Big Brother Billionaire (Part Three) Read Online Free Page B

didn’t matter that it was the deepest truth I knew. That was over now. I needed to get through this situation, right now, or there might not be a chance to tell Marcus how I felt.
    “I didn’t want you to think it was weird,” I said, shrugging and trying to look sheepish. “I knew how disgusted you were by everything, and I just wanted to know how my brother was doing. The letters are the only way I can keep track of him. He’s my…my only sibling, and we were very close.”
    “A little too close, I think,” Ron said. “This doesn’t look good for you, Parker. You picking through the garbage the second I leave home. Sneaking around. Involved in an incestuous love affair. Do I look like a fool to you?”
    “There’s no affair!” I exclaimed, backing helplessly away as Ron strode forward. I couldn’t plant my feet, couldn’t keep myself strong now. It was over, trying to convince Ron that I wasn’t at fault. Now I just had to try and do damage control. “I just wanted to read the letter! I’m sorry!”
    “Not as sorry as you’re going to be,” he said, cocking his fist back before hitting me.
    Where does the heart hide when there’s nothing to live for?
    Where does your hope go in a situation you can’t escape?
    How do you still sleep beside a man who leaves marks on your body in anger?
    I knew.
    I knew the answers to all of those questions.
    The heart shrivels and puckers, folds and doubles that fold, shrinks until there’s nothing left to poke at. It can never be completely safe, but it can be close.
    The hope deserts. It flees, screaming as the door slams shut. Hope is a dangerous thing, and one the heart can’t entertain anymore. Hope got us hurt the last time. The heart won’t make the mistake of putting its trust in hope again.
    Sleep is a reprieve. It’s the only thing left that isn’t his. Yes, awake, his arm is heavy at the waist, an implicit threat, a possessive gesture even as his chest rises and falls, but sleep is still mine. It’s a place I’m eager to get to, a place I’m happy to stay, and a place I’m loathe to leave. In sleep, you don’t see the marks on your body. In sleep, you don’t feel anything. I simply go away for a while, and come back. And each time I come back, I wish I didn’t have to. I wish I could stay there longer and longer. The nothingness of sleep was better—so much better—than being awake.
    Ron started going to the club with me again, to keep me out of trouble, he told me. If there was an errand to do out of the apartment, we both went. I didn’t have a spare moment away from him. His icy blue eyes followed my every movement around the apartment, around the club, on the stage, on the streets, waiting for me to misstep, ready to mete out punishment for my crime.
    The club was a refuge. I could hide in the dressing room for a time, but not too long, or he’d get suspicious. I could hide away in the private dance area, too, if I was selling dances. It made me work harder to do that, to earn the right to get out of Ron’s line of sight and earn some money.
    Often, though, he would engage the services of one of my coworkers just so he could keep an eye on me in the private dance room. Once, it was Mary. Another time, Sally. I couldn’t look at them, kept all of my focus on the customer I was dancing for, aware of the twin blue orbs staring daggers at me.
    Every dollar I earned, Ron kept. He trusted me with nothing, afraid that I’d amass the cash I needed to leave him. I didn’t have anywhere to go. That was the problem. He didn’t know that, of course, but he kept a tight hold on my earnings all the same.
    Out of all my costumes I’d purchased for the club, I favored only one, at this point. It was a long-sleeved, zip-front jumpsuit. I’d worn it several times before I knew Ron, often unzipping the front of it down below my bellybutton for a more salacious performance. Now, however, I couldn’t show that much skin anymore. I already had to cake