I take a deep breath. I need to steady myself. My nerves. My heart. I peek out the door and see if he's still there. Empty hall. I pad to the kitchen, grabbing a glass and I go to grab wine but then I glance at the champagne fridge. I open it, taking a bottle before heading back to the studio.
I have a million ideas buzzing around my head. I put a canvas on one of the easels. I notice it's set up perfectly for me. I pour champagne into the wine glass, too much. And then stare at the canvas as I sip. The bubbles soothe me.
Then it happens. Like it always does. Erratic. Sudden and slow all at the same time. The thoughts start off like a tight fist in my brain. Like it's trying to keep the idea to itself, but as I gather materials it slowly unfurls.
I start off by painting the background of a golden city in the back. Beautiful, luxurious buildings that look untouchable. In the foreground I paint a golden cage, the main focus. I take my time with it. I want it to look real.
Then for the main piece. A butterfly. I make this separately. She's going to be coming out of the cage. I find magazines Spencer had thoughtfully placed, and I search through them until I find articles that match. Articles on escaping. On crime. On trafficking and sexual assault. I carefully cut out pieces and fold them until they start to resemble a butterfly.
I add black and silver to her, stark contrast to the gold and creams of the golden city and cage. Then I carefully place her bursting out of the cage. I add some chalk around her, smudging it so it looks like she's flying out.
Then I step back.
I feel shaky. My sudden burst of creativity has left me feeling wrecked. I pick up the bottle of champagne, warm and flat now, I drink from it and stare at the piece.
I place the canvas on the floor so it leans against the easel and sit crosses legged in front of it. I just look. I take it in. I want to sleep.
Then I feel that shift behind me, his light footsteps coming to me. I don't turn when I feel him enter the room.
"You okay Belle?" But the end of my name gets lost as he sees the canvas.
"Woah," he whispers. "I've only been gone a couple of hours,"
"Yeah, it was an intense session. I feel drained."
"I don't doubt it,'
His gaze flicks between me and the canvas. He then gets on his knees and looks at it closely, leaning in.
"Are these the magazines I got you?*
"Yeah, I chose particular articles to make the wings."
The headlines are readable if you look long enough. Words like escape, missing, survivor, fractured. You can see facts and statistics on sexual assault and crime that form her wings. She's beautiful, but she's made out of things that shouldn't be beautiful.
"I can see that, you've folded these beautifully."
"Bit on the nose, now I look at it." I mutter
"Who wants subtlety when it comes to art? Cesar A. Cruz said 'art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable.'."
"Thanks Spencer,".
"Can I join you on the floor?"
I move over and he sits next to me. He doesn't speak but he's breathing strangely.
"Belle," he says my name in such a way I can't turn to him. "It so beautiful, you are ridiculously talented,"
We just sit and stare at the thing I made. I look down at my hand leaning on the floor and I notice his hand is doing the same, centimetres from mine. I see him glance down at them too. Then he looks back at the butterfly escaping its gilded cage.
He shifts, his little finger gently closes the gap between us, and it touches mine, softly. Testing. I close my eyes, this tiny touch feels so intimate. I keep my eyes closed as I move my hand closer to his. He runs his little finger along mine before moving so my hand is slightly under his.
I let out a shaky breath and finally open my eyes and turn to look at him. I expect him to be looking at the canvas but he's looking at me. His big brown eyes, he's so close I can see golden flecks in them. Something crackles between us, surges. I want to lean in. I want him to lean in. It wouldn't take much.
"Spencer," I say quietly.
His breath catches when I say his name. I want to say it again. I want to see him react to me.
Then his watch beeps and the spell is broken. We lean away, jumping apart like we'd been caught doing something we shouldn't. My hand feels cold now his isn't holding it.
"I erm," he coughs. "I need to go and have a meeting with the team."
"Yeah, sure."
He stands up and he seems dazed. I watch him walk out, stealing one last gaze
The next morning I stay in my room, avoiding Reid. Seeing him makes me feel nervous. I tidy my already tidy room and sit on the balcony and try to read. But I feel erratic. I can't concentrate. I'm tempted by a Xanax but I don't indulge. Little test to myself. I don't have a problem if I can say no.
That's how that works. Definitely.
I sit on the balcony and look over the grounds. My beautiful prison. I think about things I could do. I could do skincare or put makeup on just for something to do. I could write in my journal. I think of all these things I could do and just end up sitting there stressing about doing something instead of just doing it.
I'm being insane. I'm fine. I take a deep breath.
At 2:30pm on the dot there's a knock on my door. I feel my heart jump as I get to my feet and pad over to open up. He's standing there in his usual getup, shirt and a tie that looks like he's been pulling on it, wearing his endless cardigans. His hair is messy and he is… beaming.
“What's wrong with your face?” I say immediately. .
“It's called a smile Belle, you'll have your first one soon and we'll all celebrate.” He rolls his eyes but still grins at me.
He is holding a tray laden with food and a glass of ice water with cut up strawberries in it. There's a plate with a cheese toastie, a bowl of fruit cut up and another bowl full of cut up cheese cubes.
“Am I allowed in?” He asks and I realise I'm blocking the door.
“Sorry, yeah. I was just sitting out there,.” I move out of the way and he heads out onto the balcony, placing the tray on the table. I sit down and stare at it.
“You're meant to put it in your mouth and chew it.”
“I'm not hungry,” I shrug.
“I don't care. We have rules. Eat.” He crosses his arms at me.
I pick up the bowl of cheese and pick at it. As soon as I eat the first piece my stomach growls. It wants food. It needs food. I don't want to give in. But he hears the growl.
“You know, most people just eat when they’re hungry. It’s a fairly efficient system.” he says, crossing his arms.
“I eat,” I mutter.
“Mhm. Occasionally. When supervised.”
I shoot him a look.
“You’re insufferable when you’re smug.” I point at him.
“As long as you're eating, that's fine by me.” His voice is soft.
I eat most of the cheese, half the toastie and all of the fruit as he watches me.
“Is that enough, professor?”
“It sure is,”
He looks excited about something.
“Why are you being weird?”
“I've been working on something this morning,”
“Oh, right.”
“For you,”
“What have you done?” I ask accusingly.
“Come on, troublemaker,” and he starts to head out.
I scrabble to my feet and follow him. He leads me through the vast halls of the villa, taking me to the part of the house I hadn't bothered to explore.
I must trudge too slowly because he sighs, stops and comes back to where I am. He grabs my wrist, his forefinger and thumb wrapping around it. His long elegant fingers easily taking me.
My skin burns where he touches.
Fuck off brain.
“Come on, it's a good thing. I promise.”
He's so excited it makes my head feel strange. He finally lets go of me when we're at big double doors.
“You ready?”
“I don't think so,” I murmur and but he ignores me.
His hands now fall on the handles and he grins at me before opening them up, dramatic. The room is huge, almost every wall is glass. Beautiful natural light comes from all sides, drenched in sunshine.
There are huge desks in front of every window. There are different materials around each table, shelves and drawers bursting with paint, charcoal, pencils and brushes. There are sketchbooks and canvases stacked neatly. It's perfect. I stand in silence, something running though me I can't place.
“It was already a studio,” he tells me, shrugging.
He's acting as if he hasn't just given me the best present I've ever received.
“But you made it my studio,” I breathe.
“Do you like it?” He asks, worried as I am just standing there.
“Spencer,” I whisper, emotion trying to choke me.
He shifts as I say his name.
“It's fucking perfect, are you joking?”
I let myself feel it, let joy ebb into my bones, my veins. I feel like I'm going to take off. I jump and clap my hands, because I don't know how to deal with this surge of emotion.
Without thinking I throw my arms around him.
“Thank you Spencer,” I press my face into his chest.
I feel him hesitate, arms at his sides. I start to pull away, worried I'd overstepped and that's when he wraps his arms around me and holds me tightly to him. We stand, wrapped around each other. I take him in. He smells like coffee, fresh laundry and something else I can't place.
When I finally pull back a little and look up at him.
“This is the nicest thing anyone's ever done,” I feel my eyes well up and I hate it. “You're making me leak again”
He laughs and his hand cautiously reaches up, I see him hesitate then his hand cups my face, his thumb catching the tear that had escaped.
“I should have done it earlier,” he says softly
“You did it exactly when I needed it,” I reply.
We're still wrapped around each other, his hand is still on my face. My stomach squeezes. This is too much. Am I an idiot? I mean. Yes. Obviously.
I suddenly pull back.
“Sorry, I gave you a surprise hug,” I try to laugh but it sounds weird.
“Yeah, it's fine.” He seems flustered.
I feel vulnerable. I want another cuddle.
“Glad you like it,’ I noticed he tries to lift his voice but it doesn't work.
We stare at each other for a moment.
“You've given me the gift of sanity” I say as I turn away and gesture to the room.
“And the gift of cherry cola. I got you a mini fridge “ he walks over to what looks like a cupboard but when he opens it there's a fridge stocked with cherry cola cans.
“You're the coolest person I know,” I say and I mean it.
It makes him stop. He straightens up, can in his hand.
“Belle, you're the most interesting and coolest person I've ever met.” He says it with such sincerity I feel the stupid water in my eyes again.
I blink it away.
“Well, I bet the rest of the people on the list are serial killers, so I'm in good company,”
He laughs and it breaks the tension between us.
“So, are you feeling creative? Shall I leave you to it?”
“I'm gonna get stuck in, I think,”
My mind starts to whirr. Possibilities of what my hands can create.
I've been thinkin' 'bout you, do you think about me still?
Do ya, do ya?
Or do you not think so far ahead?
I sit there for a moment, trying to shake the feelings he's left me with. I think of him sleepy, soft. His breath on my neck. Heat crawls up my face.
Fucking stop it, I curse at myself. My brain is buzzing with thoughts of him, the best of his body pressed against me.
Stop it Belle. He's paid to be here, he's paid to be nice to you. No. No. I replay the things he said to me.
“Because if I’m stuck here, I’m at least going to look hot.”
“That,” he says dryly, “was never in question.”
"You look nice today"
Fuck off brain.
I head to the kitchen and start to plan the most time consuming meal I can. My nonnas recipes flick through my head until I settle on Beef Ragù Pappardelle. Some garlic focaccia. I even check to see if we have the ingredients for tiramisu.
I start by browning the beef, taking my time, the kitchen fills almost immediately with heat and fat and that deep, savoury smell.
I pour myself a large glass of wine and put on some music. I flick through my playlist until I find my “kinda angry at the world” one. Run the Jewels fills the kitchen. It feels like a stark contrast with the old Italian recipe I'm making but it works to quieten my brain.
I start on the soffrito. I chop onions, carrots, and celery. Methodical. Perfect little cubes. I soften everything in a pan as I finish my glass and pour another. I feel a little buzz ebb in, I get into the flow. I start singing along as I cook. I add garlic, letting it catch and saving it at the last minute. I pour wine into the pan and it makes that delicious sizzle.
Tomatoes follow, thick and red. I drop the heat low and stir until my arm aches. Once I'm happy that it can simmer on its own I start on the bread. It's automatic, something me and nonna would make on a Saturday if we were at her house. Flour everywhere, hands messy, olive oil slick under my fingers. The smell and process comforts me, it aches too. I miss her. I miss the feeling of family.
My mind flicks briefly to calling my dad again. voice. But is it worth it? I think of the sting of rejection and shake the idea out of my head and top up the wine again.
Once the dough is resting I start on dessert. Espresso. Whipped mascarpone. Lady fingers. Stacked. Layered. Topped with the cream. I put it in the fridge so it's out of the way and start cleaning the absolute chaos around me.
Reid appears just as I'm leaning against the counter.
“Whatever you're making has had me drooling,” he grins as he enters.
His hair is tousled, messy. He seems less stressed.
“My Nonna's recipe. Top secret. Beef Ragù Pappardelle. Focaccia. Tirimasu.”
“Gosh, my mouth is watering.”
“I made too much of everything so take whatever we don't eat over to the security house.”
“They'll go feral for this, it's all microwave meals and toast over there. Can I help?”
“I'm going to make the pasta and put the bread in the oven. You stir the ragù, low heat. Don’t let it stick.”
He nods once. Immediate focus switch.
“Right. Stir. Low heat. Prevent adhesion.” he goes over to the huge pot and begins to stir.
I use the burner next to him and as I cook the pasta our arms brush. We bump into each other, silly apologies and tension.
“Pappardelle,” he says, watching it. “Its name is derived from the Italian verb “pappare,” which means ‘to gobble up’.
“Are you flirting with me using pasta facts?”
He chokes on nothing.
“I'm not flirting with you, Belle,”
“Sure professor,” I wink at him and he looks at me in disbelief.
“I think that's all you,”
“Oh really?” I put my hand on my hip and turn to him.
“I’m just saying, if there was flirting happening, statistically speaking you would be the primary contributor.”
I step closer to the stove, deliberately brushing past him to reach for the wooden spoon. My arm slides along his again, slower this time. Deliberate.
“Then what are you contributing, Reid?” I ask lightly, stirring the pasta without looking at him.
There’s a pause behind me. I can practically hear him thinking.
“…I’m monitoring variables,” he says eventually.
I glance over my shoulder.
“Of course you are.” I look at him, my eyes locking with his. “And what have you determined?”
“That you…” his gaze travels up and down me and it makes my skin prickles. “Are distracting.”
“Oh really? How am I distracting?” I say the words slowly, dripping honey.
“Belle,” his voice is stern, like I obviously know the answer.
I smile slowly and we just stare at each other for a second.
“Go sit down. Dinner is nearly ready.”
He nods, saying nothing. He looks flustered. He tries to take the spoon he'd been using to stir the Ragu.
“Leave the spoon, doc,”
“Sure. Yeah. Of course.”
He puts it back and goes and sits at the dining table, running his hands through his hair and licking his lips. I go into focus mode. Putting the pasta into the ragu, and bread out of the oven. I plate up the dish with a fresh side salad.
At first I go to sit opposite him, but then I place my plate next to his and slide into the seat next to him. I watch him take the first bite. His eyes close and he makes an almost guttural noise. It makes my thighs squeeze together.
“Belle,” he says my name with reverence. “this might be the best thing I've ever eaten.”
“Why thank you,”
“You… cooked all of this from memory?” he asks, glancing down at the plate again like he doesn’t quite trust it to still be there.
“Yeah,” I shrug, picking up my fork. “Nonna didn’t really write things down. You just… learned.”
“That’s actually consistent with a lot of traditional culinary transmission,” he says, immediately slipping into that familiar rhythm. “Procedural memory tends to be stronger when it’s tied to repetition and sensory association rather than written—”
I lean my head slightly toward him. “Reid.”
He stops mid-sentence. Again.
“…Right,” he murmurs.
I take a bite, chewing slowly, aware of him next to me in a way that’s suddenly impossible to ignore. Our knees brush under the table this time. Neither of us moves.
He eats the pasta like he's starving. Not messy. Just intense. I like watching him eat. I like watching him enjoy something I've made. Did I make it for him? Maybe not intentionally.
“Why are you watching me eat?” He finally says, not looking at me.
“Am I making you nervous Reid?” I find myself teasing.
“No,” he huffs.
“I thought we agreed no lies?”
He stares at me finally. I want to drown in his eyes.
Fuck sake Belle.
I then focus on my food. It is good. Rich. Thick. Flavourful. You can taste the effort I'd put in.
“It was pretty good,” I say, pushing my mostly eaten plate away.
“It was incredible. You're very talented at whatever you put your mind to. You're a clever girl, aren't you?”
I falter. My brain actually stops.
“That's what I've been told,” I manage to choke out as I stand to gather the plates.
He moves lighting fast, taking the dishes from me.
“You sit back down,” he demands."You've worked hard. I'll clean up.”
“Grazie, professore.” I grin, pouring the last of the wine into my glass and sitting back down.
‘So, you speak Italian, Spanish, anything else?” he asks as he begins to stack the dishwasher.
“I am fluent in Italian, Spanish. I can speak a bit of Russian and Greek and a teeny bit of french but the cockney accent doesn't lend itself well to many of them,” I reply as I tilt my glass watching the red liquid cling to the sides.
He stares at me like I'm an alien. I don't look up at him.
“Youre an enigma,”
“No, just a girl whose father is an international drug dealer Reid. Like I said before, lots of travel.”
“You did well today,” he says, gently.
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean, today could have been spiralled and you didn't. I've made a start on the stuff we spoke about this morning.”
“Thanks,” I say quietly.
“Your art supplies should start arriving tomorrow.”
“Very prompt,”
“If I'm anything I am efficient,”
“I bet,” I say, more to myself.
I bite my lip as I say it, thinking about the efficiency. Those capable hands-
Shut up, horny brain.
“Have you started on my essay questions?”
“I've got a few written down,”
“Can I see?”
“Not yet, I think art would be a better thing to start with,”
“Oh do you now?”
“I do,”
There's a moment where we look at one another. Gaze fixed.
“Are you tired?” He asks
I think about it, I suppose I am.
“Yeah,”
“You should get some rest.”
“You should too.”
I don't want to leave his presence. I want to stay in his orbit. He doesn't seem like he wants to leave either. Is that my imagination?
“We still have dessert to eat,” I point out.
“We do,”
“It's in the fridge.”
He nods, and moves quickly, like he's thankful we can drag this out. I am too.
“Don't bother with plates, just bring the dish over with some spoons,”
I see him process, take it into consideration what I've suggested. He shakes his head, like he's getting rid of what he was thinking. I hold my breath.
“Yeah, that makes sense.” He says it as if he'd been justifying it in his beautiful brain.
He brings the tiramisu over with spoons and sits back down next to me. We dig in, silent, hands brushing every now and then.
“I think all desserts should come with things soaked in coffee,” he says in the silence.
“You're an addict,” I laugh.
“I was meant to talk to you about the book you gave me but you decided to run away instead.”
I bite my lip.
“I didn't run away, I just left for a bit,”
He shakes his head at me.
“What do you think of it then?”
“I thought it was well written, great concept. It's such a good critique on the power dynamics of the patriarchy. And I can see why you like it.”
I glance at him. “That sounds like you enjoyed it.”
“I did,” he admits. “But I also think it’s uncomfortable by design.”
I nod slowly, stirring the tiramisu again even though I’m not really eating it now.
“That’s kind of the point,” I say.
“Yes,” he agrees. “Power rarely redistributes itself without resistance. Even in fiction, the question isn’t just what changes, but who adapts, and who doesn’t.”
I take a deep breath. I feel emotion rising in my chest that I try to push down.
“I read it with your note in mind, about Roxy,”
“Ah,” is all I say.
“I get why you relate to her. Daughter of a big time criminal. She has grown up in an environment where violence is normalised. But she also has a strong moral framework that conflicts with it. She’s competent, capable, and she understands threat assessment better than most of the people around her.”
“Sounds like you have her all figured out,”
“She also struggles with trust and control. Not because she’s weak but because she’s constantly evaluating risk in relationships. Who is safe. Who isn’t. When to speak. When to stay quiet.”
“Are we talking about Roxy?” I tease.
“Sure,” he replies gently.
“Did you like her?” I ask, not looking at him.
“She's my favourite character,”
And now I do look. The tension shifts.
“Hard not to like her,” I say, throat tight.
“Yeah, impossible to be honest,”
“Are we still talking about Roxy?” I repeat in a whisper, gaze fixed on his.
“No, Belle, I don't think we are,” he says gently.
I feel my throat get a little thick. I clear it.
“I should go to bed,” I say, standing up quickly. “Take all the leftovers to the security team. Hope they enjoy.”
“Belle-” he calls after me but I basically run away.
I sleep for thirteen hours. I'm not disturbed. I can hear distant cars and people as I slowly wake, my dry fucking mouth feels disgusting. I grab at the glass of water. It's like heaven.
I think about going down and facing the consequences of my actions but I obviously don't want to do that. Not yet.
I drag myself out of bed and run myself a hot bath, I let the hot water sting me. My muscles are sore like I've done a full body workout. I sit in the water until it's cold.
I can be normal. I can be functional. First step, get dressed. Easy. I dress in a flowy black skirt that ripples like water every time I move, a halter top that exposes my shoulders and stomach. I select slippers for my next task.
Second step. My belongings need to belong somewhere.
I unpack. Slowly. I put away my clothes properly. Folding and hanging up everything I have in my suitcases. I put all of my toiletries into the bathroom, organising them neatly. I place my books on shelves and I even tack up a photo of me and my dad by the desk.
But I also find myself packing a bag, filling it with things I would need: my journals, money, clothes, trainers and underwear and one of my knives. I leave it behind the table by the door and then go back to unpacking. Once the suitcases are empty I put them in a cupboard and then start to tidy the remaining mess.
Once I have nothing else to do I get up the courage to slide on some slippers and head out to find Reid. Third step, face reality.
He finds me in the hall, heading towards my room. So tall and elegant in his movements. Has he always moved like that?
“I was just coming to check on you.” he smiles at me.
“Were you worried about me, professor?”
“I have been checking on you every few hours.”
“No sleep?”
“I have a lot of work to do after last night.”
I look down at my slippered feet. Guilt does start to ebb in.
“I'm sorry,” I say softly. I mean it this time.
“Let's go and have a talk, okay?” And he puts his hand in the small of my back, guiding me to the kitchen.
He steers me towards the dining table and I take a seat without being asked.
“Coffee?” he asks, starting to potter around the kitchen.
“Tea is fine,”
He nods.
“Probably a good idea, your heart doesn't need any more stress. Are you hungry?”
“A little.”
“You definitely need to eat. What do you want? I'll make anything,”
“Toast is fine,”
We're being so normal. He fixes me my tea before going to make my toast.
“Topping?”
"Peanut butter please,”
He makes us both two rounds of toast, slathered in thick and crunchy peanut butter. We sit and eat together. He watches me carefully, I can feel those brown eyes gaze at me. I don't look at him.
“I told your dad I instructed you to escape,” he says after he's chewed his first bite.
“What?” I choke on my tea.
“Told him I was worried about these guards and got you to test it. I told him you waited in a car around the corner,”
“Why did you do that?”
“Because I don't think it's helpful for anyone that he knows the full truth,”
“You worried he'd fire you?”
“A little,” he admits.
“And you don't want that?”
“No,” he says sternly. “I think I'm the best person to keep you safe,”
I pick up a piece of toast and bite into it, letting the peanut butter coat my tongue.
“Okay, I'll be your partner in crime,” I smile, finishing my plate.
“I think we need to start again,”
“What do you mean?”
“I'm Spencer Reid and I'm here to look after you,” He puts his hand out for me to shake.
I take it and his hand encloses mine.
“Hi Spencer, I'm Belle Smith and I'm here to make you work really hard."
He laughs as he bounces our hands up and down.
“It's nice to meet you, trouble maker.”
“It's nice to meet you too, Spencer,”
I like how his name sounds in my mouth. Our hands stay linked for two seconds too long, as we look at each other. We both snap back, turning away from each other. I feel heat rush to my cheeks.
I stand up and begin to tidy up the plates and cups. He moves with me, hovering, watching.
“Are you going to be watching me all day?” I ask.
“Probably,” he shrugs.
“Are we making plans?”
“We are, I even have a notebook ready.” He walks to the side where a pen and a spiral notebook are sat.
“Shall we sit outside?” I ask, looking into the garden.
“That sounds nice, I have half an hour before I have to do a lot of work. So let's get these plans on paper.”
We sit outside on the big table, opposite each other. I feel like I'm at a job interview.
“What do you need, to make you feel like you're not going to run through bushes to escape me?” he teases.
My breath does a little falter as he says “escape me” instead of “escape here”.
“I need projects.”
“What type?”
“Art. Just get me everything.”
He begins writing.
“You'll make me a gym routine,”
“I will?”
“Yes, a routine would be good.”
“Done.”
“I need some sort of mental stimulus. More books.”
“Write me a list today and they'll be here tomorrow.”
I pause for a moment.
“You could maybe set me some essays?”
“Really? Like what?”
“I don't know, figured you'd enjoy that,”
“I can do that, what topics are you thinking about?”
“Whatever you think I'd enjoy,”
“That's a big responsibility,”
“I reckon you've got it,”
“What else?”
I chew the inside of my cheek.
“I would like to go to a salon”
“No,” he says bluntly.
“You're not meant to say no,”
“I'm open to making plans for you, but there are too many variables,”
“So, just no? No hair, nails, lashes? Nothing to make me feel more normal”
He leans back, taking a deep breath as he looks at me. His gaze makes me shift in my seat.
“What if I can get someone to come in and do those services for you?”
“The salon experience is kinda integral,”
“Then it's a no, Belle. Sorry.”
I think of lying there as someone pampers me.
“Okay, when can you get someone in then?”
“I’ll start looking tomorrow, hopefully have an answer by the end of the week. “
“Good,” I say, crossing my arms. “Because if I’m stuck here, I’m at least going to look hot.”
“That,” he says dryly, “was never in question.”
His words make me blush and I avoid his eyes again. Why am I acting so silly?
“What else?”
“I… I need you to work on these potential trips out. I don't care what we do, or if I'm surrounded by burky security. This is the most important.”
He nods, writing something down.
“That's the most difficult one,”
“Of course,” I sigh, like he's dismissed me.
“But I'll make it work. I promise.”
I finally look at him and he's smiling at me, watching me with those big brown eyes. He stands up, taking the notepad.
“I'll get working on this, what are you going to do in the meantime?”
“Might watch a film,” I shrug.
“And no escape attempts?”
“Pinky promise,” I grin, holding up my little finger.
He hooks his arms mine and we stay like that for a moment. My skin tingles from his touch. I find myself thinking of how he held me last night and I take my hand back.
“That's sacred, professor”
“I'll see you in a few hours, troublemaker”.
I stand up, going to head in the house.
“Belle,” he calls after me.
I stop at the door and turn to him. He shifts on his feet, licking his lips.
“Yeah?”
“You look nice today,” he smiles at me and it makes my heart stop.
Chapter 9: Heavy in Your Arms, Florence and the Machine
And is it worth the wait
All this killing time?
Are you strong enough to stand?
Protecting both your heart and mine
Who is the betrayer?
Who's the killer in the crowd?
He's not shouting but you can hear him through the music. The guy's hands drop by his sides. He assesses Reid. I can see his thick skull whirring. Trying to work out if it's worth it.
After a few seconds he shouts something unintelligible over the music and turns away and leaves the dancefloor. I turn slowly to look at him and even though his face is composed I can see fury in his eyes. I look down and he approaches me, gripping my chin and tilting my face up to look at him.
“You are going to leave with me of your own accord or I will throw you over my shoulder. Either way you are coming with me.”
I contemplate running. I glance down at my heels.
“Even if you kicked them off I'd catch you,” he warns and I scowl at him. “If you're going to be a brat you're going over my shoulder.”
“Fucking hell, fine. Fine. Can I say goodbye to my friend?”
“No,”
“Reid. Please,” and I actually see him look at me, properly.
I watch those big brown eyes take me in. He lets go of my chin finally. My heart is hammering against my chest.
“You have thirty seconds,” he says flatly.
I turn to Sara and she is seemingly flabbergasted by the scene that is unfolding
“I have to go, but I want to thank you for the best time,”
“What's happening?”
“I literally can't explain but I have to go,”
“Do you want to go with the guy in the cardigan?” She asks as she eyeballs Reid.
I laugh.
“Yes, don't worry.”
“You've got my number.” she says quietly, eyeing Reid.
“Have a good night,”
I hug her and then walk back over to Reid.
“Take me back to my prison,” I sigh.
He wraps an arm around my waist and leads me through the crowds and out onto the street. I expect him to let go but his hand is securely holding my waist. It's not like the pawing grip of that moron earlier. It's soft but firm. He leads me down the road and into the car.
He basically places me in, putting my seatbelt on for me, as he does it he is so close I can smell him
“You have caused more trouble than you can even fathom,” he huffs as he gets into the driver's seat.
“Surely I've just highlighted the weaknesses in your security,” I tease, my tone light.
He shoots me a look and doesn't answer. We drive in silence for a while, his knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel so hard.
“When did you know I was gone?” I finally ask.
“I saw you run from my bedroom window, you're not as slick as you think you are.”
I bite my lip, trying not to laugh.
“I'm fast, aren't I?”
He sighs.
“Yes, you're very fast,” he glances at me. “I've been about five minutes behind you this whole time, you'd have realised that if you looked back even once, Miss Smith”
“My name is Belle, and I don't look back”
“Clearly.” He is so furious I want to shrink but I don't.
“What about Jacob?”
He laughs, loud and humorlessly.
“He's fired.”
“That's not fair, it was my fault,”
“He put you in danger, he's lucky I didn't tell your dad what he did,”
“And how would that help?”
“It would help me,” he mutters acidically under his breath.
“Getting some random guy's legs broken would help you?”
“Seeing a man who put you in danger dead would help me,” he snaps back.
I don't respond to him.
“I have to change my entire security team. I have to now vet twenty people and I have to ensure the fired ones don't talk. I have to redo all the cameras and so much more, Belle. You've fucked up my week.”
“I'm sorry,” I mutter, like a child.
“No, no you're not sorry.”
“Yknow what. No. I'm not sorry. I needed that. I am going mental. I need outside. I need people. I need a fucking life,”
“You won't have life if you don't listen to me,”
“Oh I know, I heard your little security guards chitchat. I heard about someone really wanting to get to me. What did they say I was? Oh yeah, leverage. Don't you think I deserve to know that?”
“You shouldn't have heard any of that.”
“Well, I did. And if some psycho wants to sniper me so be it,”
“They will not kill you. You will be taken and they will hurt you in every way they can. Do you understand?” His voice is commanding. Serious.
If it had been anyone else it might have scared them.
“I know better than anyone what would happen.”
“Because of last year?”
“Do you know what happened to me?”
“I know you were taken,” he says this softly “and after they got you back you went off the rails and your dad got scared,”
I snort
“What, is that wrong?”
“Got me back,” I scoff. “They didn't save me, I saved myself.”
“What do you mean?”
“What does it say about what happened to me whilst I was held, what does your little file say, professor?”
I see him pause
“The file said you were held captive by a rival gang.”
“That's it?”
“That's what I was told and what I could find out,”
“There are very few people who know what happened to me during those five days.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“With you?” I am repeating myself from earlier.
“Yeah, I'm actually pretty good with these sorts of things.”
“I know you think that, ex-FBI Profiler but at the moment you're just another man who's taken me somewhere I don't want to be Reid, just take me back to the house please” and I turn away from him, signalling I'm done with this conversation.
As we sit in silence I start to shake. I don't know if I'm cold or coming down or scared but I just keep shaking. Reid turns up the heat and I keep shaking. He pulls over to the side of the road and takes his cardigan off and puts it around me. I let him. Because maybe I am cold or maybe I just need someone to do something kind for me. I pull it tighter around me. His hand rests on my shoulder for a few seconds.
“Thank you,” I croak, voice threatening to break.
“No problem, I have like a thousand of them, you can keep that one,” he teases and I look at him and he gives me a wink before getting back on the road.
We drive the rest of the way home in silence. I throw the door open, clambering out in my heels. He's by my side before I'm even out. His arm on my waist again.
“I can find my own way to my room,” I try to shake him off.
“I don't care what you think you can and can't do. That's out the window now,” he sighs, " I can't tell if he's joking or not.
“I actually went through the bushes,”
He doesn't find this funny. He marches me to my room in silence. He opens my door and leads me inside.
I throw myself onto the bed dramatically and turn over, looking at him.
“I'm in bed, you've done your job,”
“Why did you do something so stupid, and for what? Dancing with strangers in a shitty club?” He's back to being angry again.
I find myself pulling his cardigan closer around me.
“You don't get it Reid, you won't get it,”
“Try me,”
“Why don't you give me your analysis on the situation, profiler?”
“I'm not gonna do that, why don't you explain to me why you had to leave,”
I look at him, I think about the answer and to my complete and utter horror I start to cry. Reid looks just as taken aback as I am by the whole thing. He didn't expect me to cry because I didn't expect me to cry.
“I'm lonely Reid, I'm really fucking lonely.” I managed to gasp. “I'm so sorry for crying,”
He takes cautious step towards me on the bed.
“You don't have to apologise for crying,”
“Well, I don't know what you're meant to do when you cry!” My whole chest shakes with sobs. “make it stop,”
He laughs a little.
“It'll stop when it's meant to stop” he approaches and perches on the edge of the bed. “Do I have your permission to give you a hug?”
I pause. Then nod. He wraps an arm around me and pulls me into his side. I find myself burying my face into his chest. He doesn't say anything, just let's me cry. I cry until his shirt is covered in my tears, makeup and snot.
It feels so nice to be held, his arms are strong. His hand gives my arm a little rub every now and then. I start to let the feeling comfort me, let him comfort me.
I pull back suddenly, like I've been electrocuted. I cover my face.
“What a mess, I'm so sorry. I don't usually cry,” and I try to laugh but it sounds strangled.
“I know, it's ok Belle. You've had a pretty intense time of it. When did you overhear three guards talking?”
“A week ago,”
“So you've kept all this inside, and instead of letting it out you let yourself out.”
“Then sprung a leak and got snot all over you,”
“That too,”
I don't look at him as I talk, I look down into my lap. My hands gripping the sleeves of his cardigan, still wrapped around me.
“I'm always with someone or helping someone or taking part in something. I need to be doing something, I can't just be sat with my thoughts,”
“Tomorrow, we will plan some projects, keep your mind busy. I am going to be more present too,
‘That… that sounds good.’ I feel my heart slow.
“Are you going to tell my dad I ran?”
“I don't know yet,” He shrugs, standing up.
“I bet I look ugly as hell,” I mutter, touching my face, stiff with tear tracks and melted makeup.
He holds his hand out for me to take. I accept it and he pulls me up a little too fast and I fall against him. He steadies me, hands on my upper arms. He looks down at me, still holding me. His eyes look my face up and down. It makes my stomach squeeze.
“You look insane, but you and I both know you could never look ugly, Belle,” he says softly before letting me go and heading into my bathroom.
I stand kinda still, confused at the moment.
“Come on,” he calls and I follow obediently.
He has a wash cloth, running under warm water and then putting my face wash in it. I glance in the mirror and wince. I really do look insane. Makeup all over my face, clear tear tracks down my cheeks.
“Sit,” He pats the counter.
I do as I'm told again. He takes the warm soapy washcloth, and begins to wash my face. He's soft, I watch him as he does it, concentrating so hard his mouth falls open a little. He spends time washing all the mess from my skin, gentle rubs until it's all gone.
“There we go, much better. Now, where are your pyjamas located?”
I gesture to the suitcase, open and its contents spilled over the floor. He shakes his head and riffles through my clothes until he finds shorts and a t-shirt.
“Put these on, I'm going to get you some water, will you be okay?”
“I'll try not to start leaking again,”
He goes to the door, glances back at me and I smile weakly. He nods and leaves. I start to undress. I take off my sequin dress, it makes a heavy sound as it hits the floor. I take off my bra, my pants, and pull on the pyjamas Reid had selected for me.
Then I just sort of wait for him to come back, sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the faded club stamp on my hand.
He returns with a soft knock and a pitcher of water.
“You're going to be severely dehydrated, so I thought this would be better.”
He places the glass and jug on my bedside table and then pulls back the covers on my bed.
“Get in,” his voice is gentle but firm.
I climb into bed and he pulls the covers back over me. He walks to the door and his hand hovers over the light switch.
“We will talk when you wake up.”
“Okay.” I reply.
He turns the light off and then turns back to me, talking into the darkness.
“I knew you'd try to run,” he says gently.
“How?”
“You never unpacked,” he says it so simply. “And, Belle, about what you said in the car… I don't want you to feel the way you do towards me.”
You're just another man who's taken me somewhere I don't want to be
“I don't think there's much you can do about that Reid,”
It's there, whilst I'm lying on the floor being eaten by the fear that I start to hatch my plan. I need to get out. I need people. I want to dance.
I don't want to flee, because I don't think I want to die. I definitely don't want anyone to take me. Again. My mind tries to slip back into its trauma and I shake my head.
I just need a night. That will fix me. Just one night.
When he's making my dinner I strike up a conversation. Even though he clearly doesn't want to speak to me.
"So, it was mentioned I could leave the premises," I begin.
"Not yet," Reid replied bluntly
"Why?"
"I haven't given the all clear,"
"Well, just do it. I want to go out, I need to go out," my voice is desperate, bratty.
"You need to be alive,"
"What's the point of being alive when I feel like this?"
"Your physical safety is priority,"
"So what is the set up then?" I ask.
"What do you mean?"
"Security set up. I wanna know what the game plan is. How many guards? What is the routine? Are people just waiting to do something or are there other plates being spun, do you understand?,"
"You sound like your dad"
"Don't you ever fucking say that to me again," I snap.
I see him soften in response to my anger.
"I'm sorry, I didn't meant I upset you,"
"I don't care about your apologies, Reid, please just tell me what's being done to keep me safe."
And he does, he lays out the protocol for me, how the villa is being looked after and what should be being done by the security.
"And outside the villa?" I probe.
"That's for me to know, we are working on it."
"Putting them FBI skills to use, are we?"
"Yes Belle,"
I know the instruction from Reid is for the security to mix up their routines but after two days of observations I see that they're all basically doing the same thing. Which doesn't make me feel safe but it gives me the confidence to take action.
I am a job to them, keeping an object owned by a powerful man safe.
They don't want to protect me, they just prefer I not be murdered on their watch. But they don't care that much.
I start to sit by the library, on the cream and white love seat, and Jacob wanders by every day at midday. I make sure I'm there. I make sure I'm dressed in tiny skirts and tops that show off my cleavage and tattoos. I make sure I'm the most charming, manipulative self. I flirt and giggle and ask him about himself. He starts guarded but by the third day he comes around the corner, eager to see me. Perfect.
I sit and laugh at his jokes, lean against him. Flutter my eyelashes. Taking his keys from his pocket is easy.
Once I have them I feel accomplished. I go to my room and I get dressed for the occasion. Tiny sequined dress that barely covers anything. I do my hair and makeup glam, big lashes and big bouncy curls. I look in the mirror and see a glimpse of the old me. The free me.
I put some coke, a bunch of cash and the keys in my little purse and I hold my heels in my hands. Getting off the grounds is far easier than it should be. I wait for the lull in the guards, same as it has been and find the break in the hedges I'd been working on.
Branches and thorns stab me as I crawl through but I don't care. Once I'm on the other side I take a deep breath, clutch my bag and heels firmly in my hands and I run. I run as fast as I can. I run until the burning in my thighs tells me to stop but I don't. I keep running until I come to a main road.
I spot a taxi and throw myself in. He looks startled.
"Lady, do you need a hospital?" He asks, taking in my wild presence.
"No, take me to the club with the big blue palm trees outside.," I tell him, remembering what I'd seen on my way to the villa.
He pauses but the handful of cash I slide over helps sway him. On the drive over I fix myself, wipe the blood from the scratches on arms and legs, I fix my hair and makeup. By the time we're there at the club I'm almost vibrating with excitement. I thank the driver and head into the club.
The bass and volume of the music envelopes me, i
The vibration of the whole club reverberates through my bones, in my blood.
I head straight to the bar, order two vodka and cokes and down them as fast as I can before going to the bathroom.
In the toilet I shovel cocaine into my nose, dipping my long thumb nail into the bag and pushing it deep into my nostril. I don't pause to feel the burn. I sit on the toilet seat until it hits me.
I check my nose at the sink mirror, making sure nothing liners on my nostrils. I glance up and see a beautiful girl with candyfloss pink hair, tanned skin that sets off her golden dress perfectly.
"I fucking love your tattoos," an English accent cuts through, Scouse.
Of course.
"Oh shut up, I was just about to tell you that dress looks fucking sick!" I reply.
"Oh my god, are you from London?"
"I am! I love your accent, you can always find a Scouser."
"We are everywhere," she laughs.
We start to chat, the feeling of cocaine and girlhood warms me.
"Do you want some of this?" I ask as I shake the bag of coke at her.
"It's not ket is it?"
"Definitely not."
"Are you sure you don't mind?"
"There's literally nothing in this world I want more than to get in that tiny bathroom and share drugs with you.'
"Well I'm convinced,"
We get into the cubicle and I give her the bag. She takes a small bit and sniffs it.
"Don't be shy girl, I've got plenty,"
As she does another bump I pull out my phone.
"Put your number in here, before I forget," I tell her.
She puts her number in my phone:
Sara💓
I don't even know if I can text her. Or if I'm allowed but having her name in there makes me feel a little more normal.
"Hi Sara, I'm Belle,'
"Appropriate name because you are fucking gorgeous."
"Shut up, you're gorgeous!"
"Do you want to get a drink and dance?"
"More than breathing."
We leave the bathroom, arm in arm and go to the bar. I buy us a jug of something pink and we put straws directly into it and drink it quickly.
Then we dance. Fucking hell do we dance. I feel alive. I feel wonderful. The alcohol. The drugs. The freedom.
It must be over an hour of pure bliss before a local man starts grabbing at me. Sara tries to separate us but he's too handsy.
"Kane piso. Mi me akoubas" I shout over the music pushing his chest.
"I touch what I want, little English girl," he shouts back, towering over me.
He reaches for me, grabbing my waist. I try to pull back but he's gripping so hard it hurts.
"Get your hands off her before I relieve them from your body," Reid's stern voice comes from nowhere
"Why does he call Draculina? It means Little Dracula, right?"
"Yeah, my nan was Italian, and I liked black and I was a morbid little kid. Obsessed with horror, with murder and shit."
He pulls a face.
"What, why did your face do that?" I ask, pointing.
"Do what?"
"That thing," I motion at his face.
"I haven't told you what my old job was,"
"Oh god, were you a murderer? "
This makes him chuckle.
"No, I was an FBI profile,"
My eyes widen.
"Like serial killers?"
"Yeah, that was the bulk of it."
"I ask again, what the fuck are you doing babysitting me?"
He shakes his head, still laughing.
"You're not going to answer me, are you?"
"Not yet, and you're not being babysat,"
"Do you prefer the term kidnap?" I ask, sliding off my stool and reaching for the wine.
"I prefer referring to it as keeping you safe," he moves the bottle from my grip.
"You said you were an FBI profiler," I continue, stepping closer without really deciding to. "So what, you just... used to sit around catching serial killers all day and now you're what? Gatekeeping my wine?"
"I'm keeping you safe." His jaw ticks slightly.
"Yeah, I know. You've already said,"
I stare at the bottle. His long fingers wrapped around it. I reach for it again and he pulls it back.
"Reid, are you really deciding what I can and can't do? Reach into that big brain of yours and let me know if it's a good idea to stop me from getting what I want?"
He pauses. I see those cogs move. He glances at the wine rack. He can't win here. And he knows it.
He lets go of the bottle and I take it.
"Good job, genius. You haven't seen me actually spiral and you really don't want to,"
I take the bottle back to the glass and pour the rest and throw the bottle away. I grab another bottle and go to leave
"Why are you so self destructive?" he finally breaks the silence, almost shouting after me.
"I'm not, I'm just a fun time," I respond.
I had every intent to go to my room but my feet take me to the library. I inhale the scent. Salt and books. It's comforting. I trawl through the shelves. Most of them are classics, expensive. There are first editions in perspex boxes. I'm tempted to break them open. I want to touch the pages. I want to free them.
There are also books I know and love thrown in. I wonder if my dad knew or if he paid someone else to do it.
I find a book and take the pillows off one of the armchairs and make myself a little seat on the floor. I begin rereading Frankenstein, a book I know so well it feels like I'm speaking to a friend.
I drink my wine as I read Shelley's words. The more I drink the more my eyes can't focus. I feel myself droop. Eventually I finish my wine and just lay down.
"I'm going to put a tracker on you," I'm awoken by Reid, voice clearly pissed off.
"I'd like to see you try, arsehole," I mutter.
I try to open my eyes but the light hurts. I feel sick. My lips are stuck to my teeth.
"We've been looking for you,"
You should all know where I am, this is bad service on your part," I sit up but my muscles protest, not happy with my makeshift bed.
"It's been noted," his voice is different.
"What's up?"
"Drink this.
He hands me a glass of water."
"Thanks, professor." I take it happily, drinking down half of the cold liquid in one go.
"Hungover?"
"A little
I'd like to know where you are at all times, you need to start texting me when you move throughout the house.
"One, absolutely not. Two, you should always know where I am anyway. That's literally your whole fucking job, what are you talking about? I shouldn't have to text you where I am. Three, absolutely not.
I managed to stand, legs stiff. I stretch. Then look at him.
"What is wrong?"
"Why do you think something's wrong?"
"I can tell, you're being weird."
"Maybe the thing that's wrong is that you're impossible."
"Dealing with me is part of the job, baby doll. Surely my dad's paying you enough to keep track of me." I pause and look at him. "We're you worried about me?"
"I wasn't worried, I knew you'd be doing something stupid"
"Is napping in a library stupid? Seems fitting for my whimsical and flitty nature, no?
"Getting so drunk you pass out on the floor is stupid."
"I clearly made myself a bed," I find my voice rising, as I gesture at the cushions on the floor. "not quite passing out."
"It's as close to an it as you can- do you know what? No, I'm not arguing with you Miss Smith-"
"Belle" I correct him but I've got a smile on my face and I can see it's infuriating him.
He opens his mouth to say something but storms off. I feel accomplished. I feel that flare, closest to feeling like an adventure since I arrived.
I find myself playing a massive game of hide and seek for the next week. I take a bottle of something, a book and find a hidden spot. I stay hidden in them until they find me. In the pool house cupboard, I find a secluded office in the corner of the house, I find beds in the many rooms with space under and lie there, the old stables is a personal favourite. I get a buzz off them calling my name. I get a buzz from making them work to find me. I like the relief on Reid's face when I'm found.
He doesn't entertain me, barely talks to me anymore. He makes sure I eat but I feel a buzz around, a different energy. Everyone seems more alert. I assume it's because of my antics.
A week into my hiding era I'm lying on the library floor, close by the window, sunning myself like a cat in afternoon sunshine. I can hear murmurs below, security grumbles.
"Reids called in more bodies," I hear one guard say to another, directly below the window I'm lying by.
"Jesus, more?" the other responds.
The tone unsettles me. I find myself crawling closer to the window, neck craned so I can hear what they're saying better.
"They are really pushing to find her. Got hold of one of her dad's drivers last week looking for her."
"Alive?"
"Barely," he laughs.
"Did he talk?"
"No,"
"Good man."
They both sit in that, like they're both thriving on the stability of another man.
"Is she involved in the business?" The other finally asks.
I hold my breath, intrigued by the answer that they have.
"No, as far as I can tell she's not part of it. She's just leverage."
"Poor girl."
Both of their watches beep.
"We should get going,"
"See you at dinner,"
And I hear their heavy footsteps leave in different directions.
I stay on the floor of the library because my arms cease to work. My head is spinning.
Leverage.
That's what I am.
That's all I am. No real value other than being my father's daughter. I shake. I can't stop the shaking. I put my book down and just lie on the floor.
I let fear swallow me. Who is trying to find me? Why?
Leverage.
The word bounces around my head. They want me just for the sake of having me. I need to get the fuck out of here
I feel the usual embarrassment of reaching out and being rejected. I let it wash over me. I hold onto it. I let it fill me as I stand, static in the hall, and then I add it to my shield.
Fuck it. Fuck him.
I head into my room, trying to make my step and my heart lighter than it is. I shower because I don't know what else to do. I take my time. Make everything purposeful.
I head to the kitchen wrapped in a towel and make myself a cocktail. I find the shaker and make a shiny shower, extra whisky.
“You're going to catch a cold like that,” his voice pierced through the silence and makes me jump.
I pour whisky all over the counter.
“Well you've made me waste about £8 worth of vintage whisky,” I sigh.
I glance up at him and he's not looking at me, avoiding my gaze. Avoiding me in the towel. I feel a thrill run though me. A new game.
I lean over and grab a cloth, my cleavage more on show and he turns his back.
I like it too much.
“Can't look at me, professor?” I find myself teasing.
“I- I can. I'm just choosing not to. I know your intent.
What's my intent?
He finally looks at me.
“You want to make me uncomfortable to give yourself some power. What's made you feel powerless, Miss Smith?”
“Belle,” I snap.
I don't like that he's flipped this.
“Something's happened, what is it?”
“Why do you fucking care?”
“Of course I care,”
I pull a face at him.
“i tried to call my dad,” I say as if he's pulled it out of me.
“And he didn't answer?”
“I Wish he hadn't I sigh,
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not with you,”
I pick up my drink and leave the room.
“Dinner is still at 8,” he calls after me.
I feel rage swell within me. Who does he think he is? A stupid fucking man with too much brain.
I try to slam my door but it's the stupid fucking shift close doors. I pick up the closest thing to me, an expensive looking vase, and throw it. The vase hits the wall with a dull, expensive thud. It doesn't even chip.
This fake fucking house with it's perfect decor, doesn't even break. The only thing that's fucked up in this place is me.
I finish my drink and wish I had more but I don't want to see that tall idiot. I pace as I chew on my nails. The black nail varnish from my last manicure is chipped and gross.
What I'd do to get my nails done, my hair. Shopping. Dancing. I want a stranger's body moving against mine. I want to spin on a dancefloor. I want eyes on me. I want freedom.
I scream.
I want to leave. I need to leave.
I get dressed in shorts, a t-shirt and trainers. I pull on a cap and glasses and go for a walk. I've not explored this place properly. I don't know what my options are.
I walk around the edge of the property, walking the perimeter Reid had called it. I can feel security's eyes on me. The men in suits, meant to protect me but is this protection? I spot a few gaps and make an effort to remember them.
These people don't care about me. Who the fuck even does in this place?
I feel so lonely in a house full of people.
I keep walking, around and around. My feet take me through the gardens, even surrounded by beautiful flowers and perfectly preened bushes feels wrong. Fake.
I feel like I'm fake, a fake Belle, in fake safety.
I make my way back into the kitchen, it's nearly 8pm. I don't know why I'm even going.
“I didn't think you'd show up,” Reid's voice is light and cheery, he's in a t-shirt and jeans.
“You look weird,” I tell him, heading for the wine rack.
He ignores my jibe and passes me a glass of wine he's already poured for me. I narrow my eyes.
“Yknow, I'm not supposed to take drinks off strange men,”
“That's a good rule to have,” he pauses. “Am I strange?
“You're a little freak, we've already deduced that, genius.”
I take the glass and sit on a stool.
“What are you feeding me then?” I sigh.
"I'm making a lemon pasta with breaded chicken."
“Sounds fancy,”
“It's actually incredibly easy, so you're eating then?” he says the last bit slowly, checking my pupils.
“Yes, I have not consumed any narcotics that will negate my hunger,”
“Progress,”
“No, I was just too angry to sniff anything. Don't take this as a win, professor,”
I sit in silence as he fixes my food. He once again plates it up beautifully, methodically. I stare at the plate. Perfectly breaded chicken breast with breadcrumbs and herbs. I try the spaghetti, it's perfect. Creamy. Zesty. The salad is dressed in a balsamic vinaigrette.
I find myself scoffing down the plate faster than planned, hunger overcoming my fury. He sits and eats his one plate at the dining table, separate from me.
“So, your dad is a bit of an asshole, huh?” Reid suddenly says.
I choke on a piece of rocket.
“Fucking hell Reid,”
“Am I wrong?”
“You don't get to where he is in life without being an asshole, he does what he has to do,” I cringe at my tone, defensive.
“But it's hard on you,”
“He has given me a good life, look where we are,”
“Exactly, look where you are,”
We stare at each other. His dark eyes watching me.
“You're mad at your dad but you're defending him,”
“He's my dad, I know he loves me.” I shrug. “My dad and I had lots of fun together. I used to think I was so special. He'd parade me around to his friends. His pretty daughter, so smart, so funny. When I look back its kinda fucked up.”
“What makes you say that?” he moves now, standing up and getting the bottle of wine, topping up my glass.
“My mum died when I was really young, so he liked to keep me close. He'd take me on his trips and I loved it when I was a kid but he was taking me on “business meetings,”.”
“I'm sorry, about your mom, and maybe your dad too,”
“It's fine. I don't remember her. And I got to travel, I received a great education, and got whatever I wanted.” I shrug again.
“I saw you have an art degree, a philosophy degree and the last one threw me.”
I find myself smiling.
“Conflict, Security & Development.”
“A masters in it,”
“I'm very smart,"
“Clearly,”
“I like being in school, makes me feel like I have a purpose.” I cringe at my vulnerability again. “Anyway. I bet you have a few up your sleeve?”
“I have six.”
“What the fuck, that's a bit intense. What you got?”
“I have a B.A. in Psychology, Sociology. M.A. in Psychology. And then PhDs in chemistry, mathematics and engineering”
“What the fuck are you doing babysitting me? Shouldn't you be out saving the world?
He opens his mouth to say something, a playful smile on his face, then closes again.
Half the time, I don't even know what I'm saying it about
I wake up and I'm still heavy, it feels like I'm walking through water. I drag myself out of bed to shower. I throw on shorts and a baggy t-shirt. I just feel sad and saggy. Like a human wet flannel.
I think about food but I just want the dark, and I really some sort of comfort. I take a Xanax and trudge my way to the TV room, make myself a blanket nest, I'm in a cage after all, and rifle through the stack of DVDs that I'd been sent. I hadn't bothered to check if my dad got the whole list and then I find it. Scott Pilgrim VS the World. My absolute favourite.
I put the first disc on and settle into my pile of blankets. The colours and noise is a little overstimulating at first and I think about turning it off but then Michael Cera appears and I sink even further into the sofa.
The Xanax makes everything a little softer. I know I should be panicking but I just have a pleasurable numbness. I contemplate taking another but I actually can't even be bothered to go back to my room.
The films half way through when I hear his steady footsteps. He enters looking a little wild, holding a bright pink smoothie. I pause Scott Pilgrim.
"I've been looking all over for you, and you're hiding in here?" he sighs
"Sorry" I shrug, as much as I can whilst covered in blankets.
"You don't need to be sorry. Drink this,"
He tries to hand me the smoothie. I pull a face.
"It's nice," he says, holding it out a little closer. "I know you like pink, so I made it pink."
I squint at it.
"How?"
"Strawberries, raspberries, a small amount of beetroot for colour saturation, Greek yoghurt for protein, banana for potassium and texture, and oat milk because it's easier on the stomach than dairy when someone is stressed."
I blink at him slowly.
"Beetroot?"
"You can't taste it."
I look unconvinced.
"It enhances the colour and adds nitrates which improve blood flow and energy levels. The natural sugars will help stabilise your mood and prevent the sedative effects of the benzodiazepine from making you feel worse."
"Fine,"
I take it and drink it. It's annoyingly delicious.
Do you like it?
"Yes," I drink more. "Thanks,"
"You're so welcome, please drink it all. You need the nutrients. Okay?"
"Okay," I nod.
He looks at me, narrowing his eyes.
"Are you on something?"
I think about lying but I think of the rules.
"Yes,"
"What have you taken?" He frowns.
"Xanax."
"Are you okay, Bell?"
"No,"
"What's up?"
I just shrug, lying back down.
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
"Nope,"
"Do you want me to leave you alone?"
I pause. I do. But I don't.
"No,"
"What are you watching?"
"Scott Pilgrim VS the World,"
"Thats the most words you've said in this conversation," he points out.
"Are you counting my words?"
"I'm observant," he asses me with those brown eyes, soft look on his face. "I haven't seen this so you'll have to catch me up."
He sits down on the sofa about three feet away from me. I sit up and move the nest of blankets away so I'm sat like an actual normal person. Without thinking I've moved closer to him.
"I'lll restart the film," I tell him.
"You don't have to do that,"
"Shut up," I mutter and pick up the remote control and start the films again.
We settle in and watch the chaos ensue. Reid seems to like it and it relaxes me to hear him laugh, something that is strange to me.
"Seven evil exes. Sounds statistically improbable, but narratively efficient." he says as the plot is revealed.
"Nerd, be quiet and watch the fucking film," but I laugh at him despite myself, and it feels real.
We watch the entire film, I let the comfort encompass me and I let Reid's presence settle into the room like something steady and grounding.
He doesn't try to fill the silence. Doesn't ask me questions I don't have the energy to answer. Every now and then I feel his eyes flick toward me, checking, assessing, but he never makes a thing of it.
At some point, without really thinking about it, I lean slightly toward him. Not fully, not enough to be obvious. Just enough that if I tipped a little more, my shoulder would touch his arm.
He notices. Of course he does.
But he doesn't comment. He just shifts, closing the gap by an inch or two, like it's incidental. Like it's nothing.
It's not nothing. It makes something in my chest loosen.
The colours on the screen stop feeling sharp and start feeling warm. The noise fades into something softer, more like background static than a demand. My fingers curl deeper into the blanket and I let myself just... exist there. Half-heavy, half-floaty, anchored by the quiet presence next to me.
When the film ends, I don't move straight away.
Neither does he.
There's a beat where the credits roll and the room is dim and quiet again.
"So, what did you think?"
"I liked it, it all feels intentional. The colours and the fight choreography was incredible."
"Well, good. Because I'm going to watch the making of documentary for the 10th time. There's a disk two."
"Well, if you can wait a bit I have some work to do but I'll be back in..." he pauses as he check his watch "About thirty two minutes,"
"If you're a second late I will start without you,"
"Don't you dare," he teases, standing up.
When he's gone the sadness tries to settle in again. I slide off the sofa and try to physically shake it off. I don't want it to overwhelm me. That's not me.
Come on Belle, sort your shit out. I put the second DVD. And go back to the sofa. I glance at the blankets.
I know I'll find comfort wrapped in them but I also know that I'll find more comfort sitting next to another person. I practice self care and don't cocoon myself.
He returns back on minute thirty one, carrying a chopping board.
"What you got there, professor?"
He doesn't say anything, just puts the board on the coffee table.
I look at it. Cheese slices, cut neatly. Grapes. Strawberries. Apple wedges. Cucumber sticks. Carrot batons. A small bowl of hummus in the middle. Crackers stacked in careful little rows. He also brings a jug, filled to the brim with ice water, and two glasses.
It looks like something from a magazine.I blink at it.
"You continue to make such Instagramable food when I can't post it. It's like you're trying to be annoying,"
"It's balanced," he replies calmly. "Protein, fats, natural sugars, hydration support, fibre, and something easy to eat in small amounts."
I stare at the board for a second longer, then pick up a cracker like I'm inspecting it for flaws.
"You forgot to arrange them in a spiral. Bit off your game today."
"I considered radial symmetry," he replies, completely serious as he pours the water, "but it would have compromised accessibility."
"Tragic." I mutter dryly.
I hit play before he can respond and shift slightly on the sofa, leaving that same small, deliberate gap between us.
He sits there for almost an hour. Watching the making of my favourite film. He comments at all the right places. He says things that I think in my head. His brain and the way it works entices me to no end.
"I can't believe they essentially waited for Michael Cera to grow up to be Scott,"
I just smile at him.
"Well, that's nice to see," he teases for a moment before looking serious.
He checks his watch. I hate that fucking watch. When it's checked I'm left alone within a minute.
"I've got to walk the perimeter and check in," he sighs, standing up.
He stretches and his shirt rides up and I get a glimpse of his hips and stomach. For some reason it starts a stirring in me.
I shake it from my head. I am just lonely.
"But I'll see you for dinner? 8pm?"
"It's a date, professor,"
"I have to clarify it's not a date,"
I roll my eyes.
"Get the fuck out of here, you little freak,"
"Yes ma'am," he salutes me and leaves.
I contemplate lying back down. The blankets look so inviting. Soft. Comfort. Sinking into depression. I want it.
But I resist.
I make myself stand even though I am not really sure I have legs. I look at my non-phone. It's nearly 6pm. I drag myself out of the darkness of the TV room.
The bright of the hall, sunshine spilling in through the neverending windows. I squint, shielding my eyes from the glare. As I make myself walk towards my room my fingers find my dad's number of their own accord.
He answers on the first ring.
"Hello sweetheart," he answers, always chirpy.
"Hi Pops,"
"You need something?"
I sigh. The question rolls off his tongue like he's in automatic.
"I just needed to hear a familiar voice," I cringe at my own words.
"Im a little busy at the moment, can I call you back?"
"Yeah, no worries. Call me when you have some time," I try to keep my voice steady.
"Love you," he says, almost automatically but I find my heart reaching for it, craving it.
"I love you too pops,"
"Speak soon,"
Then he's gone. The call was over before I even got to my room.
Lighting matches just to swallow up the flame like me?
Do you call yourself a fucking hurricane like me?
The timer dings and I pull the bubbling enchiladas out of the oven, the cheese perfectly golden and stretching in long, gooey strands. I plate up two generous portions, slide one across the kitchen island to Reid, and keep the other for myself.
I pour myself another glass of wine and he doesn't comment but watches me with those big brown eyes.
"Do you want one?" I ask, motioning to the bottle.
"Water is fine,"
I pour him a glass of water and join him at the table. We're sat opposite each other again but we are so much closer than the huge outdoor table.
We tuck in in silence, as he has his first bite he actually groans.
"This is... this is rally good," he puts bit pieces in his mouth.
"You were hungrier than me,"
"The fruit earlier is all I've eaten, and about fifteen cups of coffee,"
"That doesn't sound sustainable,"
"And alcohol and weed gummies are?" his voice is dripping in sass.
"Absolutely, I'm a whimsical and chaotic human. I can do what I want."
"You really believe that, don't you?"
"Abso-fucking-lutely,"
He finishes his plate and looks at me intently.
"Thank you, that was just incredible,"
"You're so welcome,"
"What else do you like to do then, apart from being whimsical,"
He wants to get to know me. Why?
"I like to travel, to shop, to party, to talk to people,"
"So, all the things you can't do at the moment, it must be hard,"
"I have other hobbies, I just don't like being forced to do them
"That sounds like Pathological Demand Avoidance," he says gently, like he's testing the words.
I glare at him.
"Do you have a diagnosis?" he asks so blasé it stops me for a second.
"One, that's rude. Two, honey I've got a list of them, there are so many abbreviations next to my name,"
This makes him laugh.
"What other hobbies do you have?" he puts his chin on his hand and leans in, listening intently.
I feel myself falter briefly. His hair falls in his eyes and I have the stupidest urge to move it.
"I like reading, I love films and I dabble in some arts too." I start to babble.
"Have you found the studio yet?"
"There's a studio?"
"Yeah, there aren't many materials in there but I'll get some ordered. What do you like to use?"
"Anything really, mixed media is what I'm all about,"
"Chaos," he smiles, with a small nod
"Now you're getting it"
He seems so much more relaxed now.
"You put the parasol over me,"
"You were asleep for a while, uv rays-'
"Let me just say thank you without you getting all sciencey," I interrupt.
"Ok,"
"Thank you,"
"You're welcome,"
There's a pause and I feel the air shift.
"What about you, what are you into?" I ask
"I like books too."
"Obviously,"
"I like old movies, big fan of sci fi,"
"Doctor Who fan by any chance?
"Oh yes. You?"
"I'm English of course I'm a Doctor Who fan, fave Doc?
"It's a hard choice. But probably Tom Baker."
"Classic."
"You? No actually let me guess,"
He squints at me, putting his finger on his chin like he's thinking. It's making me smile too much.
"Go on," I urge.
"Tennant?" He finally says. "But Matt Smith is a close second,"
"What the actual fuck, are you psychic?"
"I'm just very observant,"
"You're a little freak, is what you are," I shake my head at him and sip my wine.
He laughs loudly at me, and it changes his whole face. He seems younger, softer. Like this version of him doesn't carry the weight of everything outside these walls.
His gaze drops and he suddenly looks embarrassed.
"I'll do the dishes, if you want to head to bed,"
"It's like 8pm and I've slept for nearly four hours, if you need to be walking or checking something I won't be offended,"
He stands up and starts to gather our plates. I watch him in silence as he moves through the kitchen. He has an elegance his frame shouldn't be able to do. He's gentle on purpose.
"I've got a lot of stuff to do, are you ok?"
"I'm not a child, I'm fine,"
"No, you're not a child but you are a troublemaker.".
I wink at him and he rolls his eyes and leaves with a wave.
I sit and the silence settles in, the loneliness. The ache for human connection. I want to numb it. Kill it off.
I pour the rest of the wine into my glass and grab another bottle. I head to my room, grab Power and sit on the balcony, watching the sun set beyond the security fences, light glinting off the barbed wire. I go between reading and watching the sea roll in and out.
I finish the book as the automatic lights come on around the balcony. I get that feeling of grief, when the story you'd been lost in is over.
I think about Roxy, she reminded me of me. Daughter of a gangster, never really safe. Young and scared and powerful and funny. I hold the book to my chest like I'm hugging her, like I'm hugging younger me.
I let the feeling settle into my bones, it's nice to have a melancholic feeling instead of fear. I think about Reid asking to read it after me, how he leant in to listen to me.
I want to spiral into the why, I want to question his motives. He's being paid to keep me safe, not too be my friend.
I pick up a pen and rip a page out of one of my notebooks and begin to write a note.
Reid,
I hope you enjoy this book and much as I did. I think there's a pretty blatant reason I relate to Roxy but there's also other reasons. Let's talk about it when you read this in 2.4 seconds
-Your Bestie
I leave the book outside his bedroom door with the note tucked in it and go back to the balcony. I watch the security move around the garden, in the dark. Suited shadows prowling my father's land, there to protect my father's property. Me.
I feel that loneliness settle in me, a heaviness I can't escape. My feet take me to my bed. I try to sleep but can't. My mind whirls. Thoughts try to bounce around my head, wanting me to take notice but I just can't.
I lie on the floor and try to do breathing exercises but I can't count. I gravitate towards my lockbox. I take a Xanax and finish the wine and pass out on the floor
The sun touches me softly from a gap in the curtains, waking me up slowly. I stretch, climb out of bed and throw the curtains open and go and stand on the balcony. I breathe in deeply, I want to absorb the salt and sunshine.
I bring my lockbox out with me, rifle through the baggies of various powders and pills until I find the pack of gummies. I select two red ones and throw them into my mouth. I let the mixture of herbal and sweet linger on my tongue. I sit back in the lounger and intend to enjoy waiting for them to kick in.
This is ruined by a knock on the door. I groan.
"What do you want?" I call out.
"Sorry to interrupt your morning, can I come in?"
"If you must, bestie,"
He enters, dressed in a light grey button up shirt, dark grey cardigan and dark grey trousers. His blue tie is loose around the neck, like he's been pulling at it.
"Aren't you hot in that?" I find myself asking.
"A bit," he shrugs.
He hands me a glass cup full of what looks like iced coffee.
"What's this?'
"It's an iced latte, with oat milk and vanilla syrup,"
"How do you know that's my order?"
"I am very good at my research,"
"Ok stalker. Wait, do you have a file on me?"
"I do," he nods.
"Can I see it?"
"No,"
"It's kinda creepy," I pause. "But thank you for the coffee,"
He hands me the glass and his eyes dart to the open box beside me.
"Don't have a panic attack. I just had some gummies"
"With THC?"
"Yes, Mr Reid, with THC," I sigh
"Statistically speaking, people who are already anxious are more likely to experience paranoia or panic attacks from high-dose THC."
"Well, statistically speaking, low-dose THC has been shown to reduce PTSD-related flashbacks and improve mental health, which will help me because I'm riddled with all the ailments. My therapist literally recommended these."
He narrows his eyes.
"Yeah, it's not nice it's it? Someone throwing facts at you." I poke my tongue out at him.
"Piantagrane," he mutters as he hands me something.
I look at it and it's the rules, typed, printed and laminated.
I find this really funny. Like, really funny.
"You laminated it for me," I manage to say through gasps.
"I see that gummy is kicking in,"
I giggle again.
"When you're ready come down and I'll make you breakfast."
"Yes sir," I salute him and laugh.
He just shakes his head and turns and leaves. I sit and enjoy the view as I drink the coffee. It's perfectly made. Right amount of milk, syrup, ice. everything. It tastes like my favourite coffee shop.
I lie and watch the sea go in and out. I enjoy the softened edges of life for now. I finish my coffee and go and get ready. I take a quick shower, sticking my curls up into a messy bun so I don't have to wash them.
I dig out a black and red bikini with diamante skulls all over it. I throw a baggy t-shirt over it and put on my flip flops. I go through my suitcases until I find my Holly & Co tote. It's my fave, black with pink writing. It's absolutely huge with "books and snacks" emblazoned on the side. I place in my printed rules, my current book, my water bottle, my new phone, and suncream. I pick up my empty glass to take back to the kitchen.
I head into the vague direction of where I think the kitchen is but it's not where I thought it was and I end up at the gym. I wander around until I see a suited security guy. I wave at him.
"Hey, hey, can you take me to the kitchen I think I'm lost"
He actually looks taken aback that I'm speaking to him. He has a flash of panic.
"I'm not going to bite, I just need to find Reid. Please."
"Oh yes Miss Smith, follow me."
My flip flops slap the marble floor so loud it bounces off the walls. He walks quickly, I have to half jog to keep up with him. Eventually I recognise where we are and see the kitchen.
"Thanks.. erm, what's your name?"
"Jacob,"
"Thank you Jacob, much appreciated."
I head into the kitchen and Reid is standing looking over papers spread over the table.
"Well there you, did you get lost?"
"I did. A young man called Jacob helped me find my way,"
"I'm glad the team is being useful to you. What do you want for breakfast?"
"Just some fruit please," I smile at him as I jump up on the stool at the breakfast bar.
He nods and goes about, methodically chopping and arranging fruit onto a large plate for me. The colours are vibrant, strawberries, kiwis, dragon fruit. He puts a bowl of yogurt topped with honey and granola in the middle. My mouth is a little ajar as I see the final product.
"I can't believe you've made this and I can't post it to Instagram."
"You'll just have to enjoy the moment. Do you want to eat on the terrace?"
"That sounds lovely. Thanks."
"Head out, I'll bring it."
I sit on the terrace, and look out onto gardens and pool for the first time properly. They're beautiful, gorgeous sprawling lawns they are a little too green. Pretty flowers border three while thing, but then it's ruined by the excessively tall, ugly security fence. The barbed wire is really the rotted cherry on top.
I flop onto the large sofa that wraps around a huge table, clearly built for huge parties. Parties filled with friends and dancing and laughter. I try not to pull a face as I hear Reid approach.
He places the big plate down and goes to walk away.
"Are you not joining me?" I ask without thinking about it.
God, I'm pathetic.
He pauses.
"Let me get my papers and I'll join you."
"Thanks bestie," I try I bring my mask back.
He shakes his head as he heads back in. He returns with his papers and takes the seat across from me.
I watch him as he reads, barely moving his eyes before going on to the next page. I keep pushing the plate back and forth and he takes small pieces of fruit absentmindedly, looking at the papers and never looking at me.
"Do you really read that fast?"
"Do you think I'm pretending?" He smiles up at me, brown eyes playful.
"Maybe," I shrug.
"I read quickly," Reid says quietly. "About twenty thousand words per minute."
"You are fascinating,"
"Thank you, I think,"
I offer him the last strawberry and he pops it into his mouth. I pick up the dishes to clean them.
"Leave them, I'll sort" Reid says as I walk past him.
"I may be a brat but I can wash some dishes, professor."
I don't wait to hear his response and take my dishes to the sink. I wash them, dry them and look around the kitchen cupboards until I find their place. I fill my water bottle and make myself a mimosa.
When I return to the terrace he's moved on to another file.
"Can you get Spotify on this?" I ask, handing him my new phone. "I only have three songs on my Switch and I'm bored of them now."
"Sure, leave it with me, I'll make a call, I'll bring it over to you when it's done.
"Thanks boy genius,"
I pick up my bag and head to the lounger by the pool. I place my water and mimosa on the little table and lay out a towel, pull my shirt over my head and begin to put suncream on. I try to reach my back but my arms just don't bend that way.
I get an idea as Reid approaches holding out my phone.
"Professor, can you please help me" I put on a pleading voice, fluttering my lashes.
"What do you need?" he sounds tired.
"Can you put suncream on my back?"
"Absolutely not."
"You're meant to be keeping me safe, does that not include from the suns rays?"
He pauses.
"If you dont wanna, I'm sure one of these burly security guys would happily slather some oil on me. Where's that Jacob?" I start looking around for one tof the suited men.
"Fine, give me the damn bottle,"
I grin, feeling the win.
I flatten the lounger and lie face when. There's a pause, then he puts the cream in his hands and starts applying it to my back. I give a little gasp at the cold and he murmurs a sorry.
His hands feel strong, sure. I find myself closing my eyes, it has been a while since anyone has touched me and I'm enjoying this a little too much. His hands go down my back, down my sides and stop just above my bikini bottom. I am close to purring as he stops.
I roll onto my back.
"I should have asked you to do my front too" I tease.
" manage to get a blush from him. I enjoy it.
"Thank you, Reid."
He doesn't say anything as he walks into the house. I sip my mimosa and lie in the sun, devouring my book. He comes out every two hours to top up my cream, like clockwork.
On the second top up, as his hands are on my skin, he takes to me.
"What are you reading?"
"The Power by Naomi Alderman,"
"What's it about?" His hands move down to my address, firmly smoothing the cream onto me. I grip my book a little too tight.
"It's about women and girls getting a power, and how it shifts the power dynamic of patriachy.
"Can I read when you're done?"
There's a moment, a pause.
"Yeah, of course. Do you want to take it now? You'll be done in about five minutes."
"No, you finish it first. I'll read it when you're finished,"
"Okay, we can book club."
"Sounds like a plan,"
"I think I'm all set on the cream, professor."
His hands are still on me and he snatches them back when he realises he hasn't stopped touching me.
"I'm so sorry,"
"You're fine, it was nice,"
His face flushes bright red and I giggle at him. He turns and leaves.
"See you in two hours" I call after him
When I'm down to my last chapter I dive into the pool. The cold water cools my hot skin. I do as many laps as my body still let me before coming out and lying in the sun to dry off.
I feel my eyes getting heavy. I try to fight it off but the mimosa and gummies win and soon I'm fast asleep in the afternoon sun.
I'm not sure how I snooze for but when I wake up there's a big parasol covering the lounger I'm sleeping in. I stretch, I feel a little groggy but well rested.
As I pull my t-shirt over myself I realise I'm fucking starving. My stomach growls loudly. I flip flop my way back into the kitchen with my stuff. I don't see Reid anywhere.
I take dinner matters into my own hands. I look in the fridge and it's absolutely full of anything I could want. I start pulling things out, not really sure what I'm going for until I look at the stuff on the counter. I have chicken, peppers and onions. I hunt for seasoning and find a fully stocked spice rack. I gather all the stuff to make enchiladas.
I start by making the sauce. As the dried chillies boil I chop garlic and onion and then add them along with the chillies and some spices to the blender.
Reid appears as I'm straining the sauce.
"Youre awake," he says, cheery.
"I am, and I'm making enchiladas, do you want some?"
"It smells really good so I can't say no. Can I help?"
"You can make me a drink and sit down"
'I'm not making you a drink,"
"Drinking a glass of wine whilst making dinner is a totally normal thing. Please can I have a glass?'
"Fine," he sighs.
He pulls a red wine out of the rack in the wall and pours me a small glass.
I keep pushin' forwards, but he keeps pullin' me backwards
Nowhere to turn, no way, nowhere to turn, no
"Hello daughter," he is trying to be bright, cheery. "How do you like the place?"
"It's beautiful, it's very you"
I tuck the phone under my chin and grab a glass and the jug and take them into the TV room.
"I'll take that as a compliment,"
"This place doesn't even have a smart TV. There's an actual DVD player,"
"Well, send me a list and I'll get some DVDs sent to you,"
"Dad, can't I get new TV,"
"Mr Reid said smart TVs can be traced, so you're getting dvds my love,"
"What am I meant to do now?"
"Is there none there?"
"Let me see. Oh look we have the second half of the fourth season is Friends, Superbad and... ooh Space Jam,"
"See, things are looking up,"
"Dad, how long am I going to be here?"
"I don't know, but know I'm working on it,"
"Ok,"
"Listen I've got to go Draculina, send me a list and help yourself to anything. Love you,"
I'm half a jug of sangria down when Reid appears.
"Hey, do you drink? Are you allowed?" I giggle, shaking my glass at him.
"I do and not whilst I'm on duty,"
"You're gonna be on duty for weeks, I am super annoying you're gonna need a drink,"
"What are you drinking?" He narrows his brown eyes at me.
"Sangria, I make the best,"
"Oh, really?"
"Yes, eighteen months behind the bar at some dinghy club in Spain,"
"You worked at a bar?"
"I did, and I was very good so you don't have to sound so shocked,"
"I'm sorry, that was rude,"
"It was but te perdono."
"Muchísimas gracias por perdonarme,"
"You speak Spanish?"
"And a few others,"
Interesting. He doesn't give off the usual bodyguard vibe. I can see his brain working all the time.
"Do you want a glass?" I gesture to the jug.
"No, thank you,"
"Do you want to watch Space Jam with me?"
He pauses.
"Yes,"
"This is a cinematic masterpiece," I murmur, finishing my glass and then refilling it.
"This is going to be a fun summer," Mr Reid shakes his head.
"Oh aren't you going to give me my rules?"
"I think you need to be a little more sober, when was the last time you ate?"
"I don't know, yesterday maybe?"
"Alcohol absorbs significantly faster on an empty stomach. Your blood sugar will drop, your coordination will go first, and you'll feel fine right up until you're not. Best case, you throw up. Worst case you'll pass out."
"Maybe that's the case for someone who doesnt use alcohol as a crutch, but I do so I'll be fine."
"You're going to eat."
"You can't make me, and I need more sangria,"
"i can. And you drank it all,"
"Well, I'll make more,"
"Come on, I'll make you a sandwich,"
"No, you're no fun,"
"Come on, Miss Smith"
When I protest again he stands up, grabs me and throws me over his shoulder. He fireman-lifts me to the kitchen like I weigh nothing.
"Who are you?" I giggle, enjoying being held even if I'm being carried like a child.
"I'm meant to be looking after you, if you died of alcohol poisoning on the first night I'll be really mad. You are going to be trouble,"
He places me on the stool of the breakfast bar and makes sure I'm steady.
"I've been told that many times, I am the ultimate piantagrane,"
"Yes. You are a troublemaker."
"You speak Italian too?"
"A bit."
He starts to open the fridge but he is distracted by the empty bottle on the kitchen counter. He lifts it up and I see him pale at the label.
"Hey, did you use this bottle to make sangria?" he asks, incredulous.
"Yeah, I just took one from downstairs," I shrug.
"Do you know how expensive this is?"
"Expensive and rare, my dad told me to help myself,"
"Yeah probably doesn't mean his $1200 bottle of wine,"
"He should be more specific. I'm also going to drink his 45 year old whisky with a cherry cola,"
"No you're not,"
"Oh, I am,"
"Fine just sit down,"
He pours crisps into a bowl and puts them in front of me, then chops up some cheese and piles it on the plate.
"Eat this whilst I make you something more substantial." His tone makes it clears he's already sick of me, I'm impressed with myself my magic worked so quickly.
I pull the plate closer to me, picking up the cheese and popping it into my mouth. It's so good. I watch him as he starts gathering bread, cheese and fruit. He makes me a grilled cheese and then chops strawberries and puts them in another bowl.
"I expect most of this to be gone, by the time I get back," his tone is so serious.
"Wait, where are you going?"
"I've got check ins to do, I'll be ten minutes,"
As soon as he's out of the room I head to the bar in the corner and pour myself a large measure of expensive whisky. I go over to the fridge, pull out a can of cherry coke and top up the glass with it.
I sit back at the breakfast bar and start to eat the food Reid made me. The grilled cheese is very good, the crisps are good, it's all pretty good and I basically have eaten it by the time he returns. He glances at the almost empty dishes and smiles and for the first time I see a softer side to him.
"Thank you Miss Smith, how are you feeling?"
"As good as a kidnap victim can be," I shrug.
I pick up the whisky and coke and drink down half of it in three gulps. Reid closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of nose and sighs deeply.
"You're a stressful human,".
"I know, whatever my dad's paying you is nowhere near enough," I grin at him.
"Are you compos mentis enough for me to lay out my rules?"
"Hit me," I wink at him and cock my finger at him.
He leans against the counter, crossing his arms.
"Alright," he says calmly. "Rule one: you do not leave this property without me."
"Am I allowed to leave?"
"Not yet, but eventually you'll be allowed a day or an evening out a week,"
"Oh you're spoiling me," I say with mock joy.
"Rule two," he continues, voice steady, "You do not open doors or gates for anyone. If anyone makes contact me or one of the other staff will deal with it."
"Fine by me,"
"Rule three: the phone I gave you will be your only phone. No social media, no location services, no unapproved contacts. Calls and messages are restricted."
"Rule four: you will eat at least twice a day and sleep ."
"You're kidding?"
"I try to avoid joking around,"
"I wonder why," I mutter, crossing my arms. "I'm not a toddler."
"Then eat like an adult and we won't have this problem."
"Malnutrition and sleep deprivation impair emotional regulation, memory, coordination, and decision-making," he says matter-of-factly. "You become easier to manipulate and harder to protect."
I put my bead in my hands and sigh.
"What else?"
"Rule five," he carries on, voice slightly firmer now, "if I say run, you run. If I say hide, you hide. If I say get down, you get down. No questions."
"Okay,"
"Miss Smith, I need you to confirm this one again to me. If this happens. No hesitation. No arguing. You can yell at me afterwards."
We catch each other's gaze for a moment and I see something flash in his brown eyes. I see an understanding of what happens when hesitations happen.
"Rule six: if something feels wrong, you tell me immediately. Even if you think it's stupid."
"Like what?"
"Strangers watching you. Staff acting differently. Unfamiliar vehicles. Doors out of place. Anything. Trust your gut, I will trust it too.'
"I feel like I should be writing these down," I giggle as I finish my glass of whisky.
"I'll print them out for you, now, final and most important rule: you don't lie to me."
"What?"
"No lies. If I ask you a question I'd like an honest answer. I will be honest with you and I expect that in return."
"Okay, deal. Fine. I accept your rules. If you could leave me a note with them written down I'd be ever so grateful. To be honest, I was worried you were going to ask me to dress respectfully or something,"
"This is your home, you wear whatever you want. if anyone makes you feel uncomfortable at any point you will tell me." He says it with such intensity it makes me falter.
"Okay,"
"Miss Smith, you should get some sleep. It's been a long day."
As he says that I feel the tiredness in my limbs.
"Yeah, I probably should. Goodnight Reid," I slide off the barstool and wobble too much, nearly sliding off.
Reid catches me.
"I'll walk you to your room," he says softly, offering me his arm.
I don't even argue, I just link my arm through his and let him lead me off into the sprawling mabsuon.
"I don't think I'd have found this on my own," I laugh as we twist and turn towards my room.
"You would have got lost and I would have found you in a cupboard somewhere," Reid teases.
"You know me so well already,"
He stops outside what apparently is my room. He opens the door and helps me down onto the end of my bed.
"Because you chose the most vulnerable room in the house, I will be in the adjoining room," he motions to the doors the lead to another bedroom.
"You totally want to be my best friend,"
"It's tactically the best-"
"No, don't wanna hear it. I know it's because you want to be my new bestie. Totally fine,"
I fall asleep on the plane and wake to Reid gently touching my shoulder.
"We've landed Miss Smith, there's a car approaching if you want to get in and I'll grab our bags and drive us to the villa,"
I don't respond, just grab my things and head out to see a black Mercedes smoothly making its way up the runway. The day is hot, sun high in the sky and I feel it already trying to burn my skin. I glance around. It's not really an airport, but there's a Greek flag waving on top of one of the little buildings lined up along the side.
Okay so we're on a Greek island. At least there will be good cheese.
The driver gets out of the car and heads towards the plane. I slide into the air conditioned back seat and wait for my supposed bodyguard. He climbs out of the jet and makes his way over to the driver. They speak briefly and then Reid climbs into the car
We drive in silence for about twenty minutes. We pass through a cute little village, then somewhere a bit more vibrant and touristy. I note the clubs we pass in my head. After driving through more countryside we came to a huge fence with a man in a full black suit waiting by the gate.
"We've cleared the perimeter, checked for anything suspicious. You're good to go." the stranger tells him.
"Thank you, and where are the rest of the team?" Reid asks.
"They are all at their checkpoints"
"That's great, thank you,"
Reid punches numbers into the little keypad and the gate springs open. He glides down the long drive, pulling up to the house. The house itself is truly huge, modern with classic Greek architecture, its ostentatious and almost pretentious. My dad's favourite.
"Stay in the car whilst I walk around,"
"He just said it was fine," I mutter.
"I didn't, so stay in the car."
I watch him make his way around the grounds, along the high walls with barbed wire tops. He's gone about ten minutes before appearing through the front door. He motions for me to follow. I climb out of the car and head inside.
I stop in the big glass hall, there are huge corridors that sprawl out each and every way. There are endless doors and I kinda want to open all of them.
"Why don't you go and choose your room, and I'll bring your cases up," Reid cuts through my pondering and I suppress a scowl.
I don't look at him as I grab one of the cases and heave it up the stairs myself. I put all my strength into not looking like I am struggling, which I very much am.
"You are so stubborn," I hear him call.
I ignore him and head straight upstairs, walking through the endless corridors. I peek into rooms, beautiful bedrooms with huge beds and expensive art on the walls. Each room has a different coloured accent. I find the room with the best bath, and I'm delighted it's the pink room. I throw my handbag on the bed and then myself.
I just lie there and try not to cry. I feel a heavy anxiety in my chest and it's tightening every time my mind tries to come to terms with what's happening. It's easier if I just ignore it. Push all that right down.
I reach into my bag and pull out the other champagne bottle. I open and drink a bunch down.
"Well, you've chosen objectively the most dangerous room in the place. Big windows, lots of entry points, furthest from the safe point. It even has an adjoining room. Classic death wish."
I sit up and glare at Reid as he puts down my other two cases.
"You told me to choose and I chose, so you can fuck off. I'm sure you have something to do other than critique me," my voice is louder than I plan it to be.
"I actually don't, I need you to come downstairs and we're going to go over my rules, I also have your new phone, your dad will call you soon," he puts the phone down on the side.
"Can't you just tell me now?" I sigh.
"I'd prefer you come down,"
I roll my eyes and take a swig from the bottle.
"Fine, but I'm going to shower and get changed,"
"Come and find me when you're ready, I've got some things to check," he turns to leave, then pauses and faces me again. "is it safe to assume you have drugs in that little lockbox?"
"Yes,"
"Can I ask that you don't do them?"
"You can ask but I will probably still do them,"
"Thanks for your honesty I guess,"
"Are you going to take them off me,"
"Not as of now, I don't think that would be a good start to our time together, but if I think for a moment you're putting yourself in danger I will step in."
"Yes sir," I salute him and it's his turn to roll his eyes before leading.
I roll off the bed and open up my cases, finding my toiletries and heading into the bathroom. White and grey marble cover the walls and floors. There's a huge waterfall shower in the corner and a jacuzzi bathtub that sits right against the window, looking out into the sea. I pause to appreciate the moment.
It's absolutely bat shit crazy, and I hate it, but my dad could have sent me to a bunker or something. A mansion on a Greek island isn't the worst place in the world. I take a long shower. I wash, scrub, shave and spritz myself until I'm soft and shiny.
I dry my hair, letting the dark curls fall around my face. I dress in a black bikini, elaborate silver embroidery of stars all over the cups. I look in the mirror and admire how it looks, it shows off all my tattoos. I slide on some flip flops and throw on a sheer cover up. I pick up the champagne bottle and drink the last of the warm fizzy liquid.
I sigh and open the door, time to explore my new gilded cage. As I walk through the house and glance through the endless double story windows I see glimpses of men in suits, walking or standing.
I don't know if I like it.
I think about exploring the grounds but Reid's words from the plane stick with me. I don't want to do everything too soon. So I just stick to the house, I glance outside and take note of the pool. There's endless rooms with high ceilings, huge windows, pillars and marble floors. Everything is cream or white. As I wonder I find a gym, an indoor pool and I find a TV room with an older TV and DVDs. For fuck sake.
I finally come across the kitchen, all white again. White marble countertops and cabinets. I open the fridge and some cupboards and I'm pleasantly surprised they are fully stocked including the bar. I know my dad, there had to also be a wine cellar.
I begin opening doors, I find a pantry, cleaning cupboards and-
Bingo!
Behind the last door there are stairs leading into a basement, I flip the light switch and descend into the wine cellar. Bottles and bottles line shelves on every wall. I grab the first one I know he will miss and bring it back to the kitchen with me.
My dad calls me as I am finishing off making the sangria. I wait until I have a glass in my hand before I answer.
I immediately know someone's in my house. I can feel it, that extra sense that prickles the back of your neck and makes your hair stand on end. I reach into the drawer by the front door, move the piles of address books filled with nothing and slide out the knife I have in there.
I grip the handle, the metal cool in my sweaty palm. My pulse is thumping in my ears, I beg my boots not to click on my marble floor. I try to get my hands to stop shaking as I peer around the doorframe into my kitchen. My heart briefly drops when I see a tall man sitting at my breakfast bar drinking tea.
He looks up at me like he knew I was there all along. I hold the knife out to him.
"Who the fuck are you and what are you doing in my house?" I yell at him, trying to not get my voice to falter, waving the blade in front of me.
The stranger just smiles, standing up slowly, holding up his hands. He is tall and handsome and not meant to be sat in my fucking kitchen like he owns the place.
"So you haven't spoken to Mr Smith yet," he sighs.
"My dad sent you?"
"Yes, I'm Reid, your new security detail"
"No, you're not."
"I am, Miss Smith"
"I am not a child I don't need to be looked after,"
"Well, I'm afraid your dad doesn't agree," he shrugs. "And given the current threats, I'm inclined to agree with him,"
I start to rifle through my bag, trying to find my phone. I'm too mad and my bag is too full of crap to find it. And I'm still holding the knife out in front of me. I start to get frustrated when the tall stranger shoves his phone at me.
"It's your father,"
I grab his phone off of him
"Dad, what the fuck?"
"I didn't tell you earlier because I knew you'd flee," my dads raspy voice travels through the phone "You're going to go with my friend Mr Reid and he's going to take you on a nice holiday,"
"He's doing what?"
"My plane is going to take you and your new shadow to a nice little island and you're going to take some time away where it's safe,"
"This is fucking kidnap,"
"No darling, I'm trying to prevent exactly that happening," his voice is soft
"Again," I mutter sharply
"Yes, again" he sounds defeated "please, just go for a few weeks, see it as a holiday, it's a beautiful villa by the sea, whatever you want I'll get sent to you. You have to stay in the house for a week or two, then you can go out with Mr Reid."
I don't respond, my heart is racing and I feel sick.
"Please, Draculina"
I pause at the nickname, the pleading tone. It's not often Tony Smith begs for anything.
"For how long?"
"A few weeks, maybe longer,"
I manage to stop the scream that wants to ring out of me. The audacity. He's the reason I'm in danger anyway. Sure, when you're one of the world's biggest drug dealers it seems great and the money's good but people hate you and want to hurt you and have what you have. They take the daughters of drug dealers.
I find my mind slipping back a little and I shake my head clear of the thoughts. I glance at the bodyguard, he's dressed in smart trousers, shirt and tie.
"I'm not happy about this, and this guy you've hired: have you met him? He looks like a geography teacher. He's wearing a bloody cardigan,"
Reid finds this amusing, I see him smirk but he tries to hide it by walking away.
"I've met him and I know his reputation, you be nice to him,"
"Whatever, how long have I got?"
"Pack now, it's hot, you leave in an hour. And you leave your phone there"
"I'm not leaving my phone"
"Mr Reid will give you a new one, but it's restricted. You can't let anyone know where you are.
"You're the fucking worst, I'm not going,"
"Yes, you are. This isn't optional, you will go nicely or you will be taken forcefully. Either way you're getting on that plane. Go and pack, don't think you'd like what the geography teacher would bring you."
I hang up on my dad and hand the phone back to the bodyguard. He takes it and holds his hand out again.
"What?"
"Your phone too,"
"We're not going yet,"
"Give me your phone," he says it slowly, demanding.
I slam it into his hand and turn on my heel, heading to my room.
I try to clear the rage from me and think about what I actually need to pack. I throw a bunch of clothes, some books and my Switch into a suitcase. My makeup, skincare and other toiletries go in another.
I try to clear the rage from me and think about what I actually need to pack. I throw a bunch of clothes, some books and my Switch into a suitcase. I find some sketch pads and pencils and place them in too. My makeup, skincare and other toiletries go in another.
My new bodyguard comes half way through my freak out.
"Cars here, are you okay?"
"I'm kind of freaking out,"
"Yeah, I don't doubt it. Let's both panic on the plane though,"
He carries the three suitcases with ease, his long frame seemingly incredibly strong too. He gets me to stop in the doorway as he clears the area. I get bored after three seconds and I head back into my kitchen and fill my handbag with the bottles that are actually full. Two champagne and one gin. I also take my small lockbox, I am not going anywhere without my party favours.
He enters the kitchen, narrowing his eyes as I stuff the box into my clinking bag.
"Let's go, now." He demands.
I shrug and flounce out of the house and into the car. I open a bottle of champagne and drink from it. Reid slides into the seat beside me. He glances at me and I see him suppress rolling his eyes.
As I drink my eyes take in everything, darting along the horizon, looking in windows. I drink more, trying to slow my heart.
"This vehicle is armored," he says calmly. "Bullet-resistant glass, reinforced panels, run-flat tires. It can take multiple direct hits and still keep moving.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"You seem nervous,"
"And you think that will make me feel better?*
"It doesn't?
"No, this does" I retort, drinking more champagne.
"Well alcohol actually lower-"
"Listen, boy genius, I don't need any of that right now. Maybe later. I'm trying to process getting kidnapped by someone who looks like they should wear elbow patches on their jacket."
He doesn't say anything but I see a smile as he turns his cheek.
I manage to finish the first bottle as we pull up to the plane. The edges have softened. I feel lighter. I wait in the car until I'm told to get on the plane.
I clink my way up the runway and up the stairs into the white leather world of my dad's plane. I take my seat and pour myself a whiskey.
As he enters the plane and talks to the pilot I notice that the alcohol makes me see him through less angry eyes. He's very tall, very handsome, messy, long hair and stubble on his chin. He has dark rings under his eyes, which makes sense as he looks like he doesn't sleep.
I watch him take the seat opposite me on the plane and he smiles, looking around with an almost nostalgic look on his face.
"What?" I ask as I catch his eye
"Been a while since I've been on one of these," he shrugs.
"You had a jet?" I try not to sound bitchy but that's clearly impossible.
"No, we had one for my old job" he seems unphased.
"What did you do?"
"Oh, we've got a while together Miss Smith, let's not use up all the small talk at once," he grins at me.
"That's fine by me," I shrug and put my headphones in. I read and choose not to look at him, the gaze of his brown eyes is not something I want to dwell on.
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