Revealed: The Missing Years
Page 43
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My Life as It Didn’t Appear: Chapter 4…
Like an obedient child, I listened to the rules and there were many. The most important one was to do as I was told. Truly, that was all encompassing. There were rules regarding attire—no underwear. My boundaries were defined. I could roam the house as long as I didn’t enter the corridor of Anthony’s office or suite without his permission or summons. Those rooms held the means to contact the outside world, and I was forbidden to communicate with anyone but him and his staff. Most days I had to myself, unless otherwise informed by Anthony or Kate. I could wake when I wanted, work out in the gym and swim in the indoor pool, watch movies in the theater room, or read in the library. Each evening at 5:00 PM I was required to be in my suite and await the evening’s instructions.
During the day my options were many and few. My cell had grown larger, but it was still a cell. Each glance outside my windows reminded me that I was trapped inside the walls of the mansion. Spring had arrived to Iowa, bringing longer days and life where only gray and dormancy had resided. The dead trees showed faint shades of color as buds formed and turned to lush green leaves. I longed for the freedom of walking outside, the ability to go to a store or a restaurant. I had designer clothes and luxurious surroundings, yet I desired what others took for granted. I craved the mundane life I’d lost.
My job duties were defined broadly. For lack of a better word, I was forced to become Anthony Rawlings’ whore. My existence and presence was for one purpose: to please him. If he didn’t want or have time for me, I was left in my suite, like a doll left on the shelf. If he wanted me, I was required to accommodate. The word no had been removed from my vocabulary.
During the days I’d assure myself that I had choices. The evenings and nights convinced me otherwise. Failure was not an option. That was not only something that Anthony liked to say: it was the truth. Failure had consequences—some very painful and demeaning consequences.
My first punishment was when I was late returning to his office. I quickly learned that displeasing him was not something that I wanted to do. I believe that fear of seeing the darkness arise behind his eyes was the true key to my captivity. I’d thought I’d seen the depth of his rage—I hadn’t yet—and I knew I didn’t want to see it again. If I disobeyed, ran through the grand doors and made it into the trees, yet failed to find freedom, I knew that my punishment would be severe. That didn’t need to be spelled out for me.
I’d been at his estate for nearly a month when I was awakened by a member of the staff and told that Mr. Rawlings was working from home, and I was to be in his office by 10:00 AM. It wasn’t that I didn’t usually wake by that time, but I’d developed a routine, and I wasn’t always showered and dressed. Of course, I did as I was told, yet as I prepared for my day, each decision was monumental. Usually during the day I dressed casually. If I were to see Anthony at night, Kate informed me what he wanted me to wear.
My first, mid-week summons to his office was a new, daunting assignment. I debated everything. Finally, deciding upon a pair of slacks, silk blouse, and high heels—because other than workout shoes, that was my only option—I arrived at his office door with minutes to spare. I’d been in his office on the occasional Sunday afternoon for lunch, but other than my first time in the regal room, I’d never been called there and required to fulfill my new duties. With each step down the grand stairs and along the marble corridor, I knew this would be different. He had plans. I just didn’t know what they were.
With my hand shaking, I knocked on the door to his office. I didn’t know if it was locked, but he had a way to open it from his desk. The door opened and I entered. He was talking on the telephone and motioned for me to be quiet. Silently, I walked to his desk as the door closed by the pushing of a button. Though the temperature of the room was the same as the rest of the mansion, I felt a chill that sent shivers to my core. He was upset with the person on the other end of the line. I didn’t know or care what he was discussing, but I had learned to read him well enough to know he wasn’t happy.
For minutes upon minutes, I stood, unsure of what to do. Each second hung in the air as his eyes grew darker and he wove some trinket around the fingers and knuckles of his other hand. It was the first time I saw this habit—one of his only nervous habits. I’d later consider it the rumble of thunder, warning of an impending storm.
My heartbeat quickened as he leaned back in his chair and told the person on the other end of the line that he had a personal matter, and he would put him or her on hold, momentarily. After hitting the button, his dark eyes found mine. “Claire, you have a job. Do it.”
I was lost. I had no idea what I was supposed to do, and yet I feared not complying. Timidly, I asked, “What do you want me to do?”
The pent-up frustration from his business dealing burst forth as he sprang from his chair and rounded the desk toward me. Defensively, I stepped back. He grasped my arm pulling me toward him. His warm breath smelled of coffee as he growled, “Do not pull away from me. Do you understand?”
I understood. I understood that if Anthony Rawlings was having a bad day that I was having a bad day, probably worse. “Yes. I didn’t mean to pull away.”
My cheek burned with the slap of his hand. “Don’t think that you can pacify me with lies. I want the truth from you. You meant to step back—it wasn’t done on accident. Admit your mistakes and I won’t need to punish you for them.”
Like an obedient child, I listened to the rules and there were many. The most important one was to do as I was told. Truly, that was all encompassing. There were rules regarding attire—no underwear. My boundaries were defined. I could roam the house as long as I didn’t enter the corridor of Anthony’s office or suite without his permission or summons. Those rooms held the means to contact the outside world, and I was forbidden to communicate with anyone but him and his staff. Most days I had to myself, unless otherwise informed by Anthony or Kate. I could wake when I wanted, work out in the gym and swim in the indoor pool, watch movies in the theater room, or read in the library. Each evening at 5:00 PM I was required to be in my suite and await the evening’s instructions.
During the day my options were many and few. My cell had grown larger, but it was still a cell. Each glance outside my windows reminded me that I was trapped inside the walls of the mansion. Spring had arrived to Iowa, bringing longer days and life where only gray and dormancy had resided. The dead trees showed faint shades of color as buds formed and turned to lush green leaves. I longed for the freedom of walking outside, the ability to go to a store or a restaurant. I had designer clothes and luxurious surroundings, yet I desired what others took for granted. I craved the mundane life I’d lost.
My job duties were defined broadly. For lack of a better word, I was forced to become Anthony Rawlings’ whore. My existence and presence was for one purpose: to please him. If he didn’t want or have time for me, I was left in my suite, like a doll left on the shelf. If he wanted me, I was required to accommodate. The word no had been removed from my vocabulary.
During the days I’d assure myself that I had choices. The evenings and nights convinced me otherwise. Failure was not an option. That was not only something that Anthony liked to say: it was the truth. Failure had consequences—some very painful and demeaning consequences.
My first punishment was when I was late returning to his office. I quickly learned that displeasing him was not something that I wanted to do. I believe that fear of seeing the darkness arise behind his eyes was the true key to my captivity. I’d thought I’d seen the depth of his rage—I hadn’t yet—and I knew I didn’t want to see it again. If I disobeyed, ran through the grand doors and made it into the trees, yet failed to find freedom, I knew that my punishment would be severe. That didn’t need to be spelled out for me.
I’d been at his estate for nearly a month when I was awakened by a member of the staff and told that Mr. Rawlings was working from home, and I was to be in his office by 10:00 AM. It wasn’t that I didn’t usually wake by that time, but I’d developed a routine, and I wasn’t always showered and dressed. Of course, I did as I was told, yet as I prepared for my day, each decision was monumental. Usually during the day I dressed casually. If I were to see Anthony at night, Kate informed me what he wanted me to wear.
My first, mid-week summons to his office was a new, daunting assignment. I debated everything. Finally, deciding upon a pair of slacks, silk blouse, and high heels—because other than workout shoes, that was my only option—I arrived at his office door with minutes to spare. I’d been in his office on the occasional Sunday afternoon for lunch, but other than my first time in the regal room, I’d never been called there and required to fulfill my new duties. With each step down the grand stairs and along the marble corridor, I knew this would be different. He had plans. I just didn’t know what they were.
With my hand shaking, I knocked on the door to his office. I didn’t know if it was locked, but he had a way to open it from his desk. The door opened and I entered. He was talking on the telephone and motioned for me to be quiet. Silently, I walked to his desk as the door closed by the pushing of a button. Though the temperature of the room was the same as the rest of the mansion, I felt a chill that sent shivers to my core. He was upset with the person on the other end of the line. I didn’t know or care what he was discussing, but I had learned to read him well enough to know he wasn’t happy.
For minutes upon minutes, I stood, unsure of what to do. Each second hung in the air as his eyes grew darker and he wove some trinket around the fingers and knuckles of his other hand. It was the first time I saw this habit—one of his only nervous habits. I’d later consider it the rumble of thunder, warning of an impending storm.
My heartbeat quickened as he leaned back in his chair and told the person on the other end of the line that he had a personal matter, and he would put him or her on hold, momentarily. After hitting the button, his dark eyes found mine. “Claire, you have a job. Do it.”
I was lost. I had no idea what I was supposed to do, and yet I feared not complying. Timidly, I asked, “What do you want me to do?”
The pent-up frustration from his business dealing burst forth as he sprang from his chair and rounded the desk toward me. Defensively, I stepped back. He grasped my arm pulling me toward him. His warm breath smelled of coffee as he growled, “Do not pull away from me. Do you understand?”
I understood. I understood that if Anthony Rawlings was having a bad day that I was having a bad day, probably worse. “Yes. I didn’t mean to pull away.”
My cheek burned with the slap of his hand. “Don’t think that you can pacify me with lies. I want the truth from you. You meant to step back—it wasn’t done on accident. Admit your mistakes and I won’t need to punish you for them.”
