My Bullies, My Lovers

7: Tori

Tori

I turn my attention to Blaze and Ryder, finding them in the middle of a rock, paper, scissors battle. “I win.” Ryder wiggles his eyebrows happily as he stands.

At first I think that means he won the right to not have to show me to my room, but again, I'm wrong, as he grabs me by the arm and hauls me out. Why say I win, if it isn't something he's looking forward to doing?

“Ow.” I complain as I pull my arm out of his grip. “I can walk just fine without being pulled. Just lead the way.”

“Don't worry, KitKat, you'll soon be begging for me to touch you.” He winks at me, that stupid smirk back on his face as he leads the way up the clear stairs with black wrought-iron beams.

Doubtful. I don't voice it, needing to rest before I pick a fight. After the adrenaline dump, all my energy has been drained right out of me, almost like a giant vampire came and sucked it all away.

Ryder opens the second door to the right, turning the silver long knob down. The room is larger than mine and Alicia's combined, with floor to ceiling windows that line the south wall to give a full view of the zen garden below. It's like Mr. Miyagi's backyard on steroids, full of bonsai trees, a koi pond, and raked sand.

At least it's relaxing.

The bed is placed at the center of the room, the back of the headboard visible from the door. I need to change that immediately. I don't like the idea of not being able to see who is coming in.

Further to the right are two more doors, one I'm sure is to the ensuite and the other is more than likely a closet. The walls are decorated with small shelves that house living plants, giving it a small pop of color. There are pastel pink accents to match the apparent silk bedspread.

I internally cringe, wondering who decorated this room, or really who was staying here before me. Ryder doesn't gently guide me through the door the way Bren had earlier tonight. He grabs me by the hips possessively and pushes me to walk in front of him, placing me right beside the bed.

He turns me to face him so fast the room spins for a second longer than I do. Just as my head adjusts, he pushes me back so that I fall onto the bed with a slight bounce. I think he gets off on my fear by the way the corner of his lips push his cheeks up, catching the fright in my eyes.

“Keep that look and I won't touch you before you're ready.” He laughs as he nonchalantly leaves the room that will be my prison, closing the door behind him.

I stare at the ceiling, swirling with patterns from the glass chandelier that hangs over the foot of the bed. My bed. I'll have to get used to the idea of this being my room. With nothing else to do, because my phone is still sitting pretty on my nightstand at home, I open one of the two doors.

My assumptions are proved right as I open the one nearest the bed to find a large walk-in closet. I was wrong about one thing though…it's not empty. To the right hang shirts of all styles, material, and color with various pants, jeans, and joggers on the row beneath it. To the left are dresses, rompers, and even overalls, but what astonishes me the most is the fact that every piece of clothing is my size.

At the very back of the closet, on inclined shelves, are rows of shoes from heels to wedges to boots, and even converse I like. It doesn't stop there either. In each corner are small drawers, each with a set of jewelry I am sure is too real and too expensive to wear outside of this closet so casually. I close each drawer and back out as if moving anything would trip some silent alarm I'm unaware of.

None of this is mine, nor do I want it to be.

I shut the door and make my way to the next one, finding the ensuite as I had presumed. If I have to put a name on the theme of this bathroom, I'd say…rich. Every item is flashy, with muted gold marble floors, and tiled walls to accent it. The toilet has too many buttons to know what to do with, yet doesn't have the flusher on the side that I'm used to.

How the f**k am I supposed to do anything for them if I don't even know how to work a toilet in this house?

I wash my face and find a spare toothbrush in a drawer that I deem as my own even if it isn't meant to be, because f**k them for bringing me here without anything. Alicia will be so hurt and I can't even explain anything to her. What will Bren tell her? What will she think?

I give up on exploring after that and slide into the bed that feels like heaven. This mattress is the best thing I've ever laid my head on, and I've been on countless. Despite the fear, dread, guilt, and trauma of tonight, I fall right asleep.

***

“You're supposed to make the coffee, which means you should be the first one up.”

Blaze's voice wakes me from one nightmare into another as I recall last night's events. My captor stares down at me, all fine angles and mussed hair that seems almost purposeful with how fine it makes him look. I think I'm starring in my own k-drama at this point, just not as pleasant as most of them.

I bat away the sleepiness with each blink, adjusting my vision as I wake further. Blaze is shirtless, leaning against the white desk to the right of the room. My eyes trail down the portrait of tattoos along his sides and over his chest in an array of bright colors. It's as if his skin has come to life with art, symbols of his culture, phrases from the Iron Triad, and a dahlia flower that for one brief second I think is meant for me.

I washed that thought away as quickly as it came, knowing there'd be no way that he'd get a tattoo based off our singular deep conversation in the basement of the school when I'd found him in tears.

The very next day he stole my clothes from the locker room and chased me out of the school and into the woods past the football field.

“I assumed you didn't wake up until the sun set. You know? Since you're all life sucking monsters and all.” I throw in one of my fake smiles as I deliver my quip, taking the covers off me.

Whatever Blaze is going to retort with is stopped full force as his eyes catch sight of my clothing. The same dress I had on when they collected me. He squints at the sight as if it disgusts him to see the same clothes twice. In fact, I'm almost certain that he's never repeated an outfit in his life, or at least not since high school.

I wonder what he does with his old clothes.

“Did you not shower?” His lips curl as his nose crinkles as if I'm the dirtiest person on the planet.

“I don't exactly have my clothes here,” I retort with a roll of my eyes at his dramatics.

“For f***s sake, Icky.” He shakes his head at me as he makes his way across the room, opening the closet door. “Just because I call you Icky doesn't mean I want you to be gross. Did you not notice the closet full of clothes?”

“I'm not touching those.” I refuse, getting off the bed fully as if standing somehow gets my point across more clearly. “I'll wait for my things to arrive.”

“No, you won't.” He's commanding, argumentative as usual, stepping into the closet and coming out with a chosen outfit in hand thirty seconds later. “I'm not going to be seen with someone wearing thrift store buys.”

“I'll have you know I bought this brand new, not that there's anything wrong with thrift shopping.” I cross my arms, both offended and highly annoyed at his attitude. “I'm not your barbie doll to dress and play with.”

“That's exactly what you are, doll.” The name change irks me further, slapping myself mentally for walking into that one.

“f**k off.”

“I believe the terms were you do what we want when we want. You be what we want you to be.” He shoves the clothes into my chest, waiting for me to take it. “And right now I want you to be showered and dressed professionally. You're coming out with me this morning after you make some coffee and breakfast.”

I begrudgingly take the clothes from his hand, noting he chose a white blouse with puffed shoulder sleeves and turquoise pants that furl around the waist. It's professional yet casual, clothes I'd never normally wear. My nostril flare in frustration as I take a deep breath, shoving Blaze's shoulder with my own, pushing past him to the bathroom.

I place the clothes on a built in shelf with the towels, grabbing one of them and hanging it on the rack beside the shower. Waiting for the water to get to the perfect temperature, I slowly take my dress off, struggling as I lift my arms, pulling the bruised muscles on my side. I catch a glimpse of the mark in the mirror, seeing how black and purple it is, a nasty bruise for a nasty punch.

If that one punch hurts this much, how much pain is Bren in right now?

With that thought in mind, I feel wrong complaining, tossing my shirt at my reflection as hard as I can. I groan as I cause myself more pain, and the door immediate flies open. I try to cover myself up, but having had a dress on there's too much of me I need to cover.

Blaze's eyes zone in on the bruise, growing suddenly rigid at the sight of my injury. His jaw swivels as if he's chewing on something…maybe his own words. He exhales so heavily I swear I see steam leave his nostrils.

“Shower, but when you're done come out here in only your underwear.” He shuts the door before I can protest.

I jump in the shower that has the perfect water pressure and temperature, giving me the respite I so desperately need for a moment. Closing my eyes, I allow myself to enjoy these few short seconds before I wash myself.

When I shut the water off and dry myself, I notice the set of white lace bra and panties lying over my shirt and pants. I'm not even sure when he came in to place those there. Feeling violated, sure he'd seen it all—not that he hasn't before—I quickly get dressed, ignoring his direction to stay in only my undergarments.

When I open my bathroom door, I'm surprised to find him sitting on the corner of the bed waiting for me with a small ointment bottle in his hand. At the sight of me fully clothed his eyes blaze with fury, a fury he's unusually holding back on as he slowly stands.

“Take your shirt off,” is all he says, standing so close to me I have to tilt my chin up to look at him.

“No.”

“Too bad. You don't have a choice, doll.” He pinches at the hem of my shirt, pulling down on it and stretching the material.

“f**k off,” I spit back. I'm not going to undress just because he tells me to. I said anything, but I didn't have s****l assault in mind when I said it. That has never been their style before.

“For heaven's sake.” He huffs, blowing hot air down at me, fanning minty fresh breath into my lungs. “Just lift your shirt and turn.”

It's the first time Blaze has ever conceded even the slightest with me, so, too full of curiosity, I do what he says, turning and lifting my shirt midway up on my back. I flinch as his fingers gently touch the tender, injured area, rubbing in whatever ointment he has in his hand. The scent of witch hazel and aloe vera mingle in the air as the pain eases beneath his fingertips.

He massages the large bruise for so long I almost fall asleep on my feet, jarred when he abruptly stops, remembering who he’s being kind to. I let my shirt fall back over my skin, straightening up as if I hadn't been enjoying his touch. When I turn I find the same old Blaze, the Blaze I know. Cold, calm, and cocky.

“Time to get to work.”

And God did I.