Keeping his bride

Nicholas

I WINCE AT the sound of Selina’s screams, and the pen in my hand suddenly drops. I was trying to read over some

contracts, but I can’t concentrate. She’s been screaming for hours. Fortunately, at this time of evening, her and I are the only ones in this part of the compound. No one can hear her cries for help. Well, except for me.

Selina is not the girl I remember. Not at all. She’s strung out, living in her own world. The doctor assured me her mind will clear over the next couple of days, and I’m trying to hold on to that promise and not drive myself insane with worry in the meantime.

They’re slowly detoxing her, but fuck, it feels like it’s taking forever. I don’t want to talk to her until her mind is clear, but her screaming is driving me up the wall.

When she begins to cry out again, my legs are moving before my brain can even catch up. Frustrated, I leave my room, turn right down the hall and push open the door to Selina’s room.

Selina startles when she sees me. “Where is he?” she yells, her voice hoarse. She pulls at her restraints, and I can see blood caked on the white cuffs around her wrists. The skin underneath is raw from her incessant struggling.

I move closer to her bed, gauging her reaction to me. I was hoping to see some sort of recognition in her eyes, but she simply stares at me like I’m a stranger. I mean, what did I truly expect? I haven’t seen the girl in ten years, since we were kids. I’m sure I look a hell of a lot different now than when I was a teenager.

She sure as hell looks different. She looks so…grown up. Her face is still beautiful, just like I remember it, though. Heart-shaped with big doe eyes and full lips; the top one a little fuller than the bottom. I remember drawing her face many times after she left. I had etched it into my memory. I never wanted to forget how pretty she was, and I wanted to remember that she was real.

“Where is who?” I eventually ask even though I already know who she’s talking about.Upstodatee from Novel(D)ra/m/a.O(r)g

“Constantine,” she asks in a hushed whisper as if she’s afraid to speak his name any louder. “Is he coming for me?”

I can hear the fear in her voice, and it makes me want to kill that bastard with my goddamn bare hands. “He doesn’t know where you are,” I assure her, trying to keep my voice level. “You’re safe here.”

An almost crazed laugh escapes her lips, surprising me. “You have no idea what he’s capable of. He will find me.” Selina turns her pretty face towards the window and whispers, “He always finds me.” She then pulls at her restraints, seemingly forgetting that she was bound, and begins to mumble incoherently to herself.

My brows furrow as I stare at her. The doctor told me the other day that the withdrawal symptoms will make her paranoid and delusional. She’s almost clean. By this time tomorrow, she might actually be in her right mind. God, I fucking hope so. I don’t know how much more of this I can fucking take.

“Everything is going to be okay,” I say in an attempt to placate her.

She slowly turns her head, looking at me…no, looking straight through me. “You can’t possibly know that,” she says somberly.

“I promise.”

“You…promise?” she scoffs, her voice cracking on the last word. “You don’t know him like I do.” Her face turns back to the window, and I can see she’s lost in thought, perhaps recalling memories. “No one knows him like I do,” she murmurs in a singsong voice.

My hands curl into fists at my sides. I hate the fact that Constantine had her under his control. I can’t help but wonder how long she was with him. Was it the entire ten years or for only a brief period of time before I stumbled upon her and his son at the party? Did he steal her innocence away from her just like he’s done with hundreds of other girls and women?

Feeling my anger trying to boil over, I quickly turn and leave the room without even telling her goodbye. Hell, she probably won’t even remember me being there. The drug concoction Carbone had her on is taking a long time to work out of her system. Dr. Catalano is optimistic that there won’t be any permanent brain damage, but there’s no telling until she’s completely clean.

I have a million different questions I want to ask Selina, but I will have to be patient and wait until she’s clearminded and in a state where she’s able to finally answer me truthfully and honestly.

Instead of returning to my bedroom, I venture down the hall to a room I’d converted into an art studio years ago. When I open the door, the smell of fresh oils and acrylics welcomes me. After Selina disappeared without a trace, I spent months taking my anger and frustration out on everyone and everything around me. I turned into a brawler at school, fighting anyone who crossed my path or looked at me the wrong way. After getting kicked out of three private schools, my parents grew tired of my shit and sent me to a therapist.

Mr. Mackey had a way with words and zero tolerance for bullshit. He taught me how to channel some of my feelings into something more creative. And the very first time I put pen to paper, I was hooked. I could sit and draw for hours, forgetting the world around me, forgetting about all the problems I was so focused on before.

Pencils and ink soon turned to charcoal and then to oils and acrylics. It didn’t matter what medium I used, I realized I loved to draw and paint. It was so effortless and natural that I imagine maybe I was a talented artist in a previous life.

As I stare around the room at the dozens of paintings and drawings, I can’t help but remember how I felt during each and every one that I created. There are probably a hundred renderings of Selina in here. I drew her as I knew her and as I imagined she would become. I wanted to age us together even though I had no idea what she would actually look like. Even though she looks ethereal on canvas, none of those drawings or paintings even came close to the real-life woman. She’s beautiful. No, more than beautiful. She’s perfection. Prettier than I ever could have imagined.

A painting is simply just that – a painting. But having her here in the flesh, seeing her with my own two eyes is nothing short of magnificent.

When I look around the room, my obsession with her is evident. I’ve had my fair share of women in the past, but they were all one-night stands. No one could even hold a candle to my Lina, and I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else trying to fill that empty void inside of my chest where I knew only she could fit…and where only she belonged.

I stare at one of my recent paintings. It simply doesn’t do her beauty justice, and I take it off the easel before replacing it with a blank canvas.

And as Selina’s screams echo down the hallway, I paint her. I paint every detail from my memories over the past few days from the time I first saw her at the party until now. Her cries fuel my desire to get every little detail right, even down to the tiny freckles that are scattered across her nose.

Painting her is cathartic. And by the time I’m finished, it’s nearly dawn, and Selina’s screams have finally ceased.