To do it in this kind of manner, in front of his son, who apparently lost his mother not a long time ago—all the bravado I would love to continue displaying was tossed away.
I didn't want to take his hand, and I didn't want Jude to see me taking his father's hand. But I understood at that moment that I had misjudged the danger of the situation I was in, and that what I wanted, or, better said, didn't want to do, wouldn't aid me in leaving this place. And I had decided, after seeing Thomas's demeanor just now, that the moment I had my cat, I was outta here.
So, I placed my hand in his and followed him upstairs under the watchful gaze of my stepson. For this night, I had to cooperate, and luckily, I had at least a fork on me, although a knife would have been a better choice. Hopefully, Thomas would behave true to his word and keep his hands to himself, or I would have to use what I could to defend myself.
I don't know where this threatening feeling came from after I decided to go through with this charade, but now that it seeped in, the danger oozed from every corner and every nook of this villa. My toned-down instinct screamed at me that for a father to act that nonchalant in front of his son with his new wife – there had to be something deeply wrong in here. I could close my eyes in front of asshole staff and quirky rich people, but for acting in front of a child who had lost his mother, no. I didn't sign up for this.
I behaved, and when Thomas told me to go showering, I obeyed, the fork still on me. There was a silken sleepwear with pants arranged in the bathroom for me. With an unnerving feeling, I showed, naturally, only after making sure that the bathroom door was locked.
Suddenly feeling unnaturally paranoid, I even took the fork with me inside the shower. I don't know; was I making a mountain of a molehill? Freaking out because of the new situation of a husband and stepson? While contemplating, I put the fork in my sleeve when I returned to the room. Next, it was Thomas' turn, and he showered for an hour.
I put the fork between the mattress and headboard, pushing it in so that I could reach it quickly, but not to be discovered easily. The fork was relatively small, but stabbing someone in the eye would surely do the trick.
I planned out how to behave and where to flee to, while getting more jittery the longer Thomas took to finish his shower.
When the time for his comeback really came, he was fully clothed in sleepwear as well. Sitting on the bed, my hand was under the pillow, ready to reach for my weapon if necessary. While lying sideways, I was turned in his direction. I would love to turn around, but you don't show your back in a possibly dangerous situation.
However, Thomas wished me a good night, still addressing me as 'wife', put the light out and laid down beside me.
Now, engulfed in darkness, I questioned again if my sudden hostility was justified. Although I originally wanted to stay awake through the night, when I 'rested' my eyes a few hours later, I fell asleep.
*****
When I woke up the next time, it was because I felt smothered. I blinked my eyes as I tried to understand what was happening. Thomas had me in a possessive embrace while he was still deeply asleep. He was holding my body full force against his, my back pressing against his chest. But that was not all; his hand had sneaked inside my top, holding my breast.
Nonetheless, that wasn't the only part that had me freezing in shock. I stared into black eyes that looked down on me, standing by the bed.
Jude was standing next to my side of the bed, looking down on me, his eyes unreadable, slowly taking in the picture that was presented before him.
This wasn't a cringy moment like barging into my stepson's room while he was having sex, where I could wave at him unabashedly.
No, there was cold terror fixing me in place. I knew that they were psychos, but I was fricking molested by the father in his sleep (god, I hope he didn't just feign to be asleep), while his son stood there, his arms crossed and holding his biceps, looking down at me like a god descending, ready to make judgement.
Everything I felt was apparently spot on; I really wish that wisdom could have struck me before coming into this house. The danger that was earlier oozing out of slits and creases was now swapping against my toes, the waves whispering warnings to run.
The hand of his father on my breast, grabbing me boldly; the eyes of his son, stripping me naked. I couldn't move; I could just stare back into his eyes. This situation was so bizarre that I couldn't even form a coherent thought.
Just these black eyes on mine, sucking my soul out of my body.
Not even daring to blink, my eyes stung soon, but besides the urge to look away from him, to get the fork and stab the hand in my shirt, to scream bloody murder in hope that someone would come and save me from whatever I was fearing so strongly to happen, I just simply wasn't able to move a muscle.