The Bad Guy

I kicked my chin up and kept my tone cold. “That’s cute.”

He winced, and what could have been pain flashed across his eyes. Then it was gone. I’d been cruel, and for once, I was glad. Whatever unhappiness he felt was nothing compared to the ocean of sorrow he’d drowned me in.

“Get in here.” He turned and disappeared through the door.

I followed, dragging the blanket behind me. The bathroom was huge, every surface covered in gray and white marble. Chandeliers burned above a whirlpool tub that looked as though it could fit at least six people. Iridescent tiles created a sea mosaic behind it, the blues swirling as they rushed toward a sparkling shore.

A woman flashed across the mirror. I stopped, then blinked hard. It wasn’t a woman. It was me.

“You dyed my hair?” I plucked up a lock of blonde hair and gaped at it.

“Had to.” His voice came from somewhere deeper in the bathroom. “Just in case.”

“Just in case what?” For the first time since I’d arrived, I was fuming. I’d never dyed my hair, not so much as touched it with even temporary color. The woman in the mirror was foreign, though her blue eyes sparkled against the backdrop of honey-colored waves.

“In case someone gets a glimpse of you or a photo gets snapped.” Dressed in a pair of boxers, he walked from a darkened room next to the bath and across to another doorway. “I didn’t want to do it. I love your hair as is, but it was the smart move. If it makes you feel any better, I hired one of the best colorists in the city. He came out, and I told him you had an intense fear of hair stylists and had to be sedated to get your hair done.” He flicked the light on and waved me over. “I got the feeling it wasn’t even close to the weirdest story he’d ever heard.”

“But it was mine.” Seeing myself changed, transformed into his captive, broke a piece of my heart. I leaned on the vanity, trying to right myself in this strange new world.

“It was necessary, or I wouldn’t have done it.”

“You had no right.” My vision blurred as more tears tried to force their way to the surface.

He sighed. “We’ll both get used to it, and once things settle down, we’ll change it back.”

“We?” My voice was hoarse, empty.

“Yes. From now on. Now come here. I want to show you something.”

I ripped my gaze away from the stranger in the mirror. The warm tile failed to heat me as I edged toward him. I stopped in the doorway and stared around at the clothes and accessories hanging or folded on all sides. A rack of shoes ran along the back of the closet. More shoes than a department store in neat rows. Heels, flats, trainers, boots—everything one person could ever need, all brand new. Toward the top, I noticed a few sets of shoes that didn’t quite match the shine of the rest.

I walked forward as he leaned against a high set of drawers, the wood a soft honey color. “These are mine.” Reaching up, I ran my hand along a pair of flats that I often wore to school.

“Everything in here is yours. I also had all your personal items brought along. Your medications, birth control, feminine items, cosmetics—all in your cabinets next to your sink. I didn’t collect all your clothes, just the ones fitting the season. We can get the rest later.”

I turned and found several items of my clothes hanging on the rack to my right. Mixed in were new clothes. Pulling the tag down, I checked the nearest shirt. My size. I pulled another tag. My size. One look at the shoes told me they were all close to my size. The clothes were similar to the sorts of colors I’d choose for myself. It was as if he already knew what was in my cottage closet, then multiplied it and added designer tags.

“If you don’t like these things, we can donate them and get you whatever you like.”

My knees went weak as I realized how serious this was, how serious he was. The blood drained from my face, and I couldn’t catch my breath. My hair, the clothes, all of it—he truly intended to keep me prisoner forever.

“Camille.” He gripped my elbow before I hit the floor.

“Can’t—breathe.” Darkness encroached on the edges of my vision. The blanket slid to my hips, pooling there as he pulled me close.

His arms encircled my back like steel bars molding to me.

“Don’t.” I tried to push away, but he held me tight.

“Shh.” He stroked my hair with one hand while keeping his other arm around my waist. “It’s difficult right now, but it won’t always be like this.”

“Please.” I pressed my cheek to his chest, his skin warm despite the coldness inside him. “Just let me go home.”