CHAPTER FOUR: DRUNK CONFESSIONS
1416 Words
His eyes scanned my arm, tracing each scar.
I yanked it off him.
Back home, not even father would look at it, but I'm sure he knew it was there, hurting me.
But Mr. Blackwood had noticed it two times already.
“Let me guess, you fell?” he asked.
Of course, he knew I wouldn't tell him the truth.
I nodded, “Yes, sir.”
He waved his hand at me. “You can leave now."
I walked away, and a few minutes later he had finished his breakfast. I felt his lingering gaze on me as I picked up his dirty plates and carried them to the sink.
He stood behind me, watching as I did the dishes.
Why would he watch? To criticize?
Was he like Eliza?
Would he hit me if I did anything wrong?
“What is it about you?,” he mumbled.
I looked back at him. “Huh? Sir?"
He drew closer. “I cannot get my mind off your body,” his voice was a low growl.
My heart jumped, and now my whole body turned to face him. Now he was only a few inches away from me. ’M…my body?”
His eyes widened as he realized what his words meant.
“f**k no…” He waved his hands in the air. “I didn't mean it like that. I meant the scars on your body."
My shoulders fell with relief.
I had thought Alison's husband was coming to me.
His hand reached for my shoulder; he gently slid the fabric down and gazed at the wound Eliza had caused.
“You are heavily bruised all over." His voice was a low whisper, his finger brushing against my skin, and my breath hitched.
It hurt to be touched, but ironically, it also tickled.
I liked it, maybe a little too much.
He noticed another bruise; his finger slid into the fabric and tugged it down. “They hit you, the Sinclairs, don't they?"
It was almost as if Sinclair wasn't my father's name as well.
The Sinclairs.
I shook my head, but he saw past my lie.
“You can tell me,” he said.
I shook my head. “I just fell, sir."
He exhaled, “Okay… Melissa, when I was younger, I would go against my father's wishes; he didn't take it lightly. He would punch, slap, and throw me around the house, all because he wanted me to run his company. I was just fifteen years old; I had no interest, but he made me," his eyes searched mine as she spoke.
“Of course, he can't do that anymore as I am now a grown man, but I know what it feels like to be abused; I think that's why I can't ignore it."
He got hit by his father?
Even rich people had problems, didn't they?
His eyes flickered to my lips and then back to my eyes.
“There, now you know my secret, so you have to tell me yours."
I clenched the counter behind me as his finger brushed against my other shoulder, and he slid the shirt down to look at it.
“You got hit?"
I gave a slow nod.
He blinked, sympathy flashing in his eyes. “By Mrs. Sinclair?"
I nodded.
His grip tightened against my hips and I let out a soft gasp. Why was I enjoying his touch?
“Alison too?” he asked.
Was it okay for me to say that she hurt me? She was his wife; I didn't want to make him hate her.
He grabbed my bandaged hand. “She did this?"
I hesitated, unsure of what to say.
He grabbed my arm and ran his fingers across it. I winced in pain as his fingers touched a fresh bruise. He looked at me.
“It still hurts?"
I nodded.
“Sorry,” he said and pulled away. “If you ever need somebody to talk to, I'm here.”
Why did they make him seem like a strict boss?
The other maids seemed to walk on eggshells around him, but maybe he was different after all.
As he turned to leave, I spoke, “Am I …the only one who knows about it?” He turned to face me.
"What?"
“Your relationship with your father, does anyone else know? Your mom?"
“She died when I was five,” he said, and my heart sank with sympathy. “I have an aunt who is like a mother to me, though, so I guess only Aunt Maggie, Dad, and you know about it.”
“Why would you tell me?"
He thought for a second. “You are easy to talk to,” he finally said, and he turned and walked off.
“Easy to talk to…,” I mumbled.
After I did the dishes, I went back to my bedroom. I had never had a free afternoon because Eliza would always find a chore to keep me busy.
I swallowed as I gazed at the ceiling.
Suddenly, there was a loud crash. I sat up; it came from upstairs and sounded like broken glass.
I quickly rushed out and ran upstairs; there seemed to be trouble.
I rushed into his bedroom, but there was nobody inside, so I stepped out.
"Mr. Blackwood!" I shouted.
I heard noise from a room beside his and rushed there. The room was not a bedroom like I imagined; it looked like a private bar. Ahead was a wine cellar, and Mr. Blackwood sat in front of a counter.
I walked to him, walking cautiously as I noticed brown glass on the ground.
He turned up facing me as he heard my footsteps. “Did I wake you?” His voice was a low whisper.
“It's only 7:00pm, sir; I wasn't asleep.” I drew closer. He was obviously drunk; I had to take him back to his bedroom because if he hurt himself, I could get in trouble.
I grabbed the glass from his hand and placed it on the counter. What could have made him drink so much?
“Go back to your bedroom, Melissa.”
I ignored him and dragged him off the chair; he staggered forward, my hand wrapped around his as I led him outside the wine room.
“Just a few glasses, Melissa,” he groaned.
“You could have cut yourself with the glass, sir,” I said as we walked into his bedroom; it was dark, and only the dim ray of moonlight peered in.
I wondered where the switch to turn on the lights was; he didn't look like his mind was present enough to say anything.
“Leave my bedroom, Melissa,” he mumbled.
I held his hand and led him to the bed to tuck him in; his strength overpowered mine, and he dragged me back against himself.
“If I ask you to leave, leave." He struggled to keep his eyes open, and his face drew closer to mine, too close.
"Or I might kiss you," he added.
My heart jumped. "H…huh?'
His hand gripped my hips.
“You are drunk; I'm not Alison, sir…”
“Melissa, I know who you are.” His gaze lingered on my lips.
“I don't know what it is, but I can't seem to get my f*****g mind off you, and it's driving me insane. I want to kiss you, I want to touch you, I want to hold you."
He breathed.
“But I can't, because you are not mine, so I got drunk to get you out of my head, and now you are here, shoving your lips in my face. I don't think I can restrain myself when I'm drunk."
He staggered back, his eyes burning with intensity.
“I don't know how a maid could have so much power over me, but leave now; I don't want to do something I'll regret when I'm sober."
I took a few steps back and turned around as I rushed out of the bedroom, heading downstairs as fast as my legs could carry me.
But I wasn't running because of fear.
I think I was attracted to him because I felt something I had never felt when I was around him.
I ran because I feared what would happen if I let him kiss me.
What if we went in too deep and couldn't stop?
What if Alison found out?
- Writer
