ALANA'S MISTAKE ✔

Chapter 51

Alana couldn't help the tears streaming down her face. She didn't want to cry, she didn't want to give him the satisfaction, all he seemed to want was a reaction from her and she hated to give it to him. But her body betrayed her and the tears fell, mingling with the blood making a salty, red mixture that flowed down her chin, her neck and onto her shirt.

All he wanted to do was taunt her and torture her with the view of that knife wandering in front of her face as he spouted his nonsense. Her lip stung and wouldn't stop bleeding. Her thoughts turned to Noah. She would give anything, anything, to be given one last chance to let him know how deeply sorry she was for betraying him. He needed to know that she loved him, with every last inch of her heart.

With that thought in her mind she curled one finger up towards the sleeve of her shirt, where the pen knife lay. It was tucked in tightly, too far up to reach. She kept her expression as steady as she could, giving nothing away. Her finger reached out again, trying to burrow into the cuff of her shirt.

'Remember our night?' said Elias, the knife dangling in his hand. 'I can't forget it. And you know what I remember most clearly?'

She stared at him with dead eyes.

'The first time you showed yourself to me. You slipped off your clothes right in front of me. Remember?'

She didn't react. In truth, she didn't remember taking her clothes off, she had been too drunk.

'It was amazing,' he said, closing his eyes as if watching the whole thing on replay.

She wished she could erase that image from his mind forever, but she tried to concentrate on the pen knife and wriggled her sleeve back and forth, trying to dislodge it.

'I want that again,' he said, tipping his chin down and looking at her directly through his big brown eyes.

'You can't,' she said, turning her face from him in disgust.

'See, that's where you're not quite getting this, sweet angel. Are you?'

She gritted her teeth.

'You can't ignore me now. Because I'm right here and I'm not going away. You can't turn your phone off or ignore my letters.'

She scrambled at her sleeve with more force this time, pushing on the pen knife from the outside. She pushed and pushed, making her fingers raw with the exertion, until finally it came loose and dropped into her hand. She grabbed it tightly, squeezing it in her palm, desperate not to let it go. It slid against the sweat on her skin.

He walked up to her, slowly and placed the blade of the knife under her chin. She breathed in and out, harder and harder, feeling the tip of the knife digging into her skin. If he cuts my throat ...

'No, Elias, please.'

He flicked the knife down from her chin onto the top of her shirt, then in one rapid movement he cut away the top button, making it fly away in the air. She threw her head back and tried with all her might to concentrate on what was in her hand. She felt the pen knife with all it's bumps and blades all tucked into the main body. She dug at one of the blades with her nails until it popped out. Straight away, the blade cut into her palm and she felt blood seeping out, but she didn't let her pain show. She would not let him see what she was doing.

Elias was engrossed in watching her shirt fall open at the top, revealing the smooth skin of her chest and collar bone. He dove in again and cut off the next button, then flung her shirt further open with the blade.

'Don't,' she hissed.

He laughed.

'You love it.'

He cut off the next button.

'No,' she said. 'I don't love it.'

'Girls love to feel controlled, to feel possessed. They say they don't, but they do.'

She focused on what was going on in her own hand. She managed to angle the small blade towards the rope.

'Every song I write is about this, right here. And you're telling me girls don't want it? Every night on stage they long for it. Standing in front of me, longing for it.'

She said nothing. She was trying with all her might to cut through the rope which was thick and tough, but she couldn't quite get the angle right. The pen knife wobbled and faltered in her hand. He shoved his knife in front of her again and ripped downwards until her whole shirt was open, then he stood back to look at her. She wore a dark pink bra, lacy and pretty, one that Noah bought for her on their last wedding anniversary.

'Beautiful,' he said. 'So much better in the flesh.'

Then he rushed forwards to pull down the shirt further, right off her back and down to her wrists, leaving her back exposed too and the shirt falling over her hands. She prayed he wouldn't see the blood or the pen knife. He moved back again.

'Better,' he said, as though admiring a painting he had just finished. 'So much better.'

She sawed away at the rope, feeling it fray where she was cutting. He began to circle her, walking around the chair, staring at her, soaking her in. She was thankful that the shirt now covered her hands. But what was he planning? He had fallen quiet and it looked like he was trying to work something out in his mind.

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