Darkness.
Most people assume it's this overwhelming absence of light. There's no visible light- no color- to be perceived by our eyes. No light means there's only darkness left behind. They say that you can't see darkness.
That entire idea, however, implies that light can somehow penetrate total darkness- that darkness is no more than the absence of light and that it isn't something you visibly perceive. It insinuates that what you see is just a lack of light rather than an abundance of darkness.
I'm going to call bullshit on that idea right now.
Darkness is a destructive all-consuming force that sucks all of the light out of the room and smothers it out like a blanket over a fire. It leaves a hollow, empty shell in its wake. Darkness is merciless. It is the silent storm that conceals the true monsters of the world.
Looking at the second photo once it was developed was what revealed the truth of darkness to me.
There was what appeared to be a halo of shadow around us. Compared to Jefferson, I looked soft- like fresh clay waiting to be molded. He was the finished sculpture- all harsh lines in his chiseled finality. His right hand was on my thigh, curled around it possessively. Mark Jefferson's crisp white dress shirt was rolled up to his elbows and provided a stark contrast to the dark aura he possessed. His eyes were like two intense black holes, churning with a violent darkness.
I found that same silent storm in my own eyes.
In the photo, we were staring into one another's eyes with an intense gaze that left a bad taste in my mouth. Even with that vulnerable, lost look on my face I could see the darkness in my eyes and in the spill of dark hair that curled around his fist and over my right shoulder. My profile was laid bare for the camera- from the pale column of my neck to the natural arch of my eyebrows.
I had modeled several times for countless photos- some not voluntarily- but I had never seen my face like that. Considering the inner turmoil I had been experiencing leading up to and during this photo, my face was surprisingly calm. There was a serene acceptance in my features that I couldn't quite wrap my head around. I hadn't been posing or drugged.
Subconsciously, I had accepted what he was doing and revealed a side of me I wasn't quite prepared to see. I had always had a flair for dark imagery and portraiture; but in those photos I had always assumed the darkness hanging from my form like a thick cape was just a facade. It never occurred to me that that tumultuous darkness was swirling and festering inside of me- that it was a part of me.
In pictures, Lex and I had always played the parts of Yin and Yang. Her presence balanced out my own perfectly and vice versa. Whenever we were photographed together, Mother always dressed us similarly and, in the photos, not even Lex and I could tell one another apart sometimes. We melded into one subject.
That balance had been similarly present in the photograph of Max and me- except in that photo we seemed more like two clashing sides in dissonance rather than unison.
Then there was the photo in my hands right now. The one of Mark and me. Without any close observation, it could be perceived as a tender moment between two lovers; but I was scrutinizing every detail. The undercurrents of something dark were raging beneath the surface of this photo. I could hear its voice- ringing in my ears. Mark's voice whispering about how I would see. See things the way he saw them. See myself the way he saw me.
He believed that I had a darkness inside of me akin to his own- a darkness that expresses itself through art. Looking at this photo, I couldn't convince myself that he was wrong. No matter how hard I argued internally, I couldn't deny the look in my eyes that mirrored the look in his.
This was what Jefferson had found in my photos. This all consuming void that was as much a part of me as my skin. A darkness that ran through my veins as naturally as blood.
"You see it," Mark pulled me from my thoughts. Surfacing from my own mind was like breaking out of the water for air. I looked up from the photo in my still bound hands and it was like the world was completely new and different. Everything was more colorful and vibrant- and yet, I felt dark and cold. Jefferson was perched on the edge of the cushion next to me, his penetrating gaze focused solely on me. "It's completely natural- a gift. Something I never could have taught Nathan."
"You used past tense again..," I observed.
"Yes, well," Jefferson shrugged.
Nathan Prescott was dead. He'd killed him too.
"Whose blood isn't on your hands?" I whispered disbelievingly. I didn't like the Prescott snob- had even fantasized about killing the asshat myself. Still, even he didn't deserve to get gunned down. "First Rachel. Then Chloe. Now Nathan?"
"I didn't kill Rachel," he stated, his eyes narrowing. "That one was on Nathan. Such an amateur- couldn't even check to make sure he was giving her the right dose."
"Who are you going to murder next? Max?" I gestured towards the still immobile figure. "Me?"
"Why do you think I would ever do anything like that to you?" Jefferson asked, reaching forward and brushing some of my hair away from my face. His fingers skimmed my cheek and I flinched away from the touch. The photo fell out of my hand and slid to the floor. "We are cut from the same cloth- you and I."
"No, we're not," I argued, folding my body in on itself to pull further away from him. I had wormed my way back against the couch- my legs and arms folded against my chest to form a barrier between us. I'd never had a problem with claustrophobia; but I felt like the room was closing in on me. "You're deluded."
"Rio."
The way he said my name in that moment was enough to send chills down my spine to my toes. His voice was an octave too low to be human and a mixture of anger and something else. His fingers hooked into the duct tape that bound my ankles together and pulled as he moved to position himself above me. A free hand was pressed into the arm of the couch next to me to support Jefferson as he forced my legs to straighten out. No matter how hard I struggled, he was able to maneuver me the way he wanted.
He didn't need drugs- just his strength and that impassioned gaze of his that made my legs quiver and my heart pound like a racehorse.
"The only one deluded about anything is you," Mark informed me. His hand had found its way to the hem of my cropped sweater. I felt his fingers brush my ribs.
"Stop touching me," I growled, moving to push him away with my tied hands. He shifted his weight to a knee and used the hand that had been supporting it to roughly grab my wrists and yank them behind my head. I yelped at the pain the sharp movement and weird angle caused. Once the pain subsided, I realized how trapped I was. With one leg between mine and his hand restraining my arms, I was almost completely immobilized by him.
"Why? Does it bother you?" he prodded.
"That's an understatement," I thought. He leaned down, his mouth coming to speak into the shell of my ear. I could feel my grip on reality slipping and, this time, I didn't have Lex to bring me back to the ground.
"You can lie to yourself until you are black and blue in the face; but it doesn't change how you truly feel," Jefferson whispered into my ear. I felt a shiver run down my spine but this time it wasn't out of disgust. I buried the feeling away, glaring up at him defiantly. The last thing I was going to do was acknowledge that he was getting to me.
"I don't feel anything for you- not like how you think," I replied stubbornly. The hand that had crept under the hem of my sweater moved sideways- his fingers skirting around my upper stomach and stopping at the button of my high waisted jeans. His knuckles pressed into me as he deftly undid the button. I realized just how vulnerable I was to him. "Why are you doing this?"
Jefferson pulled back just enough to look down at me. His dark eyes flickered down to my lips before coming back up to meet my gaze. A feeling- anticipation?- crawled up the based of my neck.
"Tell me to stop," he stated simply before moving down and claiming my mouth with his. His lips slid against my own softly and I tried to press my own lips into a tight line. After a moment or two, though, I felt my resolve beginning to waver.
All I had to do, according to him, was tell him to stop. He had said it himself. Tell me to stop. So why couldn't I bring myself to speak? My resolve cracked a tiny bit and I felt my heart begin to hammer inside my chest.
"No. I don't want this. I don't This is so fucked up," I thought frantically as I squirmed against his hold. He nipped my bottom lip and I opened my mouth to verbally protest against my better judgement. Mark Jefferson deepened the kiss. He tasted faintly of coffee. Being kissed by him was nothing like being kissed by anyone else. Mark Jefferson was just as passionate in this field as he was in his photography- and he literally killed for his art.
"It is not the time to be making jokes," I mentally chastised myself.
When he pulled away, my eyes immediately found his. His pupils were dilated with desire and his mouth was slightly parted. His breath- like freshly roasted coffee- brushed over my face like soft caresses.
"Max..," I muttered her name weakly.
"Max doesn't care about you- not the way I do. She only has eyes for that blue haired friend of hers. She would put you in the grave in Chloe's place in an instant. Max is a very gifted photographer, but she could never give you what you need," Mark informed me adamantly. The hand on my jeans came up to cradle my cheek. "Understanding."
"I understand you, Rio. No one else could possibly understand you the way I do," he stated matter-of-factly. His hand brushed my hair out of my face for what felt like the millionth time but, this time, it felt comforting. "I see you, Rio."
I felt completely bare beneath him. Jefferson released his hold on my hands and reached back into his back pocket. He pulled out a small, sharp knife and reached over my head and towards my wrists. The blade sawed through my bindings on my wrists and then he tossed it onto the coffee table. Rubbing my raw wrists, I cradled them close to my chest.
"Make a decision, Rio," Mark ordered.
The darkness reared its ugly head inside of me. A weird, awful part of me wanted this. It craved more of Mark's fiery touch- to be further tainted by the darkness that lingered at his fingertips.
After months of micromanaging from Lex and years of having to restrain myself, the temptation that Mark Jefferson offered was too much.
Both of my hands reached up tentatively and I allowed my fingertips to skim his stubbly jaw. Then, without thinking about it further, I slid my hands around to the back of his neck and pulled him downwards.
That was the moment I kissed Mark Jefferson.
My lips pressed against his and Mark immediately responded. It occurred to me that he smelled more like a barista than a photographer- the scent of freshly brewed coffee surrounded him. The kiss was soft and almost sweet. That is, if any kiss involving a mentally unstable girl and a psychopathic narcissist could be considered sweet.
I didn't know what I was doing. The entire kiss had been an act of impulse. Mark's hands slid down my sides I felt his fingers slide underneath my sweater and run over my ribs, tracing the under wire of my bra. His goatee scratched lightly at the skin around my mouth. The kiss began to grow more heated as time wore on. I was drowning in heat.
Then I remembered who I was, where I was, and who I was with.
"Wait," I gasped, pushing him back and effectively breaking off the kiss.
"What's wrong?" Mark asked, brushing the stray hairs out of the way and cradling my face gently.
"I need time...to process everything," I claimed, not quite meeting his gaze this time.
"I understand. You don't have to feel rushed. We have all the time in the world together, Rio," he promised, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "I'm going to go out and get us some take out, okay? I'll be back soon."
"Okay," I replied. He got up and I felt the relief flooding my veins just before I noticed him returning with duct tape and a needle in hand. "Wait."
"It's alright, Rio. Time will go by much faster this way," he assured me.
"What if I don't wake up?" I whimpered, scooting away from his approaching form and holding up my hands defensively. "Please. I really don't like it. I'll still be right here when you get back, you know that."
"No. You wouldn't leave Max here, would you?" Jefferson observed coolly.
"You said it yourself, Mark. You understand me. I won't leave," I tried to convince him. A small smile pulled up and he set the needle down on the coffee table. Bending over, Mark kissed me softly on my lips.
"Tell me you love me," he ordered. Surprised, I stared up at him. His face was completely serious.
"I..love you," I stated, feeling my stomach twist in my abdomen as I looked up at him. Jefferson kissed me again, his goatee scratching my chin, and then pulled away. Standing up, he gave me a once over.
"I have an idea," Jefferson smiled at me. He picked up the small knife from earlier and knelt down to saw through the bindings on my ankle. Once the duct tape had been pulled away, he discarded both the blade and the duct tape. One of his hands reached out towards me and I eyed it warily. "Come on."
I took his hand and he helped me to my feet. My legs wobbled underneath my weight as my sore ankles tried to buckle. Mark caught me easily, his hands grasping my elbows and supporting me as I collided against his chest.
"Careful," Mark warned me. I managed to get my legs stable beneath me. Mark started leading- by one hand now- over towards the camera.
"What are we doing?" I asked, eyeing Max. She was still so still. At least from this distance I could make out the ever so slight rise and fall of her chest.
"Always take the shot," Mark whispered in my ear as he positioned himself behind me. His hands came down over my daintier ones and he guided them up to the camera. With his hands still moving mine, I turned the camera towards Max and activated it. It was my first time dealing with this tech this expensive. Now, I understood what Mark wanted me to do. I lined my eye up to the eyepiece, looking through it at Max's prone figure.
"At least make it a great one," I thought, lining up Max in the frame of my lens.
She looked completely open to me. There was none of that 'vengeful angel' attitude that she'd been carrying around this week. Just an angel- a heavenly cupid blossoming up in front of me. It was startling that, in such a dark room, there could be someone that projected such transcendent light.
I took the picture.
Jefferson had guided me through editing the photo with all of his expensive software- paid for courtesy of the Prescott clan, apparently. The entire time, Jefferson kept commenting on how I needed to 'realize my true purpose' and 'express my vision'. The lectures were almost more sickening that having to admit to myself that I was no better than him. I had taken a photo of Max in such a state and now I was polishing it to perfection.
When I was finished, this one portrait of Max was the single greatest photo I had ever taken. Mark agreed with me on that viewpoint. He even thought it was as good as one of his own. He put it in her red binder as if it were a keepsake- a treasure- rather than a symbol of my betrayal.
And that made me sick to my stomach.
Mark had kissed me once more before leaving. At the very least, I had earned his trust.
No more drugs. No more duct tape. I could roam the Dark Room as much as I wanted. The door out was sealed shut- I'd checked.
I went to Max's side immediately after deducing that escape wasn't an option. She was still breathing, thankfully. I lifted up her face in my hands and studied it for some sign of awareness.
I didn't know whether or not to be grateful that she had been completely out of commission during the episode with Jefferson.
"Max, I need you to wake up," I patted the side of her face gently, trying to rouse her from her drug-induced slumber. I could see the small mark on her neck where the needle had entered. "Come on. Before he gets back."
"Rio?" Max muttered after a few minutes of prodding from me. I nearly fainted from relief. Her eyelids lethargically lifted and I felt my heart stutter at the sight of her blue eyes. I'd never had anything fill me with hope more than knowing Max was okay. She glanced around the room- taking in the scenery. "The Dark Room."
The tone in which she said it reflected the obvious disgust she felt in regard to this place. I could empathize with that feeling.
"The exit is locked. There's not really a way out of this Max," I informed her. She eyed the raw looking places on my wrists. "I woke up here too. My wrists and ankles were bound. I... got out of it."
"What...happened to me?" Max asked. There was a sad look in her eyes- the kind of look that expressed just how much she didn't want to know but needed to.
"Mar- Jefferson grabbed you from the junkyard, I think. I should have been there with you but..," I trailed off, thinking about the party. I never drank- or at least rarely did- and I'd taken a drink from him just because he seemed genuinely interested in me. I'd wanted an escape and what I'd gotten was a cage.
"He took you from the party," Max assumed. I nodded numbly, unable to bring myself to tell her what had transpired in this room. "Where is he now? Did he just leave us here?"
"He'll be back soon. Look. If you're awake when he gets back, I'm afraid that he's going to kill you," I informed her. One of my hands reached tentatively forward and tucked a stray lock of brown hair behind Max's ear. "I can't let him hurt you."
"Rio...," Max's voice tapered off as she took in my- more than likely- disheveled appearance. I wanted so badly to wipe away the frown that pulled the corners of her lips downwards. Rising, I moved over to the coffee table and picked up the needle. For such a small thing, it felt like it weighed a ton. "What are you doing?"
"I'm sorry, Max," I whispered, choking on the words as I walked back over to her. I knew the likelihood of Jefferson watching this with his surveillance cameras was high. It was time to put on a show.
I could almost feel Mark's hands guiding me as they had when I had taken the photo- ushering me towards her. It felt like cotton was in my ears. I could see Max's mouth forming words but I couldn't make any sense of them. She might as well have been speaking Mandarin. My left hand came up and pinched her chin between my index finger and thumb. Tilting her head to the side, I decided my best bet was to insert the needle in the mark that had been left from her last dosage. Max struggled against my grip and I cursed.
"Don't. Move," I growled under my breath.
"Don't worry. This won't hurt a bit," I assured her. I could practically hear Mark's voice overlapping mine as I spoke. The needle went into Max's neck surprisingly easy. I depressed the plunger, flooding her system with the drug. Max's wide blue eyes stared up at me in helpless confusion. The drug finally took effect after a second or two of our silent stare off as I pulled out the used needle. Her eyes drooped and then her head slipped off to one side.
