"Clearly, you just want to bitch. So bitch away."
Closing my eyes, I see Troy watching me. I'm never sure what he's thinking, but I've always sucked at reading people. The first time I saw Locke after he removed the blindfold, I believed he might help me. I'm too easily fooled by a smile or soft glance.
Even after all those months under his thumb, I didn't know Locke any better than I did the first day. He was crazy and cruel. Otherwise, the monster remained a mystery.
Is Troy any easier to read? I want his gaze on me to mean something special. I hope his smile indicates he's a good man. His mood in the elevator might promise a desire beyond nailing the weak woman he's paid to protect. Everything I imagine could easily be the fantasies of a desperate mind and a broken heart.
Life was easy before Locke. After I ran from him, I stumble along waiting for him to claim and punish me. Troy offers me the perfect fantasy of an unbearably sexy man who will kill my tormentor and heal my soul.
Fantasy or not, I want to believe. I crave the lies even more than the darkness I'd embraced for weeks. Except without the darkness, I see the lies for what they truly are. Troy is just a man. I am just his client. Even if he somehow finds me attractive under all these sweats, his interest will last only as long as the job does. I can't be fixed, not by Troy or the therapist or a million tiny pills.
I refuse to be Rose, but I can't be the old Darla anymore either.
14
~~~
Darla
Reality Destroys My Sweet Lies
Shelley puts up with my bad mood for as long as she can before ditching me for her happy home. She's a good sister to make the effort. I often wonder if I'd be capable of her strength if the roles were reversed. Had Locke stolen her rather than me from the cruise, would I have raised her children for those months she went missing? Could I have supported Vern? Shelley remained strong while still living her life without me. I doubt I'd have handled myself with such dignity. I suspect my days would have involved much more crying and moping.
After Shelley leaves, I remain in the living room with Minka. She doesn't speak much. I sense she knows I'm in a bad mood and chooses to give me space. Minka's smart that way.
I take a sleeping pill around nine to ensure my bad mood doesn't last all night. Thirty minutes later, my eyes close and remain shut. Twice, I wake up to use the bathroom. Both times, I look into the living room to find Minka. She's alert enough to notice my quiet presence. Our gazes meet each time before I return to bed. Minka makes me feel safe but does nothing to improve my mood.
After returning to bed at four, I dream of Troy. Our naked bodies move easily together. My fingers explore his chest. His fingers explore mine. Everything is hot but not frenzied. I'm comfortable in the dream. Wanting more, I take more. His lips seek my flesh, so I give him my flesh. His cock doesn't steal from me but brings us both pleasure. Sex in the dream goes on and on, perfect the way it's never been in real life. Not with my only two lovers and certainly not with Locke's sick needs.
Waking up, I can't reach the shower fast enough. My sweaty skin crawls with the memories of the too vivid dream. I scrub away the feel of Troy from my body, leaving my skin red and tender. Rather than feel better, I sit in the shower and sob.
I felt warm and safe in the dream with Troy, so why did I scrub away his touch? Now I'm numb and empty again. How is this better than being scared and overwhelmed?
Having heard the shower, Minka checks on me. I tell her I'm fine. Even a stupid person could tell I was lying, and Minka isn't stupid. She asks if I want to call my sister. I sob no. She asks if I want my pills. Again, I decline. I want something I can't have, but Minka won't understand.
I'm in the shower for an hour or more. Skin puckered, I stumble out eventually and find a pair of sweats to keep me warm in the cold apartment. The bed reminds me of my dream, so I crawl into the corner chair and try to think of a time before Locke and Troy.
Nothing calms me. I'm not the girl from my faded memories. The very fact that they're faded reminds me of why so much of my past is lost. Locke ruined my mind with his electric shock and drugs. Maybe those memories will return. More likely, they're gone forever.
The past leaves me heartbroken. The present makes me miserable. The future feels impossible. The only option is to take a tranquilizer until I'm so lost in the darkness that nothing else matters.
"Miss me?" Troy says, entering the room like a beacon of light in the anesthetized darkness of my mind.
Without thinking, I jump out of the chair and plaster myself against him. Troy wraps his arms quickly around me and caresses my hair.
"I'll take that as a yes," he whispers.
"I'm sorry."
"For what?"
Unable to tell Troy that I regret washing away the feel of him, I mumble, "I can't explain."