Layla
I shouldn’t love Dalton’s dominance and force as much as I do. My ears are still ringing with his praise as I spend the next several hours tending to my aunt. She’s sleeping soundly, peacefully. All of her stats are still in the green. I read over Bailey’s notes, which she’d written on a notepad instead of typing them into the tablet. When we decided to take her off the two suspicious medications, we’d hatched a plan. We’re going to take notes on paper, something we can hide or destroy so it doesn’t fall into Vera’s hands.
I don’t know Vera well enough to say she has a good handle on her pharmaceutical knowledge, but she’s been a nurse for decades according to Bailey. I’m under the impression she’ll notice we switched out the IV medication for saline and the pills Aunt Penny already struggles to swallow for sugary placebos.
But we have to try. Something must be done.
I watch Aunt Penny sleeping as I tidy up the supplies I used to change out her IV port. Is she still there somewhere, beneath the haze of antipsychotics? Does she have any idea what’s going on around her or what’s been done to her?
I glance down at my watch. It’s just after 3:00 A.M., and the house around me is quiet. My eyes are heavy as I slowly shut her bedroom door and turn toward the stairs with a handful of supplies, then stop, looking down into the beckoning shadows.
Dalton said he’d find me again tonight. My core aches with excitement every time I think about it, but hours have passed since our encounter in the kitchen. He also told me not to wander in the house at night; he demanded that of me, in fact.
I have to discard my sharps downstairs. I’m not going to sit around with a pile of needles all night. There’s a difference between wandering and doing my job.
I huff out a breath and look around, half expecting him to jump out of the shadows the second my foot hits the top step, but I’m met with silence.
The house is calm tonight. The storm passed us by miles, leaving nothing but a steady rain in its wake. There’s no thunder or lightning shattering the sky tonight. Just rain, and silence, and a calm energy that puts me at ease as I descend the stairs.
I turn on the light to the supply room and discard the sharps. I pull the computer chair over to the plastic table in the center of the room and take my notes from the evening. There’s nothing to report to Bailey at this point. It’s our first day weening Penny off her useless medications, anyway.
Like we’d agreed earlier in the day, I slip the notepad under a specific box of bandages on the very bottom shelf and turn out the light, walking into the foyer with the intention of getting a few hours of sleep, but a figure moves in the living room.
Cast in shadow, I can’t see Dalton’s face, but I know it’s him based on his build. Unlike the night with the storm, I’m not afraid. That had been a delusion I’d made up in my mind because of the storm. This is real.
He moves to the gramophone on the far side of the room, and through the faint porch light drifting through the window, I catch his hand pressing the needle down on the record.
“I hate this song,” I say, my voice echoing through the empty shadows between us. “St. James Infirmary” scratches to a start, the jazzy chords choking the room.
“I don’t care,” Dalton whispers, his voice void of emotion.
I swallow, his cold tone making me slightly uneasy. I’ve noticed that Dalton doesn’t hide his anger or frustration. If he’s upset with me, it’s clear.
This ice in his voice is new.
I’ve really pissed him off, I guess, having gone against his direct orders and came downstairs at night.
“I know you told me not to wander around the house, but I needed to dispose of the sharps. I know it seems… trivial to you, but imagine–imagine being told you can’t wash your paintbrushes off when you’re done with them, Dalton. You put me in an impossible situation.”
“Come here,” he says sternly.
I bristle at his tone and take three steps into the living room.
“Closer.”
I shake my head, and his rough laugh echoes over the music.
I move to the side, resting my hand on top of the jet-black grand piano toward the entrance of the room, the surface cool to the touch. I’m tired, not thinking straight.
He slowly moves in on me, each step totally silent. It sends a shiver up my spine, especially as he crosses a beam of porch light drifting through the curtains that does nothing to light up his face.
I step back in sudden fear, my heart beats quickening.
He chuckles low, the sound rising over the music as he comes to stop only two feet away from me. “Are you afraid of me, Layla?”
“Sometimes.”
“Hmm….” He edges closer, leaning down and reaching out to tap one of the piano keys. The chord rings through the air over the song. “You’re unique, Layla. Your fear lights a fire within you, but not one meant for survival. No… for you, it begs you to submit, doesn’t it?”
My throat tightens when he grazes his knuckles over my arm.
“It’s why you didn’t fight back against the doctor, isn’t it?”
I try to pull away from him, but he grabs my throat. I freeze.
“I don’t like this,” I rush out. “I don’t want to play–”
“I wasn’t asking.” He growls, and then he’s pressing me against the side of the piano, leaning over me. He doesn’t kiss me, but he continues to squeeze my throat until I gasp. Through the hazy shadows covering his face, all I can see is the glint of his teeth as he smiles wickedly at me.
He reaches for me, roughly shoving one of his hands down my pants, and strokes my center. Grinning madly, he pulls his hand out and lifts it up to the shreds of light hanging in the air. My wetness gleams on his fingers. “I was right.”
I barely have a second to catch my breath before he’s pulling my pants down.
I should stop him. I should say something now that he’s pushing me against the piano and lifting me up. I wrap my legs around his waist as the smooth piano cools my back. I’m not sure I like this. I should say no, I should say the way his fingers tangle in my hair hurts, but I don’t. I shouldn’t feel like this–-I shouldn’t love this thrill of being hunted and chased through the dark and taken by force, but I do, and I trust him not to hurt me.
But when he climbs on top of me and thrusts his massive cock inside of me, it hurts. I try to pull away, but he clutches me tighter, his fingers digging into my waist. “Is this what you want, Layla?” He grunts, pushing all of his weight into me. I choke out a moan, my legs already trembling.
“You’re a filthy slut,” he rasps in my ear. “The way you grip my cock–God–” He groans, planting one hand on the top of the piano as he slams into me again and again.
This is punishment. I’ve been bad. I didn’t listen to him.
“Come for me,” he commands through gritted teeth.
“I–I–” I’m not there yet. I can feel it building but… I need more.
He grabs my throat, squeezing hard enough to steal my breath. “Come. For. Me.”
I feel myself slipping into unconsciousness, my lungs screaming for air. “D-Dalton–I can’t breathe–”
He has me pinned beneath him. I can’t move. I’m losing my grip on reality as the muscles in my legs strain with each of his thrusts. Despite it all, my building climax explodes, that tension that’d been pooling in my core for hours now giving way and flooding my body with tidal waves of pleasure.
He chuckles right in my ear as he pulls out, yanking me off the back of the piano with him. I land on my knees yelping with pain.
“You didn’t deserve that, you whore. The next time I catch you with another man, you’ll pay for it with more than your cunt.”
Shock ripples through me, my fingertips prickling with adrenaline as my chest tightens around his words. I’ve never heard him like this. His fury penetrates the very air I’m desperately trying to gulp down as he rises above me and simply walks away, disappearing into the shadows of the dining room.
It takes several minutes to find my bearings. Shaking, I pull my pants up, my heart heavy with shame and confusion. I stumble to the couch and sit down, wincing at the pain between my thighs.
Tears begin to slide down my cheeks as I lie down on my side, tucking my hands between my legs.
The house falls into total silence. The rain tapers off. The storm clouds part, and right before I fall asleep, I catch a glimpse of the stars.
When I wake, I’m back in my own bed. It’s too early for the sun to be up, and my room is cast in shadow brought on by my bedside lamp, which is on. How did I get here?
I sit up, blinking into the shadows.
My alarm goes off. It’s 6:00 A.M.. Time for Aunt Penny’s medications.
I change into fresh scrubs. My inner thighs are bruised, and my throat aches. My eyes are puffy from crying as I glance at my reflection in the mirror for a split second before looking away in shame.
I thought I loved Dalton’s dominance, but he’s never degraded me before. He’s never made me feel worthless.
It hurts more than I’d like to admit.
I walk out into the hallway and turn to shut my door when footsteps sound in the stairwell leading to the third floor.
Dalton comes into view, his eyes bright and… pleased to see me. He even gives me a soft, cocky smile as he passes me in the hallway, turning to look at me over his shoulder while resting his hand on the banister leading down to the first floor. “Thank you,” he says.
“For what?” I say, my words wobbling as I refuse to meet his eyes.
“For not wandering around last night. I’m not trying to be mean or–I understand you’re a nurse, and your supplies are downstairs–”
I meet his eyes, my body going numb. “What are you talking about?”
“I came to find you last night and you were already asleep. I wanted to apologize for what I said in the kitchen. I just don’t want you…. This house is dangerous at night, Layla. You know what I’m talking about now.” He pauses, shaking his head. “I didn’t want to wake you up, but I am sorry.”
My stomach bottoms out. “But we–we talked in the living room last night. We–”
The look on his face cuts me to my core. His eyes darken, and his jaw flexes. “I wasn’t in the living room last night. I went to my room shortly after I left you in the kitchen.” His eyes flare with sudden concern and then a kind of rage I’ve never seen from him before, but it’s not directed at me. He takes a step toward me, his voice dropping an octave. “What’s happened, Layla?”
“I can’t–” I shake my head, my senses going haywire. He reaches for me, but I brush past him, walking swiftly to my aunt's door.
“Layla!”
I close myself into my aunt's room and lean on the door, fighting for breath. Tears sting my eyes. I try to blink them away, focusing on the ceiling.
Dalton exhales sharply and curses under his breath before his footsteps sound out in the hallway. He stops in front of the door, and for a moment, I imagine him clenching and unclenching his fists before his footsteps start up again and recede out of earshot.
I can’t make sense of what happened last night. He’d been there. He’d talked to me, then pressed me to the piano and fucked me with no feeling whatsoever. He’d called me names, told me I deserved the pain he inflicted, and then left me there on the floor.
And now?
Now I’m wondering if I dreamt it up, that I let my mind slip back into that dark place I was in only a few nights ago during the storm.
I take a few moments to center myself.
Then I turn to my aunt whose eyes are open and fixed on the window.