15. Frankie

Chapter 15

Frankie

I wake to the soft rustle of curtains as a gentle breeze carries the scent of jasmine through the room. For a moment, I forget where I am, lost in the comfort of clean sheets and the absence of pain that’s become my constant companion. I blink awake, squinting at the soft light coming through flimsy curtains. Wait, when did those get here?

A fresh glass of water sits on the nightstand, condensation beading on its surface, next to a small vase holding a single white lily. My breath catches in my throat, a lump forming that I can’t swallow. My fingers twitch, longing to reach out and touch the delicate petals to make sure they are real. It’s been so long since I’ve seen anything… nice.

As I reach for the water, my gaze falls on the unlocked door, which is slightly ajar. A chill runs down my spine, and my muscles tense involuntarily. My heart races with a primal fear that makes me want to shrink back into the shadows of the room. When did the outside world become more terrifying than the devil I know?

The cool water soothes my parched throat, a simple pleasure that feels like a luxury. I put the glass down, and last night comes crashing back. It’s like I’m there all over again.

The bar materializes around me in my mind’s eye. Thick smoke hangs in the air, stinging my eyes and clinging to my clothes. The bass thrums through my body, so loud I can feel it in my chest. Faces loom out of the haze, their teeth bared in what might be smiles but look more like snarls to me. A hand grabs my wrist, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. Another snakes around my waist, then I feel hot breath on my neck, reeking of alcohol and desperation. I’m drowning in a sea of grasping hands and leering faces when suddenly?—

“That’s enough.” Valerie’s voice cuts through the chaos like a whip. “Frankie’s done for tonight.”

The memory dissolves, leaving me shaking in its wake. I curl into myself, wrapping my arms around my knees as I try to make myself as small as possible. I’m exposed and vulnerable out there. At least here, in this room, I know what to expect.

The devil you know, right?

The door creaks open wider, the sound making me flinch. Valerie enters, carrying a tray. The aroma of warm food wafts toward me—eggs, toast, and something sweet. My stomach clenches painfully, a low growl escaping before I can stop it. I press a hand against my abdomen, as if I could silence the desperate rumbling.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Valerie coos, her voice syrupy sweet. She sets the tray on my lap, the warmth seeping through the thin fabric of my nightgown. “You did so well last night. I thought you deserved a treat.”

I blink rapidly, certain my eyes are playing tricks on me. There are scrambled eggs, golden and fluffy, perfectly browned toast, and even a small bunch of grapes, their skin glistening in the soft light. My mouth floods with saliva, and I swallow hard. It’s more food than I’ve seen in months.

My hand hovers over the fork, trembling. I glance at Valerie, waiting for her to snatch the tray away and laugh at my gullibility, but she doesn’t move. She just sits on the edge of the bed, her eyes never leaving my face.

“Eat up, Frankie,” she says softly. “You need your strength.”

I pick up the fork. It feels heavy in my hand and unfamiliar after so long. I spear a bit of egg and bring it to my lips with agonizing slowness. The moment it touches my tongue, I have to bite back a moan. Warm and salty with a hint of butter—it’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted.

As I eat, savoring each bite as if it might be my last, Valerie’s hand rests on my head. Her fingers comb through my tangled hair, her nails scraping lightly against my scalp. A shiver runs down my spine, but not entirely from fear.

When did her touch start to feel… comforting?

I freeze with the fork halfway to my mouth. This is wrong. I shouldn’t feel anything but hatred for her. That voice of reason sounds fainter now, though, drowned out by the warmth in my belly and the gentle pressure of her hand in my hair.

“You know,” Valerie says, her voice barely above a whisper, “I’m proud of you. You’re learning, adapting. That’s how you survive in this world. You’re progressing faster than any of the others.”

Her words sink in, and I feel this weird warmth spread through me. My cheeks heat up, and I duck my head, focusing intently on the remaining food. I hate how much I crave her approval, but I can’t deny the rush it gives me.

“Thank you,” I murmur, the words feeling clumsy and foreign on my tongue. When was the last time I thanked her for anything? I pause, then add, “What… What happened to the others?”

Valerie’s hand stills in my hair for a moment before resuming its gentle strokes. “They weren’t as special as you, Frankie, or as strong, but don’t worry about them. You’re here now, safe with me.”

I risk a glance up. Valerie beams at me, her whole face lighting up. For a moment, I can almost forget who she really is and what she’s done to me. Almost.

She stands, smoothing down her skirt. “Now,” she says, her tone shifting to something more businesslike, “there’s someone coming over later. A special client. I need you to be on your best behavior.”

Ice floods my veins, chasing away the warmth of the meal. My fingers tighten on the fork, my knuckles turning white. “I… I don’t want to,” I whisper, hating how my voice trembles, but I force myself to meet Valerie’s eyes in a small act of defiance. “What if I say no? What would happen then?”

Valerie’s expression softens, but there’s a flash of something else—anger or fear—before she leans down, cupping my face in her hands. Her thumbs brush away tears I hadn’t realized were falling. “Oh, sweetie. I know it’s hard, but remember, I’m here. I’ll protect you. Besides, this is nothing more than a meet and greet. You trust me, don’t you? You know I only want what’s best for you.”

Do I? The question echoes in my mind, bouncing off memories of pain and fear, but then other images surface—Valerie’s firm voice cutting through the chaos of the bar, her gentle touch as she brushed my hair, the meal she just brought me.

“Yes,” I say, the word escaping before I can stop it. “I trust you.”

The smile she gives me feels like sunlight after a long, dark winter. I bask in it, even as a small voice in the back of my mind screams that this is all wrong. I silence it, pushing it down deep, because right now, Valerie is all I have.

My protector.

My savior.

My captor.

The hours crawl by, each tick of the clock echoing in my head like a countdown. My hands move of their own accord, desperate for distraction. I smooth the already wrinkle free bedsheet, tracing the same pattern over and over. The dresser drawers open and close as I refold clothes I’ve already organized twice. My hairbrush scrapes against my scalp, pulling through tangled strands until they shine.

With each task, I imagine Valerie’s approving smile. The thought makes my stomach churn, but I can’t stop moving or trying to please her. If I do, I might remember where and what I am, and I can’t face that. Not now.

The door opens, and I freeze, my hairbrush suspended mid-stroke. Valerie enters with deep blue fabric draped over her arm. My heart quickens in a mix of anticipation and dread.

“Here,” she says, holding out what I now see is a dress. It shimmers in the dim light, the fabric flowing like water. “Put this on. You’ll look beautiful.”

My fingers brush against the dress, and I gasp. It’s softer than anything I’ve felt in… I can’t remember how long. The threadbare T-shirts and worn jeans I’ve been living in suddenly feel like sandpaper against my skin.

“Thank you,” I murmur, the words coming easier now, even as part of me recoils at my gratitude. “It’s lovely, but… why? Why now?”

Valerie’s smile doesn’t waver, but her eyes harden slightly. “Because you’ve earned it, Frankie. Don’t you want to be beautiful for me? For our guest?”

I swallow hard, nodding. “Of course. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful.”

Valerie helps me into the dress, her fingers cool against my skin as she zips it up. She guides me to a mirror, and for a moment, I don’t recognize the girl staring back at me.

My cheeks are still hollow, and shadows linger under my eyes like bruises, but the dress transforms me. It hugs what little curves I have left, and the color makes my pale skin glow. For the first time in forever, I look… pretty.

“See?” Valerie says, resting her chin on my shoulder as she meets my eyes in the mirror. Her breath is warm against my ear, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine. “You’re blossoming, Frankie. You’re becoming everything I knew you could be. Soon, you’ll be indispensable to me. Isn’t that what you want?”

Pride swells in my chest, hot and fierce. I want to hate her, to scream and fight and tear this beautiful dress to shreds, but I’m so tired, and this moment of peace, of feeling like maybe I’m worth something, feels like a lifeline I can’t help but cling to.

A sharp knock shatters the moment. Valerie’s reflection changes in an instant, her soft smile hardening into something predatory. Her hands tighten on my shoulders, her nails digging in slightly. “Remember,” she says, her voice low and urgent. “I’m right here. No one will hurt you. You’re safe with me.”

The door opens, and I hold my breath, expecting… I don’t know what, but the man who enters is nothing like I imagined. He’s older, with silver threading through his dark hair. Laugh lines crinkle at the corners of his eyes as he smiles, and for a moment, he reminds me of someone… a teacher maybe? Or a kindly neighbor from a life I can barely remember?

“Mr. Jameson,” Valerie greets him, her voice warm but with an edge I’ve learned to recognize — a warning. “I trust you’ll be a gentleman tonight.”

He nods, his eyes never leaving me. I feel exposed, pinned in place by his gaze. “Of course, Valerie. You know I always am.”

He takes a step toward me, and suddenly I can’t breathe. The walls seem to close in, the room spinning. My heart pounds so hard I’m sure they must hear it. I want to run and disappear in the shadows that once protected me, but then Valerie’s hand is on my back, steady and warm.

“It’s okay, Frankie,” she murmurs. “I’m here.”

Somehow, impossibly, I feel the panic recede, because Valerie is here. Valerie will protect me. Valerie knows best.

Right?

The evening unfolds like a surreal dream. Mr. Jameson sits across from me, his voice a low, soothing murmur as he talks about art and music. I nod along, my responses automatic, while my mind races. His kind demeanor feels like a trap, each smile a potential threat.

Valerie hovers nearby, a constant presence at the edge of my vision. When Mr. Jameson leans forward, reaching for my hand, I flinch. My muscles tense, ready to bolt, but before I can move, Valerie is there, smoothly stepping between us.

“More wine, Mr. Jameson?” she asks, her voice light but with an undercurrent of steel.

He withdraws his hand, and I exhale, not realizing I’d been holding my breath. As Valerie pours the wine, her free hand brushes my shoulder. The touch is brief, but it anchors me, keeping the rising panic at bay.

The clock on the mantel chimes, startling me. Has it really been hours? It feels like minutes and eternities all at once.

Mr. Jameson stands, straightening his jacket. “Well, this has been delightful,” he says, his eyes lingering on me with an intensity that makes my skin crawl. “Valerie, you’ve outdone yourself this time. We must do this again… soon. Very soon.”

I force a smile, my cheeks aching with the effort. Valerie sees him to the door, their voices a low murmur I can’t quite make out. When she returns, her face is flushed, her eyes bright with triumph.

“Oh, Frankie,” she murmurs, pulling me into a hug. “You did so well. I’m so proud of you. You’re learning faster than any of the others and adapting so beautifully. Soon, you’ll be indispensable to me. Isn’t that what you want?”

I stiffen at first, the contact overwhelming after the evening’s tension, but then I feel myself melting into her embrace, starved for affection. Her fingers comb through my hair, and I press my face into her shoulder, breathing in her familiar scent.

“Thank you,” I whisper, and I’m not sure if I’m thanking her for the praise or for protecting me from Mr. Jameson’s touch. Maybe both. The distinction blurs, much like the line between gratitude and dependence.

Later, as I lie in bed, the house settles around me with creaks and sighs. My mind whirls with a storm of conflicting thoughts and emotions. Part of me knows this isn’t right, and that Valerie is the source of my pain, not my salvation, but that voice grows fainter each day, drowned out by the desperate need to believe that someone cares about me.

I close my eyes, but sleep eludes me. My mind races, analyzing every interaction and spoken word. Is there a pattern to Valerie’s behavior? A weakness I could exploit? Or am I fooling myself by seeing escape routes where there are none?

The more I think, the more the lines blur between captor and protector, between fear and twisted comfort.