𝓗𝓲𝓼 𝑅𝑒𝑖𝑔𝑛

18

3𝓻𝓭 𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓸𝓷 𝓹𝓸𝓿:

It had officially been three weeks since Salvatore took Kailani and during that time she got used to the room, sleeping without any complication, however, the boredom was getting to her.

Her colouring book was now full and she had nothing else to do but stare at the blank walls all day and memorise the small details of the room.

She felt herself getting weaker every day but never dwelled on it too much.

Salvatore came in every day and did the same thing, came with a cup of tea and a plate with food, he came in the morning in the afternoon and at night.

The days blurred together due to the repetitive routine and time seemed to move faster and slower every day.

On the 6th day, Salvatore brought in a clock, hung it up on the wall, Kailani was grateful for it because at least now she had some sense of what was going on instead of just assuming everything.

❀❀❀❀

Kailani sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers absently toying with the hem of another one of his shirts. She shivered, but it wasn't just from the chill in the air. Something was off.

Salvatore had been distant, his dark eyes unreadable behind the ski mask that obscured the lower half of his face. His presence, usually so overwhelming and suffocating, had been tempered, almost muted. He hadn't touched her in hours. Normally, he was all-consuming-his gloved hands constantly brushing her skin, his hulking form always hovering near, his silent, brooding gaze never leaving her. But today, he stood by the door, his massive frame casting a shadow across the room, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared at something she couldn't see.

Kailani's heart raced. The silence between them was deafening. She didn't know what to do with it.

She glanced around the room, frowning. When did she paint that one? And wasn't the clock on the wall set to a different time earlier? The more she thought about it, the more things seemed... wrong. She could've sworn that yesterday, the bed had been against the other wall, and the vase of flowers on the table had been pink, not white. But whenever she tried to remember, her thoughts became foggy, disjointed.

"Salvatore..." she whispered, her voice soft as she looked up at him. He didn't respond, his jaw clenching as he toyed with the piercing on his tongue, his eyes narrowing as if in thought. Her breath caught in her throat. "Is something wrong?"

He turned his gaze to her, and for a moment, she saw something flicker in his dark eyes-something wild and dangerous. But just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by the blank, cold stare she was beginning to dread.

"Salvatore, please..." she pleaded, her voice cracking as she went from her sitting position to kneeling on the bed.

She didn't understand why he was acting this way. He was usually so... close. She could barely breathe without feeling him near, without sensing his silent intensity bearing down on her.

He moved suddenly, crossing the room in long, purposeful strides. Her heart leaped into her throat as he towered over her, his broad shadow engulfing her. His gloved hand reached out, and she flinched, expecting the roughness of his usual touch. But instead, he cupped her cheek gently, his thumb brushing across her skin with an almost tender caress.

For a moment, it was as if nothing had changed. The warmth of his hand was familiar, reassuring in its possessiveness. She leaned into his touch, desperate for the comfort it usually brought. But then, just as quickly as he had touched her, he pulled away, stepping back as if she had burned him.

Her eyes widened in confusion and hurt. "Salvatore... why are you being like this?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

He didn't answer. Instead, he turned his back to her, his shoulders tense, his fists clenching at his sides. She felt a pang of fear. He was always so unpredictable, so maddeningly contradictory. One moment, he would be tender, holding her as if she were the most precious thing in the world, his touch soft and reverent. The next, he would be distant, his gaze cold, his presence more terrifying than comforting.

Her mind was spinning, trying to grasp the reality of what was happening, but nothing made sense anymore. Was it something she had done? Had she upset him in some way? But she couldn't remember. The days had started to blur together, the minutes stretching into hours, the hours into days. She was losing track of time, of reality.

"Please..." she tried again, tears welling in her eyes. "I don't understand. Did I do something wrong?"

Finally, he turned to face her again, his dark eyes burning with an intensity that made her stomach twist. He didn't speak, but his gaze told her everything. This was her fault. She had done something to upset him, to make him withdraw from her. She was the reason for his coldness, his distance.

And yet, even as she blamed herself, a small, quiet voice in the back of her mind questioned everything. Had she really done something wrong? Or was she just going insane?

She didn't know anymore. She couldn't trust her own thoughts, her own memories. All she knew was that she needed him. She needed his touch, his presence, his twisted version of affection, no matter how painful it was.

She needed it to remind her that she was real.

And that was exactly what he wanted.

Moving things around as she slept to confuse her.

The drugs he slipped into her tea made her weaker.

The blinding white walls to make her head spin.

His ever changing attitude towards her even though below the surface he still feels nothing but his obsession and care for her.

Every little detail, every breath, everything was to make her succumb to his reign over her.