Transylvania Towers II
Is it absurd to be a willing prisoner? This retreat means so much to Leah—but if I spend any time mulling this answer, a taut expectation quivers in my gut for the next scene. Don’t think about it. I don’t think about it. The dreams in the coffin are only sleepless ones. When I shut my eyes: nothing.
And then—morning. Or later. Accompanied by cold exhaustion in my chest, as though I have run miles through the snow.
I don’t think about it.
November 20th
After the evening’s business, Christa returned to the banquet hall, this time in a sexy black number that slunk low on her shoulders. She whispered to me that this scene was being observed by Jonathan, Arthur and Quincy on the upper balcony. I could vaguely make out two figures behind the red velvet curtains that enclosed the balustrade.
“Bite me,” she commanded. “Charge them with jealousy.”
I brushed the hair away from her pale neck. My fingers clasped her throat. Overhead, Jared murmured as I lowered my teeth to Christa’s neck. This part of the script called for Christa to be covered with a cloak, so one wouldn’t have to bite the other. I traced her face with a finger. She put her arms around my waist and closed her eyes theatrically. I remembered the helplessness in my limbs that afternoon, the cruel violation of my body. The three men had come to the very edge of the balustrade, their faces looking down eagerly. It all felt so disgusting, their lustful eyes panting for Christa.
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