Control

Chapter 8.

     "Frances."

     The sinister voice cooed , a dark melodic tremor that caused my bones quake and a sickly distress ripple in the pit of my stomach. A long cold fingernail dug into my throat and a horrifying pain pierced the skin as the nail began to sink into my jugular. I fiercely willed myself to open my eyes and stop the bastard who was doing this to me but my eyes remained imprisoned behind my lids and none of my limbs would respond; I was a puppet with no strings.

     I could feel the thick coppery blood spurting on to my collarbone and my chest as they stabbed deeper into the wound until I was delirious with agony.

     "I want you to die!" It cried with an unhinged wail, almost inhuman. "Why won't you just die?!"

***

      The prison on my sight was released as I awoke facing a smooth cream wall. I was sweating. My heart pulsed with fervour, bouncing against my ribcage as I lay there nauseated, clutching my neck with my fist, fingers frantically searching for a wound that was no longer there. It was so real.

     A dull red lamp glowed on a minimalist table, illuminating the silver frame beside it which withheld a family photograph—two tanned boys with dark eyes and a little girl standing proudly with their feet deep in wet sand on the white beach. It was at that moment I realised that this was not my bedroom, nor was it my house.

     I leapt off the bed too quickly, resulting in a slight blood rush to my head and my legs to buckle. Pale, almost ethereal natural light pooled into the room and cast shadows across the floor as I searched for something or someone to tell me where the hell I was.

     The last moment of my consciousness was spent with that perverse devil of a man, so the question was; where was he? I clutched my throat with fright as I relived the vicious attack within my dreams as I scooped up the white shirt and jeans from the dresser. The cotton top slipped down my torso easily, but the jeans met my thighs with a tad more traction than I was used to.

     Must have put on a few pounds.

     Not that I cared—perhaps if I ended up grotesquely fat then John would finally break it off and my father would stop trying to marry me off. I snorted at the idea as I shuffled into the last few inches of denim. It was a snug fit.

     I pulled my knotted bed hair hair to one side and swung the door open to leave when I was faced with the man himself that I was looking to find. His eyes trailed down my body.

     "Sleep well?" he asked, a small but satisfied look upon his face as his fingertips brushed down my arm.

     "Get your fucking hands off me," I hissed, hitting him in the chest with my knuckles.

     He was only momentarily detained from my feeble defence and before I could try to get past, his solid arm had encapsulated my waist with vigor. I was like a four year old having a tantrum as I kicked my legs out in the air.

     "Who the fuck do you think you are? I want to go home you sick bastard. This is kidnapping," I spat. As soon as the words left my mouth, Dimitri let me slide out of his iron grasp as he began to laugh with a loud and resonate tone.

     "Despite what you may think, I am not your enemy. You passed out, and I brought you here to keep you safe."

     "Safe?" I let out a laugh of disbelief. "I don't need anyone to keep me safe. If you were the last living person on this Earth and it was infested with flesh eating zombies I would still rather take my chances on my own than be helped by you!"

     I inhaled deeply as I caught my breath—the veins in my arms were beginning to sizzle beneath my skin and I winced, the pain stinging as if there were a thousand wasps stabbing into my nervous system. That has never happened before. I closed my eyes, willing myself to be soothed by my own breaths. In a moment I could feel the temperature of my body gradually decreasing and the relief washed over my like a soft wave.

     As they reopened, Dimitri was still stood in front of me, his face contorted with an emotion I could not place. It was only then I noticed he was merely in his boxers and that his shapely muscles were on full display each rippling attractively under his golden skin. I could not help but feel the temptation of desire leak into my rational mind. The image of him kneeling between my legs exploded like dynamite into my mind and I wanted to crawl into a hole and never return.

     "What happened last night was a mistake," I said, but my voice was weak and I could not remove my gaze from his eyes. His raw heat was surrounding me and a cloud of heavy, thick lust made the space between us seem so far yet so close.

     "I would never cheat on anyone—" I continued, but the rest of my sentence fell into the air and never returned. But I had.

     "I don't doubt it," he said as his big palms cupped my behind, his fingers splaying across the back of the jeans and squeezing softly. I was in a tug of war with my self respect and my sex deprived mentality. He began to bend down, his lips almost hitting mine before I moved my head to the side.

     "I can't do this," I said. He moved away and I was glad he respected my decision.

     Dimitri said nothing; I watched as he walked down the corridor away from the room I was in and I heard the sound of a door close. I stood there, my heart pounding in my chest as adrenaline pumped through my system before I finally got my act together and attempted to find an exit to the building.

     A modest hotel room greeted me as I reached the end of the corridor. There were not many rooms that lead off from the open plan arrangement and when I could not hear him in any of the other rooms, it became apparent that he had actually left.

     Not wasting any time, I made my quick exit and hurried down to the ground floor. A few taxis were parked up against the curb outside so I hopped in the first one I saw, muttering that I would pay when I reached my home since I had no money at hand.

     I let out a sigh as I slid into the backseat. The driver pulled out onto the road and I pressed my forehead against the cool window. My eyes watched the cars become blurs and I could see the car heading to the turn off to my street... but he missed it. Jesus, why do taxi drivers always miss that turn?

     "Excuse me, you missed the turn to my street," I said, to which he faced me, a sadistic grin on his anonymous face.

     "I know."