something potent.

  Something intoxicating.

  “I want you,” he grunts.

  I turn to cement in his arms, and yet he pulls me closer still. His cock wedged against my ass.

  “Let me have you.”

  His lips find my throat. Soft. He kisses his way down the column of my neck and over my collarbone. My breathing is disjointed. Too loud. My body’s response to him is not to be trusted.

  Do I want this? Do I not? I can’t figure it out anymore.

  His hands slip beneath my shirt, squeezing my breasts as he groans into my ear.

  “Let me see you,” I plead.

  It’s the wrong thing to say.

  Javi is tearing at my clothes now. Clothes that I probably won’t get back. I am powerless to stop him. Powerless to do anything as he tosses me around like a rag doll.

  The shirt falls to the ground below. My leggings too. The bra comes next. And then he’s reaching for my panties. I do fight him this time. And in the chaos, I tumble onto the floor and scramble backward on all fours, trying to get away. Javi stalks after me like the predator he is. Too fast.

  He’s too fast.

  He catches me around the ankle and then kneels down in front of me, shoving me onto my back as he yanks my panties free.

  I kick at him, and it does nothing.

  He grips the soft flesh behind my knees with each of his palms and thrusts my legs up, exposing me to him in the most indecent way possible.

  “Javi, please…”

  He buries his face between my thighs, and I forget. I forget everything.

  I forget if we’re fighting or not.

  I forget how to breathe for a minute.

  His beard tickles and scratches me. But it’s his tongue. His tongue is inside of me. And my body doesn’t care anymore. Nothing else exists outside of this moment. I’ve never felt so exposed. So raw. It’s intimate, what he’s doing to me. It’s the most intimate thing a man can do to a woman.

  Before him, I never let anybody touch me. I never let them get that close. And now- it isn’t enough. I want more. I want everything. It dominates me.

  Javi is rough. He is demanding. And he is hungry.

  I jerk against him. I reach down and touch his hood. He pauses, and I beg him not to stop. But there is a moment when he looks up at me. A moment where… something else changes between us.

  “Please,” I beg him. “Let me see you.”

  He ignores me and turns back to his task. Eating me out. Devouring me. And I am a slave to the way that he makes me feel right now.

  I am captivated by the monster between my thighs. It’s getting me high. High on this. High on him. I feel myself falling. It’s all going to come crashing down. I don’t know what will happen when it’s over. But I don’t care. I ride it out. Soaking up everything he gives me. And when I come, it is nothing like the orgasms I have ever had before.

  It consumes me.

  Cripples me.

  Blackens my vision and transports me to another world.

  I’m in a different headspace. One far removed from the reality of my situation. Because Javi is bending me to his will. Making me a believer in his cause. He’s infecting me with his disease of the mind. And I can’t seem to stop it.

  He crawls up my body and draws out his cock, rubbing it against my chest.

  He’s fucking my tits. Taking what he wants from me, the same way he always does. But even that isn’t enough for him.

  “Please me,” he demands.

  His cock prods the edge of my lips, and I open my mouth for him. I don’t know why. I don’t know anything. Except that a sick part o
f me wants this. A part of me wants him to keep defiling me this way.

  The head of his cock glides over my tongue, salty. Soft and velvet. He groans and then shudders when I close my mouth around him.

  I can’t suck him in this position, not really. He’s got me pinned. So he takes control. Moving his hips forward. Sliding in and out. The gentleness doesn’t last.

  When he grunts, he thrusts harder. Deeper. My eyes water and he cups my head to hold me in place. When I look up at him, I can see how untamed he is.

  He really is like an animal. Wild. Caged for all these years. He doesn’t know how to do anything halfway. He only knows how to take. How to fuck. How to use. And I’ve become his new favorite toy.

  The sick part of me likes that. She likes getting used by him. Getting mouth fucked by him. And she’s the only one in charge of my faculties at the moment.

  I reach up and touch Javi’s thighs. The muscles twitch beneath my fingers. He likes my hands on him. I wonder if he’s ever let anyone touch him this way.

  His thrusts grow frantic.

  I am sloppy. There is nothing pretty about me right now. My mascara drips down my cheeks, joining the dribble from my mouth. Javi likes it. He likes me dirty like this.

  I like me dirty like this too.

  Unpretty.

  His cock sinks into the back of my throat, and he comes with a violent shudder. I cough and swallow his release, my throat bobbing around him.

  He pets my cheek and continues to rock forward, even as his cock softens in my mouth. I keep nursing him until he pulls away and zips himself up.

  He lifts me into his arms, still naked, and carries me to the bed.

  I am weak.

  Used.

  Confused.

  I don’t want him to leave. But that’s exactly what he does.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  SHE IS SOFT THIS MORNING. Everything about her is soft. Relaxed. Her eyes are different today, lost in the pages of the book she reads.

  She is captivated. But peaceful too.

  She did not hear me come in. I like to watch her this way. It is different from the camera. I like to be close to her. In the same room where I can smell her. The room where I have tasted her. The room where I have held her captive for so long.