Page 36 of The Spiral

Chapter 12

Madeline

I don’t know what’s happening to me. I can’t breathe through these tears as they come from the depths of me. It’s like I’m ripping out years of them. Like they were just sitting beneath the surface, bubbling away and waiting for a reason to finally come out.

Coiling my legs into myself, I just let the sensation have its way with me as I shiver here on the floor. I’m too afraid to open my eyes for fear of more hallucinations, but so desperately in need of looking at him again I don’t know what to do. None of it makes any sense to me. It would take nothing for me to get up and leave. I could even have chosen to walk away when I came back to the ballroom in search of him, but I didn’t. He looked so sad as he leant against the window, nearly crying out at something, and now he’s making me feel that way, too. So sad. So very miserable and alone.

My legs tuck in tighter, inducing some kind of foetal position to consume me as the tears keep falling from my eyes. I can’t even say why they’re coming; they just are. There are no visions in my head as I wind my arms tighter around my waist, no sounds of Lewis’s voice scaring me either. There are only two things inside my head: darkness and him.

“Finished?” he says, his tone angry and snappy as the word echoes around the vast room.

I shake my head again. I’m not finished at all. It’s like they’re not even my tears anymore. I’m weeping with no way of stopping them, and no real desire to try. Whoever, or whatever is inside me just keeps coming, battering my heart with hurt and pain. And the only thing I can hear is his name being repeated. Jack, Jack, Jack. I don’t know what it means, and I can’t stop it.

“Yes, you are,” he says, grabbing the back of my jeans and heaving on the denim until I slide across the wood in his grasp. I don’t try to fight. I just keep my eyes closed, for some reason allowing his power to take me wherever he chooses as more tears come. They almost feel like blood dripping along my skin now. They’re thick and hot, swelling my eyeballs beneath closed lids and binding them together.

“Take your clothes off.” My head shakes again, barely hearing his words over my sobs as his hands leave me, but understanding them nonetheless.

“I don’t… don’t want to,” I stutter between more choked breaths.

The recourse for saying no seems to enforce more anger because I’m tugged and pulled instantly, my body straightened with little care for my wellbeing as my clothes are torn off. There’s nothing seductive in his manner, nothing romantic, not like our earlier encounter. He strips me with no care or thought, and all I seem to be able to do is allow it, not caring for the naked eventuality of his hand’s work as my frame slumps to the floor. It just causes me to curl tighter again, hoping to stop the tears somehow, or at least find some comfort from them.

Jack

Again his name whispers itself in my mind. It’s so full of love, spoken with an endless sense of eternity to it. It’s not my voice; it’s softer than mine, but it makes my lips twitch between my sniffs and snivels as I open my eyes. It makes them want to rise into a smile and denounce the tears I’m crying. I don’t understand.

“Knees,” he says, calmly now, all anger dissipated from his voice and a kinder tone filtering in. My flat smile develops of its own accord as I stare at the floor, remembering the man who made love to me by the stairs as I feel myself pushing upwards. Knees. I know what that means. I don’t know how I know, but I do. It’s confusing, but so simple when I try not to think.

Jack.

His shirt drops by my head as I brace my hand out and draw my knees together. It brings with it his aftershave and that power he radiates. I stare at it, wondering what’s happening to me as my fingers drag me towards it and gently grasp the hem. I heard that name this time. Heard it loud in the air. I look around the floor and bring the shirt to my nose, inhaling him into me. Deep, cleansing breaths wash across me instantly, ridding me of the last tear that wants to come and finishing the sobs.

“Trousers.” It’s another order I know the answer to without thought. My hands discard the shirt smoothly, wrapping it over itself and folding it peacefully onto the floor.

He doesn’t move to me from his position some three or four feet away. He waits, his black shoes shining at me as I look at his body for the first time in all of this. He’s so tall from down here. His stance exudes confidence, arrogance even. I don’t want to question anything anymore, though. I don’t want to leave, or run. I don’t want to question his authority, or his control. I, or whatever other voice is inside my head, wants to be here. I want to see this, be part of it. I’ve never done anything like it, but for some strange reason it all feels natural, like an evolution I’ve already been a part of before this moment.

My hands skim his legs, letting the fabric of his trousers remind me of something I’m not sure about. It resonates, though. The dark brown, thick cloth feels familiar in my fingers as I let them linger on his shin. There’s such a sense of love burning through me. It travels my bones like wildfire, crowding me with so much emotion I’d fall back but for his hold on my chin. His lips stay static as I gaze at him and feel shivers begin to wash across me. His lips don’t move as he stares back down at me, but his eyes smile a little, one brow slightly cocking as they do.

The silence continues as I brace my knees, becoming more comfortable here by the second as the irrational love consumes all thought.

“Take them off before I remind you what happens when you disobey.”

I don’t know what that means, but the quiet authority and threat in his voice has me racing to get to his belt rather than lingering in the love I was feeling. My fingers shudder and quiver as I try to loosen the thing, grappling with it so as not to cause harm to his skin. He grunts quietly above me as I stare at nothing but the brown leather, strangely intrigued by the supple feel of it in my hands as I thread it from the buckle.

It doesn’t take long to lever the material from him, shoes too, and then he just stands there, naked and gloriously solid in the middle of this vast empty space, waiting for something. I flick my eyes between him and the floor nervously, trying to hear the voice in my head that tells me what to do. But that’s empty too all of a sudden. There’s no love anymore, no warmth, no sense of direction and no offering of that support I was getting used to. It’s just vacant of thought, other than trepidation again as he watches me kneeling before him and scowls.

“You know what to do,” he eventually says.

I don’t. I don’t know what to do. I search for the thought again, hoping there’s an answer somewhere. There isn’t. It’s just a void—a void that’s beginning to remember what scared feels like. It’s creeping up my ribs and bruising my skin, worrying me into seeing someone who’s not here. I know this isJack, but it’s starting to feel like Lewis is here, frightening me again.

Jack.

Did I say that? My fingers touch my lips, struggling to remember speaking as I glance around the room looking for someone else. Nothing moves, and I swing my eyes back to him to see the beginnings of a smirk tracing his lips. “Think, Selma. Quickly.” Who?

I stutter out breaths, unsure. I remember that name, though. It swims around inside me like a haunted memory of another time or another place. It may be a dream, but it’s real. I’ve heard it a thousand times and yet I can’t quite picture it ever being used. There’s no memory of locations or dates, no memory of touch associated with it. No visions. And nothing to help me remember it other than him using the name.

“I don’t remember—”

I cry out as his hand grips my hair harshly, dragging me down to the floor and stamping loudly by my ear as he does.