Page 21 of Fatal Fantasy

Finally, the water shuts off, and I inhale a deep breath, afraid yet curious to see what side of her exits that bathroom, and what comes next.

“Do you have some clothes I can borrow?” She pokes her head from a crack in the door, a white towel covering her body as she looks between the two of us.

“Of course. Any requests?” I ask, jumping from my chair, eager to be the one to help her with anything she wants in a way for us both to work towards trust and healing within one another.

“Nothing too … revealing, please,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper while she keeps her gaze focused on the floor.

It’s almost as if she’s afraid to ask for things, or advocate for what she needs, and it’s like I’m trapped in a twisted, backwards universe, because when we met Carter, simply handing her a shirt could’ve been deciphered as an act of war.

The strong, independent version of her is nowhere to be found, and she’s similar to a timid cat, terrified to show herself in the ways we used to see her.

“We’ll be right here, baby girl. Take your time,” Tyson says as I pass her a few different options from my suitcase, realizing that we didn’t bring anything for her, or take a moment to find her clothes amidst the rubble back at Emory.

“We should’ve brought her things.” I smack Ty’s arm, and he sighs, pulling out his phone and typing away while we settle back down, waiting as long as it takes until she’s ready to come out.

A few minutes later, she slips back into the room, her dark hair tossed in a messy bun, and my sweatshirt hanging from her body.

Once again, she’s chosen to cover her skin, and I’m chomping at the bit to find out why, but Ty’s warnings of approaching her gently ring loudly in my ears.

“So, what happens now?” She asks, rubbing at her wrists while she speaks, and I look at Tyson, but his eyes are glued to hers.

“We paid for this room with cash, fake names … the works. We’ll be here for one more day, but I’ve already ordered you a few things to make you comfortable,” Tyson tells her, and she listens intently, never breaking their gaze.

I may have assisted in her escape, but Ty rescued her, gave her the hope she needed to wake up each day, and I have a feeling their bond is only strengthening because of that.

On the other hand, I blew through here like a madman, tying her up and forcing her to tell me everything with no sympathy for her situation.

Our connection was severed months ago, and judging by the way she’s scared to even look at me, it’ll take a while before we can begin to repair what was destroyed.

“Okay,” she whispers, settling onto the bed with a dark, empty expression painted on her face, like she has no idea what to do or say without being told.

This version of my cold-hearted killer is beginning to drive me insane, and the longer we spend in this tiny room will only further the ticking time bomb in my head, a detonation brewing as I’m forced to watch the girl I fell in love with descend further into the rabbit hole we’re attempting to pull her out of.

One thing is for certain: I’m putting her pieces back together, no matter how hard I have to work to earn back her trust, and love.

NINE

CARTER

In a whirlwind, Tyson and Jasper have stolen me away from my castle, vowing to care for the broken little princess they so graciously saved, but I feel like I’m trapped in a very realistic version of a dream that I never thought would come true.

I’ve never once wanted to become a damsel in distress, loathing the idea of being rescued by knights in shining armor, but I can say that I’m relieved to be breathing free air again.

Still, I have no idea how to act around them, every sound they make trembles my bones, or when I forget they’re here, any noise causes me to jump out of my skin.

I’ve lived like a prisoner for months, sometimes going multiple days without speaking to another human being, and I’m afraid that I’ve forgotten how to behave like a normal person.

After being told what to say, and what to do by others for a majority of my recent memories, the freedom to whatever I please is overwhelming, so much so that I find myself choosing to behave as if I’m still trapped under a microscope.

It’s safer if I play coy – keep my eyes low and my mouth shut – staying completely in the shadows, and in turn, out of harm’s way.

“Baby girl, did you hear me?” Tyson asks as I jump at his sudden proximity, not even realizing that he crossed the room and is standing over me, a look of confusion on his face.

“Uh, no, I’m sorry, I was a little lost,” I say softly, the words coming out like a squeak as I try to use my voice.

“Are you hungry? Can I order you something?” He sits beside me, his hand extending to stroke my cheek, but his sudden movement reminds me of a slap to the face, so I quickly duck out of his reach.

His face contorts as if I’ve struck a nerve, and I softly smile in an attempt to play it off, but he can still read me like an open book.