Page 23 of Cain

I am such a fool. I should play along and do what he says, and I know that soon enough, I will find an opportunity to escape. I want to. I have to.

I don’t know what to do. This room doesn’t even have a TV. I guess that’s on purpose. This bastard wants to cut me off from everything.

I let my eyes dart all over the place, trying to find something to do.

The unusual aspect of this room is that it’s designed in beige-sand tones, just like the bathroom, contrasting with the rest of the house, which is predominantly black with ebony furniture. I haven’t seen much of it, but I can tell that my room differs. I wonder why.

I look at the two identical doors and recall the immense closet hidden behind one of them. He said that every piece of clothing there was bought specifically for me. I suppose what I told him was true. He wants me to be his puppet and dress me the way he likes. Although, I have to admit that his good taste in clothes is undeniable.

I won’t cave in.

I won’t go and take another peek.

That will only prove my point and make him happy.

I don’t want him to be satisfied. He doesn’t deserve it.

On the other hand, I can’t stay like this forever. I want to take a shower so badly.

I head hesitantly to the bathroom to see if there is warm water—and damn, the temperature and pressure are excellent. It’s tough for me to resist taking a hot shower after everything.

Fuck … I will do it. I take off my clothes and let them fall to the floor. I figure I can borrow a few of his clothes, since they were bought just for me. He won’t miss them, anyway.

Cautiously, I step under the hot water and let it fall on me, relaxing under its pressure. It runs fast on my skin, washing away the tension and the filth of the day. For a moment, the world outside fades, leaving only the sound of the water flowing and the calming warmth that surrounds me. I wish I could stay here forever.

Suddenly, I feel weird chills on my spine, as if I’m not here alone. Every inhale feels like a struggle. I am terrified again for no apparent reason.

Slowly, I turn my head, my heart racing as I scan the foggy bathroom.

And I seehim.

Naked …

Frozen and scared, I swiftly turn around again, trying to cover myself. I instinctively cover my breasts with my arms.

What do I do now?

“What are you doing? Haven’t you heard of personal space?!” I ask sharply.

However, he doesn’t talk. He seems unbothered by my nervousness. What the fuck does he think he’s doing?

He takes the shampoo, pours some on his hand, and then gently applies it to my wet hair. His fingers move gently but firmly.

“What are you doing?” I ask again.

He leans in closer, just enough to touch his chest to my back, and brings his lips to my ear.

“You were too tense before, little rose,” he whispers, his lips brushing against my skin, causing goosebumps all over my body. “You need to relax.”

The shampoo smells like roses. This scent brings back the memory of his tongue carefully sliding over my lips. It brings back the memory of his taste.

His fingers are soft on my skin. The sensation is unexpectedly soothing, and for a moment, I forget everything else, closing my eyes and leaning slightly into his touch.

The soap glides all over my body, and the smell, along with his touch, brings me a sense of calmness.

His hands travel down to my shoulders and massage me. Why does part of me want this, even though I should push him away?

Am I so sick, after all?