Having had the best six days of my life, I’ve pushed aside any lingering guilt. Now, though, it seems as if I have found something besides sex and time to interest her.
I lean against my burgundy colored wall, one booted sole resting against it. My arms are folded. Although I have space in here, I don’t have a lot of furniture. My big bed. Two night stands and a small table with four chairs. I don’t stop her when she begins to open doors to my simple walk-in closet, that arcs into the comfortably-sized bathroom, with a Roman style shower—no bathtub—and leads to a bigger, empty closet on the other side. It takes her through the sitting room with a sofa, a bar, and a big screen television, before bringing her back to me.
“At home,” she begins, “the house I grew up in is beautiful. But it’s cold. It has no life. No joy. Just beauty.” Her voice catches. “Sometimes, the most exquisite creature hides the ugliest soul.” She clutches her shirt and shifts. “I think that’s why I didn’t like your receiving room. It’s gorgeous, but it’s heartless.”
“I understand,” I tell her gravely. Because I do. I smile thinly. “Why do you think I meet my father in there? The room suits the man.”
She swallows and licks her lips. “You don’t get along with him?”
Pushing my hands in my pockets, I shove away from the wall. “What did your magazines and internet reports say?” I already know, but I want to hear the lies my father manufactured from her.
“That you’re an only child and you had an ideal childhood, so it was inconceivable why you turned—“
Her words stop abruptly. She draws her brows together.
I tip her chin up and caress her jaw. “Why I turned to drugs?” I finish for her.
“Yes.”
“Do you want the truth, Georgie? Are you ready for it?”
“Is it so bad?”
I brush my lips against hers and laugh with bitterness. “It’s worse.”
“Tell me.”
I guide her to the sitting room and pour myself a drink. I need fortification for this. She listens avidly as I tell my story, her various emotions flitting across her face with each new revelation. Pity. Pain. Outrage. Disgust. Anger. And what I’ve felt for so long—sadness.
When I’m done, she leans back on the sofa and pulls me to her, silently offering me her body for comfort. I have to break her of the habit, because it’s as much to give herself relief, as it is for me.
So far I’ve kept her away from drugs and alcohol, and I’ve stopped her from swearing like a goddamn sailor. I’m also keeping her occupied, and out of sight. What I’m failing horribly at, is keeping my dick to myself. Suddenly, sharing such a painful part of my life with her alters our relationship.
I sink into her, and she sighs. I finger the hair growing back on her cunt. I think I’ll kill Crowell once and for all if she ever shaves her pubic hair back into the style he dictated. I didn’t tell her that, though. I only mention that I want to pick a style for my enjoyment.
She comes hard against me. I remember to pull out of her at the last minute, spurting on her pussy mound. After we’re finished, I carry her to the shower and make love to her once more.
Chapter Twenty Three
Cassandra
I grip the window sill as I stare out at the rolling green fields. Not too far away is a wooden fence that leads to a gazebo. In the weeks I’ve been at the facility, I’ve never ventured out of the room. Part of it is rebellion, and part of it is fear. Although I’m angry and resentful that I was put away, the only thing I’m responsible for is me. Eat. Brush my teeth. Decide if I’ll speak to my psychiatrist. Ignore the staff. Wait for Parnell’s daily call.
And…humor my mother. I now wear silk nightclothes. Mother’s doing. She knows the importance of a well-groomed appearance. My expensive clothes sets me apart from the wannabes of the world.
A bird swoops past the window. I follow its flight, lunging to the ground, but soaring up just before it lands. Mother’s droning voice has silenced. I turn. Her shrewd gaze makes me flinch.
“One more week,” she informs me, “before you’re released.”
“So kind of you,” I tell her sarcastically. “Throw me in without my permission and yank me away in the same manner.”
She snorts. “You needed help.”
“Well, I’ve gotten it, and surprise, it’s become my sanctuary.”
“Oh, please. It’s time for you to reenter the world. Kia will bring a few pants suits for you to choose from, for you to wear on the day you’re released.”
“Why would your stylist bring me wardrobe choices?” I’m completely confused. My main concern is getting home to my husband. He’s showing the concern towards me that he did when we first met. “I don’t expect to run into anyone.”
“You’ll only run into everyone.”