Leighton Mia - Hero

In the shower, I fantasize about Hero breaking in this morning and pulling Calvin off of me. They fight as I scream, stripped and shaking like a leaf. Their bodies are a blur of fists and muscle as they wrestle each other to the ground. I want Hero to pin Calvin to the floor and beat him within an inch of his life, but my mind won’t conjure it. Calvin is so powerful, so strong; I can feel it in his every sinewy movement. I’m not sure even Hero can defeat him.

I skip to the end, where Hero leaves Calvin bloody and mangled on the hardwood floor. He whisks me away into the sunshine, but even in make believe, I turn around and look back.

Frustration drives my fist against the tile. I practically begged for him last night, the bastard. After he left, I lay aching in the bed, wishing he would come back and follow through with his threat to fuck me.

Even now I burn with curiosity for his kiss. Would it be rough and fast like everything else he’s done to me so far? Or have I not seen that part of him because it’s sweet and gentle? Meant for someone who isn’t just an object?

I laugh aloud, a mirthless sound that echoes through the bathroom. Sweet and gentle were things I thought he might be before I learned the truth. Before I met the monster in the mansion.

I towel off and change for breakfast. Downstairs, Norman serves me quietly and with downcast eyes. I wonder how much he knows, how much he’s . . . seen. Disgust for Calvin and even for myself, for the way I acted, overcomes me when I think of the cameras in my room.

When I’ve eaten and Norman reaches to clear my plate, I put my hand on his wrist. He freezes, his eyes fixed on the tablecloth. “I’m okay, Norman,” I say.

He doesn’t return my gaze but nods once. I’m not okay, but for some reason, I need him to believe that I am. He starts when loud ringing fills the room. This happens randomly every day or so, and as always, he rushes to one of the locked rooms without a word.

Back on my cushioned sill, I’m staring out the locked window when Rosa knocks. I smile dully at her as she cleans. I sit motionless until she’s finished, calling her name before she leaves the room. “Can you wash the sheets?”

Her forehead creases, and she shrugs. I stand and walk to the bed where I pinch the sheets between my fingers. With too much irritation, I repeat, “Sheets? Can you wash them?”

Recognition lights up her face, and she beams while nodding. But as understanding hits, her dark brown eyes cloud. She glances at the bed and back at me, flattening her palm over her heart. I have to look away.

As she strips the bed, I race by her to find my escape, my solace, my outdoors. It’s the one place I can be anyone but myself. I choose a book in the library without even looking and fall into my chair.

“This isn’t fucking.”

“Make yourself come.”

“Dance.”

I hurl the book at the wall. Can’t he let me have this one sliver of peace? He’s infiltrating my moments of escape like a vengeful snake, slithering into my thoughts and claiming me from the inside out. I can’t stop him from taking my body, but my mind and my heart? How can I give those up? They’re the only things in my control, the only things I’m able to protect. Because if I let him in, let him steal my focus, then I have no chance of ever leaving this place. And that’s the only thing I want. It’s life or death that I fight with every ounce of myself not to let him take those things from me.

* * *

It’s the mention of Hero that draws me out of my trance. I gave up on reading hours earlier and moved from the library to the den to plant myself in front of the TV. I thought I was watching a sitcom, but now the news is on. The last moments of Hero’s latest feat, running into a burning home and rescuing an entire family, are captured in a dizzy blur of fiery footage. Hero carries a child over his shoulder as firemen unburden him of a woman who can barely stand. He’s collected and triumphant, even behind his armor, not at all winded by his deed.

As the video plays, I think about my parents. They died trapped in our apartment during an electrical fire, but I got out. I should’ve been with them. Where was Hero then? And why doesn’t he come for me now? I stare at him and wonder how he would even know I’m here or that I need him. Through the crystal of unshed tears, his stick-straight posture of confidence triggers a familiar feeling. Sturdy and strong but not bulky, even sheathed in grey rubber. I incline toward the TV and dash wetness from my eyes. Nothing can touch this man; nobody can scratch his hard-earned surface. Even his sculpted wave of brown hair is unaffected by smoke and heat. Almost like . . .

The video cuts out, and the newscaster reappears. I sigh, melting back into the couch. I’ll find no solace in distraction today. Through the domination of my body, Calvin has also stolen my thoughts. He is everywhere in this mansion, even in my books, in my television set.

Everyday life kept me from thinking of my parents too often, but here, there is no life. There is only time and solitude and, when I’m lucky, mental escape. I settle further into the couch and let myself remember my only family, wondering just how long until I’m with them again.

I’ve called for Cataline’s presence at dinner, and according to Norman, she didn’t fight it. I’m pleased that she’s learning to defer to me, however slowly. The city’s need for me today has kept me occupied, but now I sit at the dining room table, unaccustomed to waiting for another person. My thoughts turn to this morning, when the sex fog began to clear.

A seed has been planted in my mind. As much as I try to ignore it, it grows. That often happens with my thoughts; only the important and pressing ones get through, and they proliferate at an unnatural pace, taking over and snaking into the corners of my brain.

I am the only dangerous thing in Cataline’s life.

In the beginning, duty and guilt drove me to protect the six-year-old girl I failed. I promised myself that until she was an adult, I would repent by keeping harm away and making sure her life was as comfortable as it could be without family.

But by her eighteenth birthday, I was invested. Like New Rhone, she was a project my mind refused to let go of. I knew when she eventually left Fenndale, I’d have no choice but to let her go. Leaving New Rhone wasn’t an option for me. When she decided to move here though, I wasn’t prepared.

Having her in my city only fueled my fascination. Despite what Norman thinks, it’s not love or care that binds me to her. I’m not programmed for those things. The closer she gets though, the closer I want her. Over the years, my obligation to her has morphed into a compulsion. Keep her safe. Keep her close. Watch her. Make her do what I want. She was, unknowingly, my possession from afar.

Now I own her like I never realized I wanted to. I’ve conquered the sweetest part of her, but it’s not enough. I want more. I understand duty, fear. Obliterate, protect, conquer. I don’t understand anything outside these rules I live under. What I want is for her to be consumed by me like I am with her. Last night, I was the only thing in her mind, my name the only word on her lips. “I’m so close. Please, Calvin. Do it for me.”

She needs my protection. She needs me. I push the heels of my hands into my eye sockets. Why, then, am I having thoughts of freeing her? To let her out of my sight now, after I’ve had her for the past two months, would be like ripping my skin open to remove a bullet.

Because I’m lost in my thoughts, I don’t hear Cataline enter the room. Her tight black dress cuts across her mid-thighs, and her cleavage teases from a plummeting neckline. She’s done her makeup for probably the second time since arriving at the mansion.

“What is this?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

“What?”

Jasmine drifts under my nose as she walks away from me to her seat.

“I told you not to dress up for dinner.”

“I thought you’d like it,” she says, lowering herself gracefully into the chair. Her back is straight as a rod, and her fingers are laced. “You don’t?”

Norman decorates the table with food as I stare Cataline down. He clears his throat. “For dinner, we have—”

“Leave us.”

He pauses. Though my gaze is still on Cataline, I know he’s watching me as he bows his head. “As you wish, sir.”

I stand and slowly walk the line of the long table. My footsteps echo through the hall, appropriately menacing. I’ve just come from a burning building but am back in my suit and tie to maintain appearances. And my ridiculous glasses, which I remove and toss aside. She’ll believe I’ve just returned from the office. When I’m standing over her, she tugs up the neckline of the dress and blinks at me. I resist smirking as she tucks hair behind her ear twice.

“Well,” she says, “aren’t we going to eat?”

“I’m going to eat.”

“I’m not?”

“As far as I’m concerned, there’s only one meal at this table, and it’s you.”

My ears pick up her slow swallow, my eyes, the curl of her hands in her lap. “That sounds like a threat,” she says quietly.

I lean in, flatten one hand on the table and wrap the other around the arm of her chair. “It’s not. This is a threat: if you’re not naked and spread out on this table in two seconds, I’m going to spank you so hard, you won’t know up from down.”

Shock widens her eyes. “Spank me?”

“One.”

She puts all her weight into scooting the chair out from the table, but I hold it secure. Her heart hammers so hard I can hear it, and just as she’s about to protest, I release the chair.

She jumps up, and I direct her to the center of the table. At the edge, she pulls one strap of her dress down and then pauses. Her chest pulses erratically. She glances around the room and then at me before dropping her hand to her side. “I can’t,” she whispers.

My blood begins to simmer at the surface of my skin. That she continues to see how far she can push me infuriates me. “I’m sorry?”

“Norman? Chef Michael? Everyone will see.”

I cock my head. The staff has always been a part of my landscape, and they know when to disappear.

She shakes her head. “I can’t. I’m sorry. You can hit me.”

I stride forward, and she does her best to curl into a ball against the table. I snake my fingers under the hem of her dress and fist the fabric in both hands. She yelps when it rips up to her belly button. Her black lace panties follow.

“If I want the staff to watch, they’ll watch,” I tell her. “You think you’re better than the whores I bring here?”

“I don’t—I’m not . . .”

I bring the ruined underwear up to her face, forcing her to look at them. “Open your mouth.”

Her eyebrows dip to the middle of her forehead, and she shakes her head frantically.

“Don’t you like the way you taste?”

“Please, no.”

She jumps when I swipe a spot clear behind her with my other hand. Food flies over the edge, and a tray clatters to the floor. My hips pin hers to the table, my erection digging into her stomach. I take her chin so she can’t look anywhere but at me. “What’s your game?” I ask, inches from her face.

“What do you mean?”

“The hair, the makeup, the dress.” I hover my lips directly above hers. “What are you trying to pull?”

“Nothing,” she breathes.

“Maybe you like what I did to you this morning.” When she doesn’t answer, I squeeze my other hand in between her clenched thighs and hold it there. “Maybe you want me to do it again.” Her surly moan, half protest, half pleasure, is enough to cut any remaining inhibitions free. “Get on the table.”

She looks up at the ceiling for a moment, a last-minute prayer to the Heavens.

“Get on, or I’ll put you on.”

She hoists herself up on the edge and looks me in the eye before easing back onto the wood. My legs spread her knees, and I watch her face as I slowly tear open the rest of the dress. One hand grabs her inner thigh, inching up until her wet heat teases my fingertips. For moments there’s only the sound of our breathing growing heavier. When I slide a finger up inside her, she gasps and I stuff the panties in her mouth. Instinctively, she reaches up to remove them, but I catch her wrist and shake my head at her.

My finger moves in and out at an easy pace, and I hold her wide-eyed gaze. I lean closer to whisper in her ear. “I can already tell you’re going to be the best thing I ever put in my mouth.”