Keep Me(31)
My parents are even worse. Every time I talk to them, I have to fend off their probing questions about my unexpected marriage and Julian’s plans for our future. I don’t blame them for adding to my anxiety; I know they’re worried sick about me. The last time we had a video call, my mom’s eyes were red and swollen, as though she’d been crying. It’s obvious that the hastily concocted story I told them at my wedding has done little to alleviate their concerns. My parents know how my relationship with Julian began, and they’re having a hard time believing I could be happy with a man they see as pure evil.
And yet I am happy, my fretting about the future aside. The icy emptiness inside me is gone, replaced by a dazzling abundance of emotions and sensations. It’s as though the black-and-white movie of my life has been redone in technicolor.
When I’m with Julian, I’m complete and content in a way that I don’t fully understand and can’t quite come to terms with. It’s not like I was miserable before I met him. I had great friends, a loving family, and the promise of a good, if unexceptional, life ahead of me. I even had a crush—Jake—who gave me the proverbial butterflies in my stomach. It makes no sense that I somehow needed something as perverse as this relationship with Julian to enrich my life and give me that which I was missing.
Of course, I’m no shrink. Perhaps there is an explanation for my feelings—some childhood trauma that I’ve repressed, or a chemical imbalance in my brain. Or maybe it’s just Julian and the deliberate way he’s been molding my physical and emotional responses since those early days on the island. I am cognizant of his conditioning methods, but my recognition of them doesn’t alter their effectiveness. It’s strange to know that you’re being manipulated, and at the same time enjoy the results of that manipulation.
But enjoy them I do. Being with Julian is thrilling—both frightening and exhilarating, like riding a wild tiger. I never know which side of him I will see at any given moment: the charming lover or the cruel master. And as messed-up as it is, I want both—I am addicted to both. The light and the dark, the violence and the tenderness—it all goes together, forming a volatile, dizzying cocktail that plays havoc with my equilibrium and makes me fall even deeper under Julian’s spell.
Of course, the fact that I see him now every day doesn’t help. On the island, Julian’s frequent absences gave me time to recover from the potent effect he has on my mind and body, enabling me to maintain some emotional balance. Here, however, there is no respite from the magnetic pull he exerts on me, no way to shield myself from his intoxicating allure. With each day that passes, I lose a little more of my soul to him, my need for him growing, rather than decreasing with time.
The only thing that keeps me from freaking out is the knowledge that Julian is drawn to me just as strongly. I don’t know if it’s my resemblance to Maria or just our inexplicable chemistry, but I know the addiction works both ways.
Julian’s hunger for me knows no bounds. He takes me a couple of times every night—and often during the day as well—yet I get the sense he still wants more. It’s there in the intensity of his gaze, in the way he always touches me, holds me. He can’t keep his hands off me—and that makes me feel better about my own helpless attraction to him.
He also seems to enjoy spending time with me outside of the bedroom. True to his promise, Julian has begun training me, teaching me how to fight and use different weapons. After the initial rocky start, he turned out to be an excellent instructor—knowledgeable, patient, and surprisingly dedicated. We train together nearly every day, and I’ve already learned more in these couple of weeks than in the prior three months in my self-defense courses. Of course, it would be a misnomer to call what he teaches me self-defense; Julian’s lessons have more in common with some kind of assassin bootcamp.
“You aim to kill every time,” he instructs during one afternoon session where he makes me throw knives at a small target on the wall. “You don’t have the size or the strength, so for you, it’s all about speed, reflexes, and ruthlessness. You need to catch your opponents off-guard and eliminate them before they realize how skilled you are. Every strike has to be deadly; every move has to count.”
“What if I don’t want to kill them?” I ask, looking up at him. “What if I just want to wound them, so I can run away?”
“A wounded man can still hurt you. It doesn’t take much strength to squeeze a trigger or stab you with a knife. Unless you have a good reason for wanting your enemy alive, you aim to kill, Nora. Do you understand me?”