These Vicious Games (Seattle Undeground)

Chapter 19

“All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream."-Edgar Allan Poe

I inspect the bruises on my hips and neck, the bite marks on my collar bone and breast and a tiny smile lifts the corner of my mouth as I trail my finger lovingly over them. He marked me.

I sigh, pulling the sweater back over my shoulder before stuffing my feet into thick wool socks that come up below my knees.

I can always tell when he’s gone. Like my body reads his energy or something equally as romantic.

I slide around the castle in my socks, looking for a certain butler…or is he just the keeper? I have no clue, but I do know he’s my best friend. “Francis!” I call out, stopping when I find him with a tea glass almost to his lips as he sits in an armchair by a fire.

“Yes, miss?”

I take the chair across from him, folding my feet under myself as I smile. “Can you tell me about Atticus?”

Francis pauses. “We’re not allowed to talk about the master’s personal life.”

I frown, turning to look at the burning embers of the fire. “I saw this picture in his desk… I just, I want to understand him better.”

“Miss, whatever you saw, you should unsee and never, under any circumstances, bring it up to him. The master’s past is a… it’s a delicate matter.”

I sigh, “I don’t remember my childhood. Only here lately have I begun getting small pieces back and from what I can tell, it might be better to not remember.”

“The mind sometimes has a way of protecting us from things we cannot handle.”

I mull this over. Twisting and turning the words in my mind. “Then I’m afraid of what happened… But I want to know.”

“Sometimes it’s better not to.” Francis says so quietly I almost don’t hear him.

“Maybe.” I whisper.

On One Hundred and One Ways to Die, we have Constance scaling the castle walls to hop over a balcony and get into the man-keeping-her-captive’s office. Because he was smart enough to lock it this time.

I grunt, my hands digging into the side of the castle as my foot slips slightly. The mountains of dresses in my closet does not do one any good when they are scaling a building. Especially not the sweater dress I have on, but it’s somewhat better than a long skirted one.

We must give thanks to the small wins when trapped on an island.

I heft myself up onto the railing, using the small amount of arm strength I have to pull myself up and over. I give myself a minute to catch my breath as I rest against the balcony railing.

Get in and out, unnoticed.

That’s the plan. It’s all I have, but all of that crashes down as soon as the balcony doors swing open and Atticus steps out.

And man, that’s not his happy face. Not that he has one, but this one is downright vexed.

“What the fuck are you doing, Little Bird?” His tone is a cool hiss, making my body shiver and has me questioning if that was a rhetorical question. “Get in here.” He growls.

The last thing I want to do is go in there with him. I’d rather jump back over the balcony and fall to my death. As if he can read my mind, he tugs hard on my wrist, pulling me into his office and slamming the door behind me.

His office is the same. Boring, cold and unalive. Without an invitation, I take the armchair closest to me. Spotting a book on the table next to it, I grab it. The Essential Edgar Allan Poe Collection . I open it to the page that is marked with a horrific dog ear and begin reading.

1829

ROMANCE

I read the words on the page, the poem hitting so very hard in my chest. As if its print is inking itself onto my heart. When I finish, I swallow hard, looking up at the man who glares down at me. “If you’re done.” He snatches the book from my hands, tossing it on his desk.

He crosses his arms, the muscles straining behind a black dress shirt. “Now, why were you breaking into my office, again?”

Instead of answering, I ask a question I need the answer to. “Who hurt you?”

He blinks, scowling at me. “What?”

“The picture in your desk… it’s you. What... What happened?”

He sneers at me. “You think because we fucked, I’d all of the sudden be into pillow talk?”

I bristle, looking away from his harsh words.

“It’s just fucking, Little Bird. That’s all that happened. I don’t care about you, and you’d be mindful not to care about me.”

I can feel my lip wobbling, but I refuse to allow any emotion to come from me. “You’re cruel.”

“If that’s all, you can see yourself out.” He turns, going to his desk and opening his laptop.

I rise on shaky legs. Snatching the book out of defiance. “You know, everything comes to light. One day I’ll figure you out.” It was a promise, but he flinched as if the words slapped him. “And I’ll either remember or I’ll get the file from you. I’ll wear you down, Atticus.”

The next day after I ate breakfast, I grabbed the book and headed to my library. I inhaled Poe’s words in one night. Finding myself crying a bit by the end of it as his words hit me like a sledgehammer.

I have always loved to read, but since Joseph came into my life, that love faded. He was always embarrassed when I constantly had a book in my purse that I would pull out when his outing with friends turned uncomfortable to me and I wanted to escape. I stopped reading when he berated me for reading Flowers in the Attic in front of all his friends. Calling me an incest lover. He missed the meaning of the story. But nonetheless, he made me feel shameful.

While being locked up in this castle, I’ve had time to reflect back on my relationship with Joseph. How he used mental abuse to make me small and weak. Belittling me on my background, calling me stupid because, “Who just forgets their life?”

I spent years shaping myself to fit into his world. Trying to constantly please him and feeling as if I was less because I didn’t have money like he did. Feeling like less because he supplied my life, and I lied to myself for so long. Saying I loved it, but when I break it down, I didn’t. I allowed him to mentally abuse me into thinking I was nothing without him.

Atticus is… a lot, but he’s never made me feel stupid.

I shake the thoughts as I reach my library, pulling the skeleton key out and opening the doors. The lights flicker on, illuminating the rooms in a soft butter yellow. I walk to the back room that houses my piano, setting the book on top of it and making my way to the shelves. I haven’t really had a chance to browse them. Only coming here to be alone and play the piano and try my hardest to remember the end of my song. The missing notes have been a constant headache for years. The shelves are full of romance and poetry. As if these shelves are crafted just for me. New romance to the classic. I haven’t had the chance to read any. I pull on Little Women by Louisa May Alcott. Tucking it to my chest and making my way to the west wing. I pass Francis who gives me a wide eye look in warning, but I return it with a wink.

I bang on the monstrous door and wait. I hear movement and when the door swings open, I try really hard not to swoon at the man in front of me. Wearing an all-black outfit of trousers and a dress shirt. Scowl and his scar highlighted. So gorgeous for a literal monster. I brush past him, taking a seat in the chair I occupied before.

“The fuck are you doing, Little Bird?”

I crack the book open and reply, “Reading.”