“Get up.”

  She jumps up on her feet in an instant, adding a verbal response that I can’t hear often enough. “Yes, Master.”

  Anticipation is lacing her pretty face. But if she thought I’d make this easy for her by simply adding another demand and thus taking back the responsibility I just handed to her, she’s wrong.

  “I’ll give you some time to think about it,” I tell her, placing my finger below her chin as I lean in closer. “I’m giving you this, Petal. Don’t ever think you’re the one in control here.”

  Her green eyes flicker with determination and a visible urge to object me. But she refrains from giving voice to whatever it is that’s going through her head right now, opting for compliance instead.

  “Yes, Master.”

  Her voice is strong, not trembling one bit, and she reciprocates my piercing look seemingly effortlessly. I didn’t think I’d see this side of her so soon. And it’s so fucking pleasing to see her shine like this without the burden of a past that held her back almost her entire life.

  “Is that all you came here for?” she asks, her head slanting to the side. “To check up on me? Or is there more?”

  “Do you want there to be more?”

  She blushes. “Well, I mean, there usually is...”

  A smile tugs at my lips while my hand moves to the back of her neck, forcing her closer to my face, so close that my hot breath dance across her impeccable skin when I speak. “You want to play, Petal? Do you want to feel your master inside you?”

  She bites her lower lip, clearing her throat before she responds. “You know what I want. I want answers, but you’re not giving me any.”

  “I told you my name, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, and then you forbade me to ever use it.”

  Her expression softens before she continues. “But I’ll tell you a secret. I have been a bad girl. I have whispered your name in your absence, again and again. And you know why?”

  I shouldn’t follow her reign. I shouldn’t let her lead me on a merry chase like this. But I can’t help it.

  “Why is that, Petal?” I ask, taking a mental note to punish her for this. Later.

  “Because it makes me feel good,” she says. “Because it makes me feel warm and secure. It gives me a sensation of familiarity, intimacy... trust, even. I don’t understand it, but it’s there. You have no idea how much a person can yearn for such things when everything has been taken from them.”

  There’s no reproach when she looks at me now, her face still so close to mine that either of us would have to move less than an inch to steal a kiss.

  “It made me see things,” she adds, drawing another question from me.

  “See things?” I probe. “Another vision?”

  “I believe it’s a memory rather than a vision,” she replies. “I saw us, together. Very close, fucking, playing, succumbing to the same heat we’ve shared in here. But it was a memory older than that. It was before all of this.”

  It takes a lot of effort not to let her notice how furious my heart is racing in response to her words. I could tell that hearing my name evoked something within her, and now she finally told me.

  She remembers.

  “We have done this before, haven’t we?” she wants to know now, the desire for an honest answer written across her expression with such strong strokes that it’s too painful to ignore.

  “We have been together before, we have fucked before, played before,” she assumes. “Jayson, were we lovers before all of this?”

  How am I supposed to give her an answer to this? It would be easy to be honest, but she won’t believe the truth. She wants to hear something I cannot give her. A lie.

  “No,” I reply truthfully. “I haven’t robbed you of that memory, Petal. That day after the caning, over in that room, that was the first time I fucked you.”

  She tries to distance herself from me, but I don’t let her, keeping her in a firm grip at the back of her head while a frown appears on her pretty face.

  “I told you I would never lie to you, Petal,” I urge. “I may refuse answers, yes, but I will never lie. We have never done this before, none of this.”

  “But then why...,” she stutters as her lower lip begins to tremble. “What did I see? I know there was something! I know you. We know each other, something has—”

  “What makes you so sure you can trust your visions?” I ask, interrupting her.

  She mewls, struggling again to escape me, but it’s as futile as before. Frustration runs down in heavy tears across her cheeks, despite her apparent efforts to prevent it.

  “It’s all I have,” she utters. “What else could they be, if not memories from the life you took from me?”

  “Memories can be contorted and deceiving.”

  “Not mine,” she insists. “Not mine.”

  I’m silently rooting for her. She tries. She’s fighting like few people ever could. She looks so fucking desperate, so exhausted from her constant struggle, and it pains me to hurt her like this.

  I know I can’t give her the comfort she so desperately seeks. Not right now. But a part of me wishes I could, and that part is growing stronger with each day. I wish I could tell her everything, hug her, and take her by the hand to lead her outside. I wish we could take that stroll through the garden that she asked for, I wish I could see the sun kiss her cheeks like it did that summer.

  But I can’t, now even less than before.

  Because things have been put into motion in the outside world, causing an insidious danger to close in on us.

  Chapter 15

  Petal

  She’s smiling when she enters my room today. That’s unusual.

  I’m sitting on the bench below the window, the duvet cover from the bed wrapped around my shoulders, occupied with nothing but my own thoughts. Jayson left the room without touching me today, another occurrence that’s out of the ordinary. He seemed distracted, even worried.

  I thought I could come up with something I could offer as a bargain for him to give me a taste of the outside world, but so far I haven’t been able to. After all, what can I give him other than myself? And why would he bargain for something he can take any time he wants? He owns me, all of me. What could I possibly give him?

  I reciprocate the girl’s smile, tentatively watching as she walks over to the table. The rose in the vase is starting to wilt visibly, and it saddens me every time I see it. I wonder if it will be exchanged with a new one eventually? Would I even want that?

  “I made the stew you like.”

  Hearing her voice startles me so much that I physically jerk up upon hearing it, fixating her with wide eyes after she placed the tray on the table. The smile on her face widens when she catches my gaze.

  “He’s out,” she explains. “He can’t hear us right now.”

  Out? He left the house? Does that mean...

  “So, you could let me out?” I ask, jumping up on my feet with such hurry that the duvet cover glides off of my shoulders.

  But the expression on the girl’s face changes right away. Her smile is replaced with an apologetic look when she shakes her head.

  “No, I can’t do that.”

  My heart sinks, but not as much as it would have a few days ago. There’s a sinister solace in knowing that I’m going to stay locked up in here. After all, this is all I know. Him. Her. This room. There’s no freedom of any kind, but this gilded prison provides something the outside world lacks: safety.

  The girl points to the stew on the table. “Don’t you want to eat while it’s still hot?”

  “Why can’t you let me out?” I probe, cautiously stepping closer. “Why is he keeping me here? And why are you working with him?”

  Her face is blank when she looks at me, and for a moment it looks like she regrets ever opening her mouth in the first place. She takes a step back, making it seem as if she’s about to hurry out the room, leaving me behind with unanswered questions once again.

  “Okay, okay, wait,” I say, holding up my hands in an appeasing manner. “Will you... stay and talk a little if I stop asking these questions?”

  Her face softens and she slowly suggests a nod. “For a little, yes.”

  We exchange another smile as I walk over to the table. I’ve always wondered why there are two chairs arranged around it because I always eat alone. Up until now, the rose has been my only company during meals.

  The girl hesitates for a moment, waiting for me to sit down before she reluctantly takes a seat in the other chair across the small table. I notice that she always tries to keep a certain distance between us, and can’t help but wonder why. Is she afraid that I might attack her? Does she worry I could hurt or threaten her in an attempt to get myself out of here?

  Is that what a brave person would do? Is that what I should do?

  I’ve never been provided with any cutlery other than a spoon, and the meals she’s been bringing me have always been the kind that wouldn’t require anything else. Sandwiches, toasts, soups and this particular stew. I’m pretty sure that this is not a coincidence or any sign for lack of cooking skills on her side.

  “Thank you,” I say, looking at the stew in front of me, but meaning so much more. Her willingness to keep me company means a lot to me, even if she refuses to help me or answer any of my most pressing questions.

  The enticing smell of the stew is curling beneath my nose and making my mouth water. I pick up the spoon, suddenly feeling a little awkward about her presence. We’re sitting in straining silence, our eyes flicking back and forth between each other and the tabletop between us. I want to talk to her so desperately, but I simply don’t know what to say. If I can’t ask anything, what else is there to say?

  Eventually, she’s the one who breaks the silence when I begin to eat.

  “How are you doing?” she asks, her voice low and laced with concern. “How are you feeling?”

  I throw her an empty look. “What do you think? How would you feel if you were me?”

  She swallows dryly, nodding while guilt overcasts her expression.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers, her eyelashes fluttering nervously as she tries to maintain eye contact with me. “I really am. You have no idea how sorry.”

  “Why did you show me that video?” I want to know. “You said you thought that it might make this easier for me, but...”

  “It didn’t?” She leans forward, arching her eyebrows with worry. “I thought if you knew that you’re safe you’d be less—”

  “Less scared, yes,” I finish her sentence. “But anxiety isn’t what torments me the most. Fear is such a one-dimensional emotion. It’s hard and distressing, but at least it sets a clear focus on something. You know what’s a lot worse?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Not knowing. Not knowing anything. Yes, maybe I’m here because I wished to be, but how can I be absolutely sure of that if I don’t recall making that choice? I’m completely lost and confused at everything that surrounds me. That’s the most terrible anguish,” I tell her, lowering my head. “Everything. Good or bad.”

  “So...,” she utters, her shoulders moving up to her ears as she tenses up. “So, good things have happened since you woke up? Is he... being nice to you?”

  Our eyes lock onto each other, hers laced with coy question while I hope she can’t notice the feeble embarrassment that washes over me as I recall the things that transpired between me and Jayson. The way he hurts me, the way he owns everything I am—and how much I crave it. I feel the same warm tingling deep inside my core every time I recall these things, and the way my body reacts fills me with shame as much as want.

  “You don’t have to tell me,” the girl says, diverting her eyes. “I don’t need to know details. I just...”

  She sighs heavily. “I just need to know that this is all worth it.”

  “Worth it?” I probe.

  She looks caught, shaking her head violently as she waves me off. “Never mind. Forget what I said.”

  I huff. “I’m sorry, I have too much memory space left to forget anything that’s said to me these days.”

  My words make her chuckle. “You haven’t lost your sarcasm. That’s for sure.”

  The smile on my face is weak and burdened with the sad lack of memory. Her words are yet another hint at the history we must share, a history that must be deep and meaningful—and I can’t remember a single thing about it.

  “Will you tell me your name?” I ask, knowing that I’m stepping into dangerous territory.

  She smiles weakly, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, no.”

  I nod, unsure what to respond.

  She stays with me, watching, but barely saying anything while I eat the stew she made for me. A stew that’s heavy with memory and meaning. I don’t know the entire truth behind it, but at least I can feel it, the familiarity, the warmth of a home I don’t remember. If we didn’t look so different, I would almost assume her to be a relative, a sister maybe. I must have a family, too. People who love me, who possibly miss me and are out there looking for me. It’s weird that none of my vague visions seemed to be about them. Do I still have parents? Where are they? And what do they think where I am? Are they suffering because of my disappearance right now?

  Or is there just...nobody?

  Would she tell me about any of this, if I dared to ask? Probably not. I’m discouraged before I even try, marked by too many rejections.

  “I asked him to let me outside,” I say, thinking of the most recent instance when I was denied a simple request. “Just for a little while, just to see the sun.”

  Her eyes follow me as I get up, turning away from her as I walk to the window.

  “There’s a tiny little crack up here,” I say, climbing on top of the bench. “It’s so small that I didn’t see it at first, but it’s there. Just big enough to let in a blink of light, and even some air.”

  I get up on my toes, stretching up as far as I can to point at the upper right corner of the boarded window.

  “It’s here, I can see a hint of light when I hold my hand up like this,” I say, balancing on top of the bench as I turn my head, my eyes trailing over my shoulder back to her. “I was so excited when I found this. You have no idea. It’s pathetic. I can’t even actually see anything, but just being able to tell the difference between day and night...”

  I stop my rambling when I notice the change on her face. She’s no longer looking up at my face as I speak to her. Her gaze has traveled downward, locking on to my body, my upper thighs to be precise. I’m wearing a white nightgown, like always. The pieces change as I’m provided with new ones, differing in decor and detail, but the style is always the same, and they all end above my knees, thus barely hiding the marks he left on me. They have been there for days, adorning most of my backside with a pattern in diverse colors, blue and red shaking hands as they kiss my skin. They don’t hurt much and I have long gotten used to the sight, even wearing them with pride as they speak of my ability to endure their imprint.

  But she has never seen them before.

  And it’s obvious that they tell a different story to her.

  Chapter 16

  J

  I haven’t been summoned to see him this time, but I drove up to the station on my own accord. What Malia told me is reason enough to go for a preemptive strike before it’s too late.

  Something about the way the police—or Christopher—is proceeding, is odd. Very odd. I’ve never liked the guy, but after our last conversation, this feeling of animosity has reached a new level. It’s understandable that Petal’s disappearance would touch him on a personal level, given that he’s probably still hoping to be granted a different role in her life.

  But his recent moves don’t make sense. We were smart enough to lay out traces that could lead the search for her in a certain direction, suggesting that she might have moved back to California. There was even a letter, written by herself before we began the procedure. Malia made sure that it was placed in a location where her father would find it, but up until now, that letter has never been mentioned, neither to her nor to me. Did they never find it? Or is it a deliberate decision to keep this as a disclosed part of the investigation? I would understand if I wasn’t among those who were told about it, but Malia? Her best friend?

  I can’t be sure whether Christopher knows about the letter and chooses not to tell us about it, or whether he’s simply ignorant to its existence. The latter could be possible, as I wouldn’t put it past Robert to keep the letter to himself after he found it. He’d never admit any failure in regard to his precious daughter, and the letter doesn’t shine a good light on him.

  I’ve asked Malia to pay him a visit, something that’s long overdue anyway. There’s a much bigger chance for her to get to the truth than there is for me.

  I, on the other hand, need to figure out what’s going on with Christopher. That’s why I’m here.

  He wasn’t happy about my call, acting dismissive and reluctant at first, before he did a one-eighty, seeming a little too eager to speak to me in person. He seems insecure and strained all the time. How this guy could ever succeed as a policeman and even be promoted to detective at such a young age is beyond me. I blame it on the constant struggle of our small-town department and its lack of suitable recruitment.

  “Come in.”

  His muffled response to my knock is as sullen as the face that welcomes me. He refrains from shaking my hand this time and just beckons for me to take a seat opposite of his ridiculously large desk.

  “I gotta admit, I was surprised by your call,” he begins, casting me a look across the table that’s laced with annoyance. “But guess it turns out for the better, as I was going to call you in soon, anyway. This just speeds up the process.”

  “Is that so,” I respond, crossing my legs as I lean back. “What for?”

  He shakes his head. “We’ll get to that. You called. Said you had something you’d like to discuss? About her, I assume?”