Chapter Eight – The Cage He BuiltDual POV
1092 Words
Amara
The last thing I remember is the sound of Rayna’s voice.
We were packing up the files. He said we’d leave for the cabin by noon. He went outside to make a call.
And then—
A hand.
A cloth.
The sharp, chemical bite of something sweet and poisonous filling my lungs.
Now I wake up cold.
Bound.
Alone.
---
The room is dimly lit. Wood walls. No windows. Just a thick iron door and the sound of soft music playing somewhere—jazz, haunting and old.
My wrists are bound with velvet straps, not rope.
My ankles too.
I’m laid on a bed I don’t recognize, but I know the scent on the pillow.
Him.
And then the door opens.
He steps inside like he’s arriving home, not walking into the prison he’s made.
“Amara,” Xavier breathes like a man finally reunited with air. “You’re awake.”
---
I stare at him in silence.
He’s wearing a black shirt. Barefoot. No mask. No fake name.
Just him.
And I hate that part of me recognizes him so deeply, like I was wired to know him even before I ever saw his face.
“Where’s Rayna?” I rasp.
“He’s fine. Sleeping off a mild sedative. I didn’t hurt her.”
I flinch as he walks closer, instinct screaming even though his tone is soft.
“You kidnapped me.”
He tilts his head.
“No, Amara. I rescued you.”
---
Xavier
I hated the look in her eyes the moment she saw that file.
The fear. The betrayal. The way she looked at me like a stranger—even though no one has ever known her like I do.
She was slipping through my fingers.
And I couldn’t allow that.
I never wanted it to be this way. I wanted her to choose me.
But I’ve learned something.
Some women need structure. Protection. A world without chaos.
So I built her one.
A world with only me in it.
---
“You must be thirsty,” I say, uncapping a glass bottle. “It’s just water. Nothing more.”
She doesn’t move, so I press the bottle to her lips.
Eventually, she drinks.
She’s angry now. Frightened. But that will pass. Emotions are fleeting. Bonding is forever.
“Where are we?” she asks, voice dry.
“Where you’re safe. Where no one can lie to you or hurt you.”
I sit beside her, fingers brushing the velvet cuffs on her wrists. “You don’t need these forever. Just until you stop running.”
She recoils. “You killed them. Malik. Brielle.”
I smile, gently.
“They made you cry. I don’t let anyone hurt what’s mine.”
---
Amara
He’s insane.
But what’s worse is how normal he sounds.
He speaks with love. Warmth. Like he’s cradling a sick animal and nursing it back to health.
I test the cuffs. Tight, but not cutting off circulation. Padded. Intentional.
“How long do you plan to keep me here?” I ask carefully.
He doesn’t hesitate.
“As long as it takes. Until you trust me again.”
I swallow hard.
“And if I never do?”
He pauses.
Then smiles.
“Then I’ll just have to wait a little longer.”
---
He thinks this is love.
He thinks this is ours.
But I see now—
It was never about me loving him.
It was always about him owning me.
---
Xavier
I bring her meals. Let her bathe. She won’t speak to me now, but that’s alright.
We’re still in phase one.
She needs time to detox from the lies they fed her.
From the chaos.
I’ve left gifts in the room: the ring I kept from her sophomore year. The photo album I made. Notes I wrote every year on her birthday.
She’ll understand soon.
She has to.
Because no one will ever love her like I do.
Not even her.
---
Amara
It’s the third day—I think.
I don’t cry.
Not in front of him.
But when he’s gone, when the silence returns, I crumble.
I stare at the photos. Read his letters. Try not to throw up.
He’s documented every piece of my life.
My favorite song. My graduation speech. A scar I forgot I had until he wrote a line about kissing it in his dreams.
---
He comes in one evening with a hairbrush.
“I thought you might want help,” he says, lifting the strands of my tangled curls. “You used to do this on the porch when you were nervous before exams.”
I freeze.
Because it’s true.
And I never told anyone.
---
“I used to think,” he murmurs as he brushes gently, “that if I could make you feel what I felt, you’d never leave.”
He lowers his head close to mine.
“I still believe that.”
---
Xavier
She’s breaking.
Not in a violent way. In the way people bend under too much truth.
I don’t gloat. I don’t push.
I offer her comfort. Care. Routine.
Structure heals.
---
Tonight, I read to her.
One of her favorite books from undergrad—Wuthering Heights.
She doesn’t speak as I recite the lines, but she watches me.
And that’s enough.
That’s progress.
---
Amara
He strokes my hand like I’m fragile glass.
I let him.
Because fighting only gets me silence and isolation.
I’m not giving in.
I’m surviving.
There’s a difference.
---
But something’s changing.
I’m not sure if it’s the room, the air, the isolation—or him.
Sometimes, he looks at me and I feel that old flicker. The boy I thought Eli was.
The one who held my hand when I got drunk and cried during finals week.
But I know better now.
I know what’s under the mask.
Still, the mind is tricky when it’s starved of light and choice.
And Xavier?
Xavier is very good at being the only thing I see.
---
Xavier
She asked a question tonight.
“Why me?”
I waited a moment, because I needed her to really hear it.
“Because you’re the only thing in this world that makes sense.”
And it’s true.
I could kill for her.
I have.
But what terrifies me more than killing…
Is the thought of losing her again.
---
She’s drifting toward me. Slowly. Inevitably.
Stockholm? Maybe.
But I don’t care what they call it.
I just care that she stays.
- Writer
