The Same Impulses

ROWAN

I've been a prisoner for a week.

A week of nightmares when I close my eyes at night, only to be slapped in the face with my new reality all over again when I wake up to the same heartbreaking sight of another amazing sunrise each morning.

A week of wondering if Sara has been looking for me.

A week of praying that the family I despise has been moving heaven and earth to find me.

Surely, by now, my picture must be in every newspaper from New York to Florida and every small town in Mexico. The police must be searching for me. Someone besides Sara must know that I've gone missing.

I'm not due back at work for another week because I wanted to make sure I was good and rested from the trip before I returned, but someone — a neighbor, my assistant. Someone else must know that I'm not where I'm supposed to be, especially since I don't have my phone. I'm a daily user of social media, and I know that silence from my accounts would throw up some red flags. It must. I have to be worth the effort to miss because if I'm not, I might as well already be dead.

I've kept to myself, staying up in my room and reading books to pass the time. But nothing works. Time has frozen. The world feels like it has stopped spinning because no matter what I do, I can't leave. I can't escape into the stories that live in the books contained in the long bookshelf below the window. I can't escape into my head because when I allow myself to think about having to live out the rest of my life locked away, I can't breathe.

My heart pounds against my ribcage like a sledgehammer when I realize that me escaping this place is impossible to do.

If I step foot outside the house, I'll be caught.

If I'm caught, I'll be slapped or punched, or — I can't even bear to think about what else he can put me through.

I've been eating my meals alone, moving to Gabriel's beckoning call on the bed each time he enters to bring me another tray of food. I don't say anything as I eat in silence, I don't even glance his way when he tries to step into my line of sight.

I don't want to be near him, and I'm on edge every time he waltzes into my room like he owns the place. Like he owns me. I guess he does own me. At least that's what he says. He swears he's not a rapist. He claims he's never raped anybody in his life — but he promises that I'm going to be his first. He plans to rape me, and he isn't ashamed to admit it.

When I first woke up and realized my fate, I was terrified. But now that I know what his plans are for me, I'm horrified.

My first week is nearly spent, and I know he'll come for me.

But when?

How long do I have to lay in wait before he barges in and steals what he wants from me? How long must I stew in the scenarios my frantic mind comes up with before Gabriel storms through my bedroom door to use my body however he wants to?

After another week comes and goes, I've lost any faith that I'm going to be rescued and taken away from this place. I've lost the sliver of hope I'd had that I'd get to see another blustering winter storm sweep through the busy streets of Manhattan. I won't see the sparkling snow caked on the sides of skyscrapers. I won't see the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center again. I won't get to ride another subway or curse at people who don't use the designated bike lane while strolling through Central Park.

The sight of food makes me sick. I'm not interested in my appearance. I've just given up. Nothing is going to save me from this hell, so what's the use in trying to survive it anymore?

Right on cue, Gabriel walks in with a fresh tray of breakfast at nine on the dot. He's dressed in a pair of casual denim jeans today with a plain black sweater that molds to the mountains of muscle in his long torso. A teal tie is knotted at his masculine throat, tucked away behind the sweater. His long, toned legs carry him across the carpet in just a few strides.

I watch him place the tray down at the foot of the bed, and then I turn my attention back to the glittering sun out the window. The rays warm my face, and for a split second, I close my eyes and allow the warmth to settle in my blood.

"You haven't eaten for three days, and I've let it slide. But that ends now." Gabriel's deep voice slithers its way through my moment of peace, slamming me back to reality with a sting.

I can't eat. Just the thought of putting an egg into my mouth makes me gag. "I'm not hungry." I respond robotically, unfeeling.

"I'd hope you learned your lesson by now." He sighs behind me, "It was not a request."

"I can't eat that. I'll get sick." I shake my head. "I've lost my appetite."

He pinches the bridge of his nose as he contemplates what to do next, "You need your strength, Rowan. You have to eat."

"What do I need strength for?" I shrug carelessly. I just don't care anymore. I don't care what he wants to do to me. I don't care about anything because no one is coming for me. No one is going to show up here with the police to set me free. No one is coming to take me away. No one cares enough to search for me. "So, I can be good and strong to put up a good fight when you finally decide to fuck me without my consent? That is what gets you off after all."

He looks at me like I'd just slapped him across the face, eyes staring ahead like he doesn't know how to decipher what I've said. His jaw clenches as he swallows and clears his throat, but he doesn't say anything.

"What?" I wait for him to continue. "Isn't that what you want?"

"What happened?" He demands, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. "You've lost the fight that drew me to you. Where has it gone?"

His emotionless eyes delve inside my blank stare.

I've lost my fight?

Of course I've lost it!

"You can't be serious." I scoff. "I'm being held here against my will-- wherever the hell here is. I can't go anywhere without you knowing about it. I can't do anything without asking for permission first. I have to eat what you say I can eat. I have to wear what you say I can wear. I have no freedom, so where the hell do you think my fight has gone?"

"It's been two weeks, I thought—"

"What?!" I exclaim, clutching the book against my chest tightly, "you hoped that I'd just accept my fate and surrender to whatever sick shit you had in mind for me? You thought I'd just accept that I'm your slave and I'd do what you wanted me to do?"

"Of course not." He shakes his head.

"Then what did you expect, Gabriel?!" I shout, the anger inside my voice propelling the book out of my hands before I can stop it. The book zooms by Gabriel's head before hitting the wall behind him, coming to a stop on the carpet.

The honey color of his gaze melts me, glowing with darkness that bunches his fists at his sides. His large chest rises and falls faster as he stares through me, scorching me to the core.

If looks could kill, I'd drop dead right now. He's pissed, he's more than pissed. He's furious.

I can see the urges swirling in those burnt pools. He wants to grab me; he wants to crush the bones in my throat. It's not until I see him bare his teeth that I realize the vast mistake I'd made, and I'm scared all over again. Scared of the repercussions. Scared of making him put his hands on me again. I'm terrified of what he could do to me. What I know he wants to do.

The only thing I can do is slap my hand over my gaping mouth. I'm stunned that I threw the book at him.

He calmly rolls his shoulders before he closes the distance between us. It doesn't take long before he's standing in front of me, glaring down with controlled chaos flashing in his fierce stare. "Stand. Now." He orders.

Anxiety makes me shiver, but I do as I'm told. Once I'm standing, his hand reaches out to grasp around my throat, but he doesn't squeeze like he did the last time. In fact, he doesn't choke me at all.

"Do you know how easy it'd be to snap this?" He drops his tone to a low whisper that vibrates in his throat. I feel the pulsations sneak out to prickle my flesh.

I gulp. "Yes."

"Do you know how badly I want to throw you down on the bed right now?" He murmurs, the rasp a surprising sound to my ears.

"No." I whisper, my face burning from the intensity in his dazzling eyes.

"Perhaps I should show you." He growls, snaking his hand into my hair. He guides me over to the bed and then pushes me over the side, keeping my ass raised high just like he wants me to be.

"No!" I cry, terror making my body tense as I catch myself of my hands.

He ignores my pleas and steps behind me, using his knee to spread me even further apart. He pinches my neck painful enough to send a tingle down my spine but not enough to cause me any discomfort. I'm only wearing a tiny nightgown and the fabric has ridden up my back, so he's able to see everything. He can see my white panties, and the outline of my vagina from his point of view.

I don't want this.

I don't want to be raped.

"I'll eat." I whimper nervously through the ringing in my ears. "I won't refuse ever again."

"This isn't about food." He rumbles behind me.

"Then what is it about?"

"I want you, Rowan." He hisses. "I want to fuck you, and I think that I've waited long enough." His hands appear at my waist, and I slam my eyes closed to prepare for what comes next, desperately holding my breath so I don't have to face it...

But just when I expect to feel him tear my underwear off, he pulls me back up aggressively, and spins me around to face him, leaving my head swimming.

What changed his mind?

For the first time since I'd met him, his eyes have a natural radiance when they find mine again, a gentle caress on my cheek as he pulls me closer. There's a slight warning in his gaze as he lowers his mouth to mine, like he wants to give me a chance to stop him. But I can't move. I'm too afraid to move, too nervous to do anything to chase away the first piece of humanity inside him that I've seen in weeks. The only part of him that might resemble a being with a beating heart.

His lips brush against mine slowly and I move my mouth against his, my body reacting to the warmth of another mouth like an instinct that I can't control. His hands drop to my hips as my arms encircle around his neck, and I don't want to think about what comes after this; I only want to savor the surprising comfort that I'm getting from his tender kiss.

But then I feel the heat of his erection against my belly and it's like I've slammed into concrete, and the realization of what we're doing fills me up with disgust.

What the hell am I doing?

This can't happen!

I can't kiss my captor!

I quickly pull my mouth away, letting him know that another kiss like that is no longer a possibility.

He captures my face in his strong hands and leans his forehead against mine, his minty breath cool on my lips. "You kissed me back." He whispers with a hint of a smile, his eyes drilling into me, making it impossible to look away.

"It was an impulse." I roll my eyes, trying to ignore the odd charge inside my blood. It's the same charge I'd felt when he kissed me in Mexico.

"It looks like we have the same impulses, Rowan." He says next, confidence radiating off from his body like a heatwave.