… solipsubmissive …

This is a continuation; you might wish to follow this link to the beginning: Part one

After Matthew left, Stephen settled into a chair in a corner of the room to watch and wait for Elizabeth to awaken.  She was still … oddly still.  Still enough that he eventually realized she was not asleep as he had supposed.  He steepled his fingers, pressed them against his lips, and contemplated what that might mean.  She could certainly have overheard the discussion he’d had with Matthew.  He thought back, trying to remember what they’d said, and heard his own words echoing through his mind.

All she knows is that I’m the man who killed her grandparents.

He sighed.  ”Elizabeth.”

She didn’t respond.

“Elizabeth, I know you’re not sleeping.  Even the dead don’t lie as still as that.”  He stood and walked around the bed to face her, watching her cautiously as he did so.  If she’d felt the need to feign sleep, it was likely because she wanted him to let down his guard so that she could arm herself with the element of surprise.  Arm herself.

Stephen narrowed his eyes and allowed them to rove over her body.  She was still clad in his robe, her left arm resting lightly atop the blankets.  Her right arm, however, was tucked under the pillows.  He glanced quickly at her face, which remained peaceful, than followed her right arm to the point where her hand disappeared.  While he watched, a muscle in her forearm tightened, confirming his suspicions.

Cursing inwardly, he looked again at her face just as her eyes flew open.  Elizabeth sat up and raised her arm, the sharp point of the scissors she held clutched there glinting in the dim light from the single lamp.  Carefully, she moved from her seated position to her knees, her body taut and ready to spring.  ”You might overpower me in the end, but I won’t make it easy,” she warned in a hiss.

Despite himself, Stephen’s lips tugged upward in a reluctant smile.  ”Have you any idea how gloriously fierce you look, querida?”  He stood his ground, a tinge of pride etched into the chiseled lines of his face.

Elizabeth tossed her head in disdain.  ”Release me,” she commanded in an imperious tone.

“No, Elizabeth.  No.”

As she watched his lips form the words, blind fury overtook her.  She lunged forward, slashing the scissors down in his direction, then cried out in frustration when she felt his fingers close around her wrist.  She began kicking him and pounding at his chest with her free hand while he worked to uncurl her fingers from around her purloined weapon.  ”No,” she sobbed, then abruptly stopped fighting and looked up at him.  ”Why?  Why don’t you just kill me, too?”

Her eyes, rendered impossibly blue by her anguished tears, were nearly his undoing again.  He finally managed to pry the scissors from her grasp.  He tossed them across the room, watching ruefully as she followed their direction with her eyes.  ”I didn’t kill them, Elizabeth.”

“I saw you.”  Her voice was devoid of emotion, now.

Stephen shook his head.  ”No.  You saw me find them.  They were dead when I got there.”

Elizabeth shook her head wildly, her disheveled curls dancing around her face and neck.  ”I don’t believe you.”

“I know you don’t.  And you deserve the truth.  I’m not sure you’re ready.”  He watched her carefully, then asked the same question he’d asked of her in the closet of the media room.  ”How old are you, Elizabeth?”

“Twenty-three,” she answered without hesitation.

Stephen groaned inwardly.  He’d have to consult with Matthew before he tried to explain the situation.  She was dealing with far too much, emotionally, for him to pile on the knowledge that she was missing a full ten years of her life.  Ten years manufactured and controlled by him.  He pushed her ahead of him back around the bed to the door that led back into the media room, his hand still clamped around her wrist.

“Where are we going?” she demanded.

“You need to sleep.  I need to sleep.  Neither of us can do so under these circumstances.”  He turned the knob, pushed open the door, and pointed at the bank of monitors.  ”So you have a choice.  You can go back in there … or you can sleep in my room, comfortably restrained.”

Elizabeth bit her lip and looked at the closet door, recalling the items she’d seen in there.  Manacles, she remembered.  Cuffs of some kind of dark leather, lined with soft lamb’s wool.  Ropes.  He would use those to keep her from escaping, if she chose to sleep with him.  Unbidden images of the other time she’d slept in his arms crept into her mind, and she closed her eyes against them, even as she ached to be held that way, to feel warm and comfortable and … safe.  Her eyes flew open.  ”In there.  I want to go back in there.”

Though her choice didn’t surprise him, Stephen still felt a little pang of disappointment, which surprised and concerned him.  Eventually, when it was safe, he was going to have to let her go.  And, since there was no longer a need to try and lull her back into a state of blessed unawareness of her circumstances, seducing her was unnecessary.  ”As you wish,” he said only, and then led her through the room to the hall that ended in the door to her prison, nodding at the guard who stood when they appeared.  Without another word, he unlocked it, pushed it open, and released her wrist, allowing her to precede him into the room.

Elizabeth looked at the unmade bed, wondering if she would ever be able to sleep again.  She whirled around when she heard Stephen speak to the guard.  ”Here,” he said, handing over the keys.  ”Keep it locked.  Matthew will be here in the morning.  Leave a message for him to join us.”  The guard took the keys and Stephen closed the door.

“What are you doing?”  Elizabeth’s eyes were wide, her voice a little breathless.

“Getting ready for bed.”  He walked toward the bathroom.

Elizabeth followed him.  ”You’re sleeping in here?  But … I thought I had a choice.”

Stephen smiled.  ”You did, querida.  It was your choice where we would sleep.”

Part 15