Tabula Rasa(33)

“Go to my room and wait for me. You have a punishment coming for your earlier disobedience.”

I’m sure my mouth hung open like a fish, as if I couldn’t believe he’d really just said that to me. Despite everything I knew of Shannon, despite the orgy I’d witnessed and almost been recruited into, somehow this one utterance almost unhinged me.

I wanted to run for the door, despite my lack of clothing. But not only was the security system armed, I knew now from observing him, that it wasn’t a one-way system. The door wouldn’t open for anyone going in or out without the code. And I didn’t know it.

But I didn’t try to run. I went upstairs just like I’d gone upstairs earlier. I passed my room and went to his at the end of the hall. His room was another forbidden room. He’d never stated it outright. It wasn’t always locked, but I felt like lightning would come out of the ceiling and strike me down if I were to go snooping around in there.

His room was the same exercise in restrained minimalism as the rest of the house. Utilitarian was the best word I had for it. There was an attached master bathroom and a balcony—which were the only big differences from my room. And then there was the normal bedroom furniture one would expect. Nothing freaky or kinky or serial-killer like. No hooks hanging from the ceiling. No blood splattered on walls.

His bed was a standard king-sized four-poster. The frame and posts were a sleek, shiny steel. Given what I’d seen in the basement, I imagined that could be of some use to Shannon’s proclivities, but someone who didn’t know anything about them wouldn’t think it odd. It fit into the clean, simple lines of the room.

He didn’t have a bunch of knickknacks lying around, or framed art on the walls. It was just a crisp bare emptiness. Utterly peaceful. Much like my own room. But I’d expected that much from the guest room. I wasn’t sure I’d expected it fully from Shannon’s.

The balcony door was oddly unarmed at the moment. So I went outside. It was the first bit of fresh air I’d gotten in weeks. From here I could yell and possibly have some hope of someone hearing me. I could see other houses. They were a bit of a distance off, but technically in the same neighborhood. Within screaming distance. Surely this option for escape hadn’t been available to me all this time. Had it?

As f*cked up as it was, I think I’d wanted to stay cocooned in Shannon’s house. As long as I felt safe, I didn’t want to escape. And up until this point, despite logic, I’d felt safe. Whatever he did out in the larger world, I just thought I was in a separate category somehow. He didn’t skin and cut up his cat, so I thought he might not do it to me, either.

I’d always thought I’d want to go outside eventually and interact with the three-dimensional world of people, places, and things, but I’d been content to remain shielded for a while, secretly hoping my memory would return first, so when I did venture out, I didn’t feel like an alien from another planet.

“Thinking of jumping?” Shannon whispered in my ear. He’d been like a ghost, silent as mist wafting through walls.

“N-no.”

He threaded his fingers through mine and guided me back inside. There was a coil of rope and a paddle on the bed.

“First I’m going to paddle you for coming downstairs and interrupting my party. Then I’m going to tie you up and f*ck you.”

I wanted to protest, maybe negotiate my way down to a light spanking and missionary sex with the lights off. Give me the illusion of love and caring. But the way his face lit up when he spoke and thought about doing these things to me... I’d never seen him look more like a real human being before.

There was no coldness in his expression now. It was all warmth like the sun. It was the closest we’d gotten to that first night when he’d felt pity for me. At the time that emotion from him had been awful. In hindsight, knowing more about him, I realized what a rare gift it was—to make him feel something like that. To make him feel anything.

He was still aroused, and I couldn’t help the way my eyes continued to stray over him. But when I finally was able to tear my gaze away from his erection, I saw that he was equally captivated by me. His gaze roved over me, soaking in each detail he’d denied himself all these weeks starting when he’d turned his back on me in the castle so I could dress.

“If you wanted me, why didn’t you take me at the castle?” I asked.

“I did take you.”

I rolled my eyes. “You know what I mean. Why didn’t you just f*ck me there? Why did you turn around to give me privacy to put clothes on? You could have done whatever you wanted then.”

“I didn’t know what I wanted.”

“Oh.”

“And if I’d f*cked you then, you wouldn’t have wanted it. You would have been too scared and upset. You were still processing the death of the man you thought was your husband. You would have screamed and fought me. No way would I have been able to get you to come with me peacefully out of the park. I would have had to kill you.”

It was good to know Shannon wasn’t impulsive. But then, I’d already known that. Absent necessity, he didn’t do anything without a plan and probably a thick dossier on whoever the plan involved.

Shannon stepped over to his closet and pulled out a pair of freshly pressed jeans. Yes, he ironed his jeans. I feel like that should be in a list of psychopath traits somewhere: doesn’t name his cat, irons his jeans. He pulled the jeans on and zipped them.