We Were One Once Book 1 (13 page)

I stand up, putting my hand
out to her. “Coming with me now, Grace, you’ll be leaving behind
whatever life you have here. You won’t be returning…at least, I can
promise you won’t return as the same woman you are now.” She lowers
her head, but not before I see her look blank once more. I give her
all the time she needs to think.

This
is
what I wanted, to have her come to
me willingly. It’s a different kind of challenge, one I’ve had
before but not quite like this, not quite like her. I’ve never been
honest with a girl before, not before I have her in chains anyway.
And my products have always been for sale—for others, trained to
others’ tastes. I’ve not truly given myself such a present before.
I’ve used and abused, taken and trained, then tossed aside quickly
every girl I’ve been with since Raquel. This would be
different.

Train Grace to keep her?
Train her to my sole desires? I smile at the challenge. I don’t
think the girl exists that can meet my specifications. But
Grace…maybe. She’s already so broken, obviously. That’s a part of
the challenge though, isn’t it?

When she looks up at me
again, her eyes are wide and almost child-like, her mouth is a
little open, lips wet. She’s truly exquisite. She slowly reaches
with her hand to place it in mine, and I gently pull her up to me.
In a faraway voice that matches her look, “Let’s go.”

I pull her to me a little
more. I lift her chin with one finger, pushing her head back to a
severe angle, like in the black and white movies my grandfather
loved when the hero would smash his lips against the girl and her
head would be painfully shoved into submission. “I want to be clear
with you, Grace. I’m not playing a game. I’m not pretending or
fantasizing. I’ve never been this honest with a woman before.” She
still looks faraway, like a soft lens has been used to soften every
part of her, not unemotional but almost.

“When I say I won’t be
nice…it’s closer to the truth to say that I will be cruel. I’m not
offering you safety or love; I’m not offering you romance with
tender kisses. What I offer most consider sadistic and brutal; the
best of what I offer is my respect if you can be what I want, what
I demand.”

She slowly reaches with her
other hand up to my neck, and I allow her to pull my head down
towards hers. The completed picture of the movie kiss, our lips
press firmly together. Before she lets go of my neck, she whispers,
“Aren’t all men cruel and brutal in their own way?”

I grin close to her lips,
rubbing my nose against hers. “Not all are as good at it as I am,
sweetheart.”

I pull back to look into
her eyes one more time. I was prepared to take her last year. I was
ready to steal her away from her life, albeit a small life. I was
ready to torture her, force her into submission. Somehow, to take
her to be mine, I want her compliance; I want her willing
submission right from the start. If she’s to be mine, she needs to
understand that this has always been her fate.

“What I don’t offer you is
a choice. I don’t offer you a right to choose what happens to you.
You’ve not had that choice for a while, even if you didn’t know it.
I only want to know that you understand that we leave here now,
together…and you have chosen this by your every action, by your
very being, Grace, since I first noticed you. Do you understand
that?”

She nods, still with the
faraway, dreamy smile on her face. “I’ve never had choices. I
wouldn’t know what they look like.” She pats my cheek gently, her
voice becoming even more airy, eerie, “And I know you don’t have
any choice either, Simon. You are who you are, and we will be what
we will be. Maybe we will have what we need finally…in the
end.”

I let go of her hand and
grab her arm hard like before, in the same spot so I know it will
hurt her—a taste of what’s to come. Her dreamlike face doesn’t
change though, not even when I yank her out of this apartment and
out of this life.

Seattle: Miles
Vanderson

I knew Gillian wasn’t a
normal teenager when I met her that first winter. She wasn’t the
usual girl with friends and interests when I saw her on my frequent
visits after that either. She was always hiding behind her
straight-faced, smooth exterior around people, always being exactly
the perfect child that was expected of her.

Gillian became more with
me. In time, I was able to crack through the ice she showed to
others. Or rather, I was able to get inside those cracks. I smile
in the dark with this thought. Yes, that’s more accurate. Gillian
had many cracks in her mind, and I got through them all eventually.
I cracked her wide open and made her mine.

Gillian was always
affectionate with me, like she was that first time. It was always
in secret though. She’d find ways to touch me, entice me. She’d rub
her hand down my back as she’d come down the stairs to stand in
attendance at the door at the beginning of a party. She’d put her
finger in my mouth as she’d lean over to say good night. She’d lift
her skirt to reveal just the hint of her underwear when we were
alone. She would dance in front of the fire so I could see her body
through her thin clothing. All in secret, it became our
game.

I found more reasons to be
at home, just to be near her so I could play our wicked games. I no
longer waited for her to do something. I would tell her what to do,
and she did it. I became bolder, more demanding, as the months wore
on, and she did exactly as I told her to do. It was my first taste
of the power that I would come to crave.

I didn’t touch her, not
exactly, only indulging over her clothes. I would make her stay
perfectly still while I touched her in the gentlest ways. I’d graze
her stomach, her new breasts, her back, her legs, and once, between
her legs, under her skirt but over her underwear. I made her put
that pair of pink panties under my pillow, all in
secret.

I stayed away for months
after that. I kept the underwear hidden inside a pair of socks in
the back of my drawer, but I kept away from her. I tried to stay
away as well, but I was weak with longing for her.

I know it isn’t the usual
fairytale story of romance, but Gillian
did
need my love. She needed me there.
She needed a protector.

I saw what her mother did
to her. Gillian never broke her silence, not even when I saw it
with my own eyes. She never admitted the bruises and welts were
Anya’s doing. Gillian was very good at keeping secrets by then.
That first year of getting to know each other, I would only gently
touch a bruise or other angry mark, and she would just smile,
letting me.

It wasn’t until the next
Christmas, when I couldn’t stay away any longer, that things
changed.

Father and Anya had been
away on business trips for weeks before. It took all of my
restraint to stay away while I knew Gillian was home alone. I knew
our games were heading down a path that I couldn’t stop though. All
I could do was stay away.

I’d surprised the household
staff by arriving earlier than expected for that second Christmas
break. I was excited to see Gillian again. I wanted to show her the
present I’d brought for her. I was determined to make up for our
lost time. I was going to start fresh with her.

I’d reasoned with myself
that when she was older, we could have a real relationship; I just
needed to wait for her. I loved her. I would’ve waited a million
blue moons for her if it meant we could truly be together, that our
love wouldn’t need to be a secret forever. I was a fool in
love.

I asked the cook where Mrs.
Vanderson was, and I was told she thought Anya had gone out for a
drive since the sun had melted the ice off the roads for the first
time in days. I knew Father was still at the office and wasn’t
expected for hours. It was my chance to see Gillian alone before
the holiday parties and family gatherings.

I raced up to her room, not
bothering to knock when I heard her muffled voice inside. She was
the only one who knew I was arriving that day, and I had told her I
wanted to see her right away. She knew I had news to share with
her.

The scene I walked in on is
one that has haunted me even to this day. It changed the course of
our lives. Even now I shudder with the memory of it. It was the
first time I saw Gillian fully nude.

And Anya had clearly just
beaten her, my beautiful naked Gillian. There was a belt in Anya’s
hand still, raised and ready to be lowered again. Gillian was on
her knees before her mother. Anya was sitting on the bed with her
legs spread.

The looks on their faces
are perpetually frozen in my mind. Perhaps, because they were both
still for so long, each not moving from their spots in the room.
The belt sagged, but Anya’s arm remained raised. I, too, stood
frozen in the doorway.

My memory tricks me. It’s a
dreadful game I play with myself because I know we each moved, and
quickly at that, but I remember the details as though we were
locked in place, made statuesque by the moment we were caught
in.

Gillian’s face rises like a
ghost before my eyes now. She had two tear-stained streaks running
down her white cheeks, but her eyes were free of any tears. Her
gaze held its usual unreadable darkness as she turned her head
towards me. The icy stare she hid behind didn’t change. Her long
dark hair was trained into a thick braid so all of her body was
laid bare. I could see the belt marks that crossed almost every
inch of her back, butt and stomach. She was already black and blue
in places, but Anya had taken care not to hit her anywhere that
would be seen once she was clothed again. She always
did.

Anya’s face was the
opposite. Her eyes were electric with rage and insanity. Her cheeks
flushed with it. Her chest rose and fell quickly. Her underwear was
abandoned on the floor next to Gillian; her dress was pulled up
high to her waist. I could see her excitement. Her voice broke the
spell.

I open my eyes, seeing only
my darkened bedroom again. The flashbulb images of years ago are
still making my heart race though. I’ve given up trying to
understand what happened next. I’ve given up trying to seek
forgiveness. It happened as it was going to happen. Fate or karma,
I was doomed the moment I opened that door, the moment Anya spoke
my name and told me to close the door behind me.

I was doomed, after all,
the moment I stepped into the library the year before that and saw
a young girl crying from the abuse her mother did in
secret.

Anderson Valley: Simon
Lamb

I always love this drive.
It’s fast and winding, through fields and hills, past towns built
by one thing—grapes. The vines are heavy. Shiny strips of ribbon
flutter on the air above darkening fruit. The scent of roses
replaces the stench of the city. Warm sunshine replaces dense fog.
Earth and sky replace concrete and people. It’s not a long drive,
but it’s worlds away. And I always feel cleaner being
here.

Grace has been quiet, just
staring out the window as the miles pass. She hasn’t moved; I was
able to forget she was in the car with me. I’m glad that I chose
not to toss her in the trunk. I thought about it. It’s how I
usually bring a girl here. It’s how I usually take a girl from
here.

But then, the girls aren’t
meant for me, so it’s best if they don’t know where they’re going,
where they’ve been. Grace is unique. I don’t mind her seeing her
destination.