Fallen Petal Read online

  But respond, we must.

  “You know I can’t tell you anything about that,” he hisses, his eyes flaring with hot hatred. “Let’s just get your statement done. I have better things to do than deal with your attitude today.”

  I shrug. “Yes, of course.”

  He groans, turning around to his computer, casting me a quick glance from the side before he adds, “And don’t pull any tricks on me. If you even try to—”

  “I have no reason to, Christopher,” I cut him off. “Because I have nothing to hide.”

  Chapter 2

  J

  I’m worked up and strained when I get back up to the house, even though I haven’t heard a single word from Malia. There’s no reason to believe that anything went wrong during my time of absence, but leaving Petal unattended like this preyed on my mind.

  It’s shortly after noon when I park in the driveway up to my mansion, greeted by the balmy Indian Summer sun as I jump out the car. Malia is nowhere to be found, not on the deck facing the sea, and nowhere inside on the first floor. She’s told to stay away from the second floor unless she’s ordered to bring her friend something to eat. Outside those duties, she’s to stay on the first floor, preferably inside, or on the third floor right beneath the roof, where she has her own bedroom, away from mine and Petal’s, but still close enough to be there when needed.

  Not being met with her questioning face upon entering the house surprises me, as I thought she’d be anxious to hear how my meeting with Christopher went. She’s probably upstairs taking a nap, as she often does during this time of day.

  Nonetheless, my heart is racing with concern when I check the display downstairs, just a small screen right next to the door, disguised as what could be an intercom for the main entrance, but if one knows to push the right buttons, the screen comes alive with the only image I need to see right now.

  Her. My Petal.

  She’s curled up on her bed, hidden beneath the sheets, with only her long ash-blonde waves peeking out from under the covers. Everything seems in order and calm, just as it should be. But the sight of her is still peculiar. I’ve never witnessed her sleeping during this time of day. It’s about an hour before Malia is sent to bring her lunch, and she’s usually wide awake during that time, strolling through her room or climbing up on the bench that she’s pushed below one of the windows. I’ve seen her stand on it, balancing on a small tower of cushions, as she stretches as high as possible, often closing her eyes as she appears to take in deep breaths of air. I never addressed it, because I don’t want her to refrain from doing such things. It’s too much fun to watch her, wondering what might be going through her pretty head as she makes her way around the princess chamber I’ve built for her.

  Today, she’s sleeping instead. Maybe she isn’t feeling well?

  I take two steps at once as I make my way upstairs, marching toward her room at a fast pace, only hesitating for her benefit as I hammer in the numeral combination to unlock the door to her bedroom. I open the door just a little, letting a moment pass to give her a chance to obey my omnipresent command.

  On her knees. Palms up. Head down.

  That’s exactly how I find her, kneeling on the carpet next to the bed. Her hair is as ruffled as the sheets she just peeled herself out of, and one of the straps of her white gown has slid down her shoulder, almost exposing her left breast entirely. Just a few days ago, she would have hurried to fix it, worried about being exposed in front of me. But she no longer seems to care, not after I’ve not only seen everything, but pretty much taken everything from her, too.

  Everything but...

  I step closer, reveling in the way her body quivers as I approach her. It’s hard to tell whether she fears me more or less than she did on the first day, but her apprehension is apparent in every breath she takes.

  “Good girl.”

  My praise is met with silence, but she moves when I place my hand at the back of her head, jerking away from my touch at first, before she seemingly recovers herself and lets it happen.

  “You were sleeping,” I say, beckoning her to look up at me with a gentle pull on the hair at the back of her head. “Why so tired?”

  She doesn’t respond, but when she tilts her head back to follow my demanding gesture, the answer is written all across her face. Puffy eyes, colored in red and framed with a thin crust of salt above rosy cheeks, and lips so dry the skin is shelling.

  She’s been crying. A lot.

  But why? Why now? I have barely touched her during the last two days, keeping my distance to give her room to adjust to the new situation and the things that transpired after I brought her up here. Today was meant to be different. After getting my meeting with Christopher out of the way, I knew I’d be ready for the next step—and so would she.

  But looking at her now, I might have other things to deal with first.

  “Petal, is anything wrong?” I ask in a low voice, getting down on my knees to be on the same eye level with her. “Did anything happen?”

  She looks at me through sore and caked eyes, her lips trembling as she tries to grasp a response that seems hard to come to her. It must have been days since I’ve last seen her this troubled, this stirred up. It’s almost as if she knew about the commotion her disappearance has caused, about the painful meeting I just had to endure, and about the forces that are out there in raging fit, moving heaven and hell to find her.

  But she can’t know. She can’t possibly know anything.

  “Talk to me,” I urge her, placing my right hand on her shoulder with a tight squeeze that makes her grimace. “Tell me what’s wrong, Petal. Did you have another vision? A dream?”

  Her eyes are glassy, a watery layer shimmering above the deep green of her iris as she’s tearing up.

  “We are close to the sea, aren’t we,” she utters, catching me off guard with a statement as random as that.

  “I think I could hear it when we were walking up here. And I can smell it, through there.”

  She points toward the window, the one that she spends so much time at, balancing on her pillow tower on top of the bench.

  “You were careless,” she whispers. “There’s a little crack in the boards. Tiny, really. You can’t even see it. But you can see the sun through there. You can tell whether it’s day or night. And you can smell the fresh air that comes through it. I can smell it, the salt, the sea. The ocean must be very close.”

  Her eyes rest longingly on the boarded-up window as a single tear rolls down her cheek.

  “You won’t even tell me that, will you?” she probes. “Whether I’m right. Whether we really are close to the shore.”

  Her gaze is painfully intense when she turns back to look at me, an apathetic expression on her pretty face. She looks tired and sad, just like she did that time when I first saw her again after all those years, in her father’s flower shop.

  Hopeless. Fatigued. Empty.

  I never wanted to see her like that again. I fucking swore to never let this happen to her again.

  “Yes, we are,” I say, and her face lights up in an instant. “You’re right, Petal. We are close to the sea, very close indeed. That’s why you can smell it even through that tiny crack at your window.”

  She smiles, suggesting a nod. “Thank you. Thank you for telling me that.”

  For a moment, I worry that she may pose follow-up questions that I shouldn’t answer. It was so easy to put a smile on her face; it would be hard to resist doing it again, simply by answering one of her many questions.

  She’s so beautiful when her face beams up like that, even when it’s just a reserved smile like the one she’s displaying now.

  I want to see more of it. I want to see her elated again, relaxed and happy for once.

  And I know just what to do to achieve that.

  Chapter 3

  Petal

  He is not a bad man.

  I keep telling myself that when his lips find mine, claiming me with another kiss that I
never consented to.

  Or maybe I did? I didn’t shy away, I didn’t try to fend him off or phrase any vocal protest when he pulled me closer, wrapping his arm around my upper body and lifting me up on my feet while our lips are closely connected in another intimate moment. I don’t squirm or sway away when he uses his other arm to gather my legs, carrying me as if I was weightless while my arms drape around his neck on instinct.

  He is not a bad man.

  He is not the devil I thought him to be. He didn’t kidnap me, and he didn’t do anything against my will. He never lied, he never betrayed, and he will most likely never hurt me in a way that could leave me destroyed beyond repair.

  He is not a bad man.

  But I may be the most rotten person on the planet.

  I’m the person I should be afraid of. Not him.

  I’m the one with the depraved mind, the sick and twisted psycho who causes havoc on other people’s lives, his included. I’m the one responsible for all of this.

  I asked for this.

  The girl in the video told me. She looked me in the eyes, speaking in a clear voice and concise sentences, not wasting a single breath.

  The girl in the video was me. She was wearing the exact same gown I woke up in, her face bright and her hair freshly brushed. It was me, not long before I was put to sleep.

  It was me before my mind was erased. The person staring back at me on that small display, telling me that everything was okay, that I could trust him and that I wasn’t going through anything that I wasn’t capable of handling—that person had the answers to all the questions I’ve been asking ever since I woke up.

  But during the few seconds I was allowed to listen to her, she only shared a handful of them, shedding light on the most important issue only.

  “You’re safe,” she said. “You are exactly where you want to be. You are experiencing exactly what you asked for. You signed a deal with him, because you needed him. He is helping you.”

  He is helping you.

  But with what? What is he helping me with? And why didn’t she tell me anything else? My real name? My story? Her words may have helped to get rid of the very profound fear for my life. I have not been robbed and locked away like a random kidnapping victim. Nothing about this is random.

  “You can trust him,” she said.

  She, the person who is me.

  At first, I didn’t want to believe any of it. I looked for signs that would weaken her credibility, drugs, a gun to her head, some kind of other force that may have been used to mess with her. But the girl in the video was sane and in full possession of her mental faculties. She was stern and empathetic, eager to bring across an important message to her future self.

  Because she knew what was coming. She had a pretty good idea about the situation she would find herself in. That’s why she recorded that message.

  She was trying to calm her future self, without ruining the effect of whatever it was she decided to put herself through.

  By only giving me half the answers I seek, she still leaves me surrounded by a heavy cloud of mystery. And that’s exactly what she wanted for me.

  To feel safe, while still being ignorant to what exactly brought me here.

  She wanted me to take joy in this twisted ordeal.

  And since she knows more about myself than I do right now, I decide to take her video message as a word of advice.

  I will try to make the most of this strange situation.

  But I won’t stop asking. I won’t stop wondering. I won’t stop trying to gather all the pieces of this scattered puzzle that is my life now.

  And I won’t be silenced by pain or threats—only by kisses. Kisses like the one we’re sharing now. It tastes sweeter than any before, sugared by my decision to listen to my past self and to trust him.

  He is not a bad man.

  But he is a strange man, deranged and unique. No ordinary man would do such things. No ordinary man would sign a deal with a girl like me. No ordinary man would even be capable of pulling off such a contract.

  I float in this man’s embrace, entranced by the way our tongues intertwine and his strong hands dig into my skin as he carries me across the room.

  I thought he’d carry me back to the bed and spread me on top of the soft mattress like he did before, playing my body like a musical instrument to evoke sounds from me that may sound like music to him.

  But he’s taking me somewhere else. Somewhere we’ve never been before.

  Chapter 4

  J

  Just a clear and simple answer for once. Was that really all she needed? Was that all it took to appease her and make her soft in my arms?

  She has never responded to me like she does now, so affectionate and mellow. It’s not just that she doesn’t fight me off. She doesn’t simply let this happen—she seems to welcome it. I can feel her hand at the back of my neck, the tips of her fingers grazing down my spine and sending hot prickles through my body.

  Her behavior stands in stark contrast to the way she looked when I first walked in. She looked so broken then, so lost, almost as bereft as she did when she first woke up. Her face only lit up when I started talking to her, when all I did was give a simple answer to a mundane question.

  Maybe it was that. Or maybe she takes solace in knowing that she’s close to the sea. Or it’s not the fact itself, but just the realization that her assumption was correct. Maybe that’s what lifted her spirits like this.

  I shouldn’t question it. I should enjoy her fondness of my approach.

  I should take advantage of it.

  Today could be the day. The day I will finally have her in the way we both want it.

  She opens her eyes, casting a curious look to the side when she realizes that I’m not taking her where she expected me to. We’re approaching the door to the connected room that will scare her. Her demeanor might change as soon as we step inside, leaving the plush paradise she’s allowed to reside in right now and exchanging it with something far more intimidating.

  She may argue and struggle, but it would be too late.

  Her body tenses in my arms as she watches me open the door. It’s a simple lock, one of the few doors that can be opened the old-fashioned way, with a key. I’m always carrying it with me, attached to the belt I wear when I come to see her. It makes me feel like a prison ward, especially now as I trouble myself with opening the door without having to let go of her. She makes it easier by clinging on to my neck, seemingly seeking comfort by pressing herself closely against my chest.

  It’s adorable—and so fucking alluring that it causes my cock to stand in attention.

  Fuck, I can’t wait to bury myself between her legs.

  She doesn’t say a word, doesn’t fight, doesn’t even flinch when the door opens, revealing the dark chamber behind.

  But her face tells me everything I need to know.

  She’s terrified, stunned in surprise, but most of all: intrigued. Of course she would be. There’s a dirty little nymph hiding beneath all that apparent innocence. I’m the only one who knows about it —and the only who knows how to please that part of her.

  A gasp flees her lips when I step through the door, tightening my grip on her as if I was afraid she could try to run from me. She doesn’t. In fact, she does quite the opposite by tensing her embrace around my neck just as much, holding on to me in fear, ignoring the fact that I’m the one she should be afraid of.

  The dungeon next to her bedroom is entirely dipped in the most common colors associated with the blend of pain and pleasure: black and red. Deep red wallpaper covers all four walls, while the wooden floor and ceiling are as black as the night, matching the leather that most of the upholstery furniture is equipped with. The St. Andrew cross to our left, facing the boarded-up windows on the opposite wall is my pride and joy in this room. It’s never been used before and it has been built with Petal in mind, adjusted to her measurements, just like everything else in this room, the bondage bench, the hooks on the ceilin
g that will allow me to suspend her. Everything.

  The prospect of this room makes my length harden even more, and it doesn’t help that Petal starts to squirm in my embrace, suddenly realizing what she got herself into.

  “No,” she breathes. “No, no, please—”

  “Hush.” I cut her off, stiffening my grip around her. “Fight me and you’ll only make this harder on yourself.”

  She inhales in shock, and her struggle intensifies when I take another step forward, trying to decide where I should put her first, what I should do with her first. Fuck, there’s so much I want to do to her, so much I’ve been thinking of ever since I knew this dream would become a reality. And now that I can finally put it into action, I’m overwhelmed by the possibilities laid out for me.

  Once again, it’s Petal who makes the decision for me. Her eyes scurry through the room, jumping from one piece of furniture to the next, from one utensil lined up in the glass cabinets to another, never resting on anything for longer than a moment.

  Until she spots the canes. A blush blossoms on her cheeks when she sees them, neatly aligned right next to the St. Andrews Cross.

  The canes, of course. Why am I not surprised.

  Evoking a gasp, she struggles in my arms while I carry her over to the cross. But once we reach it and I let her stand on her own feet again, she doesn’t do anything that could resemble a flight attempt. Instead, she freezes, her wide eyes glued to the cross right in front of her. She has seen it before, not this particular one, but a similar one, in a different house, at a different time. I wonder if she remembers? There’s a taste of recognition on her gaze, but I’m certain that she can’t place the sensation of déjà vu that may have taken a hold of her just now.

  I didn’t tie her to the cross the last time we were standing in front of one like this. But she wanted me to. I can still hear her shy plea, mixed with such a strong color of shame that it was painful to witness. She was never allowed to wish for anything, to desire the things that make her heart jump.