“No.”

  And as quickly as my excitement rose, it drops down to the floor with a heavy bang.

  “Why not?” I press. “Why won’t you let me have a look outside?”

  He sighs, his gaze trailing to the closed drapes as he crosses his arms in front of his chest.

  “It’s not about that.”

  I furrow my eyebrows, trying to figure out what he’s saying.

  But then I get it.

  “It’s not about me looking outside,” I say. “It’s about someone else looking in. Right?”

  He casts me a look, his eyebrows slightly raised when he suggests a nod.

  “You’re afraid of someone finding me here,” I go on, keen to ride this wave of honesty. He may not be saying much, but at least he’s reacting to my questions and assumptions, guiding the way to some of the answers I crave.

  Still, I speak carefully, trying not to overstep and chase him away—very similar to how I talked to the black-haired girl when she visited my room.

  “Because no one is supposed to know I’m here,” I add, observing his reaction to my words. “No one does know that I’m here. Right?”

  The crease that appears between his eyebrows is a warning, a warning not to overstep boundaries, a warning to remember my place.

  So, I do.

  I leave him be, turning away from him without waiting for a response that may never come or just result in me being told to shut it. Either option would be deficient.

  I turn my back to him, letting my eyes wander through the room while my feet follow as far as I can. The leash is too short to allow for me to approach the seating area in the living room. I can only stand and look at it, taking in the clean interior, nothing but white and light gray, except for dark specks here and there, the coffee table and a small bookcase at the far end of the room. It’s pretty much empty, except for a handful of books that appear to be mostly non-fiction. I squint, stepping as close as possible to read their titles. Most of them appear to be non-fiction and concerning themselves with the human mind.

  “You’re a psychologist,” I presume. It’s not a question, because I don’t expect him to give me an answer. But I’m still curious to see if he reacts to this statement in any way.

  A few moments of silence pass and I hear nothing but his rummaging around the stove, stirring the pasta as if it was a matter of utmost importance that required all of his focus.

  Just as I’m ready to accept the fact that he won’t deign me with a response, he clears his throat and looks at me.

  “Some people call me that,” he says.

  “Some?” I probe. “What do others call you?”

  I’ve gotten my way with this kind of phrasing before, and from the looks of it, it works this time as well. A sinister smile beams on his face when replies.

  “A monster.”

  His words send a cold shiver down my spine. Not only because of the word itself, but the way he said it.

  As if he’s proud of it.

  As if it’s the right term for him.

  And maybe it is? I should know.

  I swallow dryly, unable to come up with a response to his revelation. So I turn away instead, facing the room that feels so eerily familiar.

  Every time my eyes fall on the white sofas, the sense of déjà vu becomes so strong that it’s almost painful.

  Because it’s confusing. I can feel it. I can feel that I must have been here before. I can sense myself in this room, wearing clothes and a different mind, a mind that has not been cleared of everything dear to it. I can feel something as I step closer to the center of the living room, and the reaction gets stronger the closer I get.

  The leash holds me back, strained tight as the collar cuts into my neck while I stretch my arm out, going down on my knees to grant more leeway. I don’t know if he’s watching me, but either way, I don’t care. I have a goal, and I won’t stop trying for it unless he stops me physically.

  But he doesn’t intervene. I neither hear nor see him as I reach forward, ignoring the collar around my neck as it chokes me to a point it becomes hard to breathe.

  I don’t stop until the tips of my fingers connect with leather, until I manage to touch the sofa standing closest to me. And just as I do, I close my eyes.

  I freeze, feeling the leather beneath my fingers as I descend into darkness. And just as I hoped, touch does what sight and unanswered questions couldn’t.

  It guides me, leading deeper into the dark corners of my mind that hide the things I’ve been forced to forget. I’m following, walking slowly as I approach the wall that’s been in my way all too often.

  But today, there’s a visible crack in it.

  Chapter 61

  J

  I don’t know what to make of her behavior, or how to react to it.

  There’s something mesmerizing in the way she moves, in the way she follows an instinct that must be as confusing as it is enticing.

  I pull the pasta from the stove and make sure to turn it off before I approach her from behind. She’s down on her knees, testing the strength of the leash and the collar around her neck as she leans forward, her fingers barely touching the armrest of one of the sofas. Even with her back turned to me, I can tell that her eyes are closed.

  She’s doing it again. She’s doing the same thing she did when she first woke up.

  She’s trying to remember.

  But this time, her efforts may not be as futile as they were then, because I know this room must trigger her like nothing else ever has. I provided her with little glimpses, a dish that she loves, because it reminds her of a home, not her own, but one that made her welcome. A white rose, because I know it to be her favorite flower. A familiar face, a familiar name.

  She picked up on every single thing, and each time, she couldn’t help but chase the images those artifacts evoked in her.

  This room must be the strongest yet, filled with memories that must have left an imprint on her as much as they did on me.

  I knew she would go through this struggle, and the scientist and doctor in me is fascinated by the intensity of the effect. She has been my biggest project yet, the most valuable and most strenuous client. I want to observe her, to study her. There’s so much I—society in general—could learn from the way her mind is working through this.

  But there’s another part in me, the Dominant, the lover, the man who worries about his girl’s sanity.

  She gasps, yanking at the leash when her body jerks up as if she’s been hit with something. And she probably is, but not physically.

  I step closer, careful not to bump against the leash as I close in on her, leaving about two feet of distance between us when I come to a halt.

  I know I will have to wake her at some point, and it will be my job to decide when that time has come. I can’t wait too long, but I also need to give her enough time to grasp whatever it is that’s materializing before her closed eyes right now.

  I startle when she lets out a sudden chuckle. It’s not genuine laughter, but a suppressed and somewhat artificial sounding cackle. It doesn’t speak of happiness, but more of a quick and sudden elation that tickles her senses.

  Still, it is a good thing. It’s a memory, a lively memory.

  Her breathing turns erratic before she lets out a deep and hearty sigh. If it weren’t for the leash, she’d fall over now, as her body relaxes, enjoying something that took a lot of effort to find.

  I wish I could see what she’s seeing right now. I wish I could be there with her, but I know I can’t. No one ever can. It’s hers entirely, and it will only last for a few moments, just like it did when the incident that this memory is based on happened.

  I know she’s back there, drinking gin with me, giving voice to her dreams, and about to take something she’s wanted for herself for longer than I knew at the time.

  It wasn’t until four years later that I learned about the full extent of her desires, and about the black void she suffered from by not having them fulfilled.

  I wonder if I had acted any differently back then, if I had known. I wonder if it would have made a difference.

  It probably would have.

  She croaks, her entire body tensing and her shoulders rising up to her ears when something shifts inside her head.

  The moment has passed. Even without her saying a word I know that she’s not merely seeing a single image, but following a story as it unfolds before her eyes. There’s more to it than laughter, and she learns that now as she continues to follow the trail that her darkened mind lays out for her.

  She falters, then slowly shakes her head. I can see her fingers twitching, lifting up from the sofa for a split second before she puts them back. The memory that unfolds now is sending an entirely different message, providing her with a new set of emotions that have nothing in common with the elation she felt before.

  It pains her, and that little lift of her hands shows just how much she wants to run from it.

  But she doesn’t. She forces herself to bear those images as she indulged on the positive ones.

  The shaking of her head grows stronger, more violent, and her body begins to tremble. Her fingers curl in agony, but still hold on to the leather, despite the anguish she’s experiencing.

  My protective instincts take over, and before I know it, I take a step forward, then another. She doesn’t react to my presence, ignoring the fact that I’m going down on my knees right next to her.

  I refrain from touching her, but I’m so close that she must feel my presence. She must know I’m there, but she’s not ready to let go of the things that reveal themselves before her eyes.

  I lean forward, careful not to touch her as I search to see her face. Her head is still shaking as if in trance, when the first tears roll down her cheeks. She grimaces, biting her lower lip while the urge to cry takes over.

  “Petal.”

  As deep as she may have been, lost in her own mind, guided by memories that have turned into nothing but dark haze by now—she wakes up immediately upon hearing my voice.

  Her eyes fly open and her hands leave the sofa with the same breath.

  She’s breathing heavily, wiping away the tears from her pretty face when she turns to me.

  “What happened here?” she wants to know, her green eyes wide with curiosity. “What... what was that?”

  I lift her up, moving her closer to the kitchen so she no longer chokes herself by putting so much pressure on the leash. She takes in big huffs of air, almost gasping in desperation, and it’s making me realize that lack of oxygen probably heightened the experience she just endured.

  She’s trembling when I guide her to the table, holding on to me in need of support.

  “Jayson, what happened here?” she asks again when I help her to sit down on one of the chairs.

  Her eyes are latched on to me as I busy myself with brushing the newspaper that is spread across the tabletop aside to make room for our plates.

  “Let’s eat.”

  “No!” she protests, almost jumping up from her chair as I retreat to the kitchen. “No! You tell me—”

  “I will!” I interrupt her impudent demand.

  “After. We. Eat.”

  Chapter 62

  Petal

  Contradicting emotions are tearing me apart still, as he places the food in front of me. It’s a simple dish of pasta with broccoli, but the smell makes me forget everything for a few seconds. I’d forgotten about my brutal hunger for a while there, too occupied with the difficult images that washed over me as I dared to follow the dark path all the way to the wall inside my head—and further.

  I wolf down the food, angry and grateful at the same time. He sat down next to me, quietly gesturing for me to eat as if it were the most normal thing to do. As if we’d shared thousands of meals before, when truly, this is the very first time we ever have.

  Or so I’m forced to believe.

  I throw curious glances at him, determined to display just enough obedience for him to give me even more than he’s granted me so far.

  He told me to eat, so I will. It’s not hard to comply when the hunger is so strong that it almost made me sick.

  What makes it hard, however, are the questions circling inside my head. Questions, new and old. Some have been there ever since I woke up, some rose up today, as I was confronted with a set of images that was clearer than any other before.

  And some have been answered because of it.

  I’ve always wondered about him. I always wanted to know whether I knew him before waking up in his basement, whether I had met him before or was even close to him, or if I was just a random girl who fell victim to a psychopathic kidnapper.

  At first, I thought it must be the latter, but now I know otherwise.

  I know that we knew each other before all of this. Not only that, we were close to each other. Very close.

  I saw us. Together. In this very room.

  I don’t know how long ago it happened, but we were here before, just the two of us. I was here on my own free will, visiting him, having fun with him. I felt happy and... aroused. Even that I felt, the desire I felt back then. It was strong, but not as overpowering as the craving that has overcome me in recent days with him.

  I twirl up the last remaining spaghetti and let the fork fall onto the plate where it connects with a weirdly loud noise, causing him to raise an eyebrow at me.

  “Sorry,” I hurry to say, pointing at my emptied plate. “And thank you. It was very good.”

  He shakes his head. “I’m no cook. This was nothing but fuel.”

  “It’s all I needed right now,” I insist, eager not to ruin his mood.

  I tried to calm myself. I tried to exercise patience as we ate, troubled by questions and the excitement that this first taste of answers brought with it. It took a lot of effort to restrain myself from babbling on, to prevent the questions from pouring out of me, blended with the foggy insights that made them all the more pressing.

  But I’m done with that now. I ate. I did as he told me.

  I was a good girl.

  And good girls get a treat.

  “I saw us,” I begin, waiting for him to put his fork down as he looks at me with one raised eyebrow. “Here. Together. You lied to me. Didn’t you?”

  The expression on his face turns into a frown. “When?”

  “When you said that we never... that we never did this before.”

  “Never did what before?”

  I take a deep breath, feeling the heat of embarrassment warm my cheeks as I clarify. “That we never had sex before.”

  He shakes his head in an instant, negating my assumption before I’ve finished the sentence.

  “I never lied to you,” he insists. “I never fucked you before—”

  “But I saw us!” I cut him off, causing the cutlery to jolt on the plates when I hit the tabletop with both my hands. “I saw us, kissing, making out! Right there!”

  My arm is trembling as I stretched out to the left, pointing to the sofas in the living room.

  “The images were clearer than any I ever had before,” I add. “It was a memory, the clearest I ever had, and it was of you and me—”

  “You and me doing what?” he interrupts me with a question. “I didn’t say I never touched you before, Petal. Because I did. And I never said I didn’t kiss you before. Because I did.”

  A shadow is cast over his stern expression as his voice goes lower, laced with something I’d call sadness if I didn’t know any better.

  “So we... it’s true?” I stutter. “I was here before? With you? Doing... stuff? In this room?”

  He nods along as I go through my list. It’s the first time I’m faced with confirmation at this magnitude. I’m finally allowed to see, allowed to ask—and he confirms everything without leaving me in doubt.

  “But something happened,” I go on, bracing myself as I step further, diving into more painful territory and an array of images that were not as clear visually, but all the more penetrating when it came to the emotions they brought up.

  “Something happened, and it turned ugly.”

  Again, he nods, avoiding reciprocating my probing gaze.

  “I stopped it,” he says. “And you didn’t take it well.”

  “I was hurt,” I recall. “Very, very hurt. And ashamed. Disappointed. Angry. It was... terrible. And a lot.”

  I shake my head, furrowing my eyebrows as I try to make sense of the things I saw and felt as I was touching the sofa. They are still accessible to me and no longer hidden behind that damn wall, but their impact is not quite as forceful as it was a few minutes ago.

  I can still see and feel the memories, but only if I choose to go down that path.

  “When did it happen?”

  My voice is thin and sounding robotic, as if it belonged to a stranger. “How long ago, Jayson?”

  He clears his throat. “A little more than four years ago.”

  I suck in a sharp breath of air, my back crashing with the backrest of the chair as I fall back, astonished. More than four years? That long ago? It felt so close, so immediate.

  “Why did you stop it?”

  “Because I thought I should,” he says, finally looking at me with a faint crease between his dark eyebrows.

  “Why?”

  “Because it wasn’t the right time then.”

  I can’t stop myself from rolling my eyes at him, despite knowing that it’s a risky move, potentially angering him enough to refuse any further conversation in this matter. It’s been that way before.

  But it’s not anymore. A short display of disapproval kisses his expression, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared.

  “Why was it not the right time then?” I probe, my heart speeding so much that I feel its beat must be visible from the outside. Of course, it’s not, despite my nakedness. But my chest heaves in more vivid motions, pulling his gaze and kindling a spark of lust in his hazel eyes.