SOrry it's been so long guys i just started college! but im not giving up on this story. I promise. so read and review thanks muah
Sunlight burns through my closed eyes, turning my world red as I regain consciousness. My body aches, burns and pain radiates through each limb with every move, my arms feel as if they'd been broken, my ribs cracked, my legs splintered into a million pieces. I dare to look to my side and see an empty bed.
Jim is gone. The windows let bright sunlight shine though, and I can see onto the flowering balcony. The outside world seems so brilliant, so joyful, and so far out of reach. I unconsciously reach for the cold glass that keeps me locked in the horror of this room. Sweat damp covers stick to my skin, and I feel my hair matted on the pillow. I'm alone in the large bedroom again; I flip the covers off and look down at my scared body. Whipping marks mare the pale flesh of my breasts, small precise welts of red on each in multiple spots, stomach and thighs. My wrists are bruised, but at least the rope is gone, I rub in an attempt to get the pain to subside somewhat.
The window calls me to it, my feet tremble as I set them on the floor and take two steps towards the glass wall. My hand lies flat on the icy surface, keeping me suffocating in the air that smells of sex, mint and hate. I ache for the smoggy London air, the chilly oxygen that would still my senses and release my terrorized mind.
"Breakfast?" Sebastian's voice echoes through the room, sounding natural in the stillness. I look up with a startled expression, I feel like a deer on the side of the road as if he's the car coming to smash my body to nothing but a heap for nature to retake. But his face is undemanding, well, only somewhat considering it's Moran.
"Please." I say cautiously.
He sets down the tray in between the two chairs where we had our first conversation. Could that really have only been a day ago? I shake my head and stand awkwardly, he had already seen everything so my modesty was left unchecked. I stay fixed on the window briefly before looking at him, his eyes didn't leave mine and he smiled, allowing a small chuckle to escape from his hard lips before sauntering over to a amore and pulling a robe from it's depths.
"Here." I watch as his eyes trail down my battered body. I see how his lips turn down further as he counts each bruise and welt that patterns my skin I take it from his hands, offering him a thankful smile, before wrapping my self in the silky fabric. I sit next to him and settle into the chair before picking at the fresh fruit on the tray. He pours me a cup of tea and one for himself without saying anything. The silence is comforting, in anyway it can be. It sooths my rushing thoughts, and calms my shaking hands.
I watch him take his first sip and he winces a little at the heat. It's funny how a man who can take a beating and give one right back would wince at a little hot water. I smile into my cup, the smell of earl grey seeping up and filling my tired senses. But my hands still slightly shake and I set the cup down as quickly as I can without spilling it, due to my irrational fear that I might let the whole cup of hot liquid pour down unto me and burn me just to feel something of my own accord. The atmosphere in the room is tense, I feel that I could reach out and snap it, there's something on his mind that he can't say, or doesn't want to say. Maybe he wasn't okay with what Jim did last night, maybe he's angry with his boss for being so utterly cruel. I stare forward and try to think through the night before. Jim had broken his word in a way, he took me and it was the most painful experience of my life. He tied me up and beat me without my permission or consent. Weren't people who do that stuff supposed to be safe about it? A safe word? They were only supposed to go as far as their partner could manage. He didn't care, it hit me, he didn't care about my pleasure or safety or well-being. I wanted to cry and scream at myself for letting it happen, I didn't fight like I should have. I was weak and docile and everything I had promised myself I wouldn't be. What was wrong with me? With my mind and body? Did I secretly want it from him? No I don't think I did, or do, ever again.
I feel a single tear slid down my cheek as I picture him above me, ridding crop in hand and that cold look in his eye. Push it down. I tell myself. It's the only way to survive.
Rough fingers brush at my cheek, catching the tear and pulling away quickly as I turn my head to look at him. My eyes are wide and I feel confusion wash over my face.
Sebastian shrugs and goes back to sipping his tea.
"Why are you here?" I ask with a little too much bite in my voice, but I'm beyond caring. He raises his eyebrow at me and sets his tea down.
"I'm bringing you breakfast." He answers easily.
"Not a good enough answer." I don't take my gaze off him, I eyes are hard and judging.
"I… I'm here to make sure… er…"
"You're my jailer." I turn away from him and go to stand before I feel his calloused hand on my arm, asking me to stay.
"Never will I be that, Olive." I jump at the use of my name. My legs curl under me as I sit back down. "I want you to know that… that." He looks away frustrated, as if he can't say what he wants to say.
"Jim said I could go shopping today." I say quickly. I don't want some confession from him, I don't want anything from him. Not now, not in this pitiful state.
"What?" He looks over at me, confusion written in his sharp features.
"Shopping. With you, to like, ya know protect me from evil." I whisper the last word. He notices and looks down, realizing my meaning. That the only person I needed protection from was Jim. He was the evil.
"That sounds…" He starts, leaning over to set his teacup down on the small table between us, and before I could make a stronger argument his hand is covering mine. I stare down at the contact; it feels foreign on the skin that has so belonged to Jim these past few years. But I can't help the light smile that crosses my bruised face, the slight upturn of my lips at the warmth in his rough hand. A gesture so little, so unimportant, that it might as well be the most intimate moment I've experienced in months. "Lovely."
"Really?" I say tenderly, my eyes still locked on the contact. I expect him to move his hand away, to pull back from my gaze, I can feel the intensity of it. It's like a pull on his skin, I want more of it, I want him, everywhere, around me. The sense of serenity that radiates from his touch seems to leach some of my sanity back to me, I feel the floor become steadier and my mind become clearer.
He leans closer to me. "Of course, Olive." And randomly he places a kiss on my forehead. But leans back with a socked expression on his face, as if he can't believe what he just did, as if his body acting without his permission. I rise my eyes to him, he's standing, strait back with his hands in fists at his side. Seb's mouth hang's slightly open, and his eyes are wide. Staring at me, studying, and, no doubt, trying to decipher what caused him to do such a thing.
"I'll be ready in a few minutes." I say, startlingly loud, to break him from his confused trance.
"Yes, uh. Of course." And with that he walked out briskly, leaving me to an empty room and horrid memories crashing at that closed door in my failing mind.