packed hard from lack of rain. Before he caught up to me, I stopped, turned around, and held my hands out in surrender. He stopped running a few feet from me and smiled that unfriendly smile, then nodded. Then he turned and started walking back toward the house.
I stood there for a moment, gawking after him. I wanted him to physically drag me back kicking and screaming but he wasn’t doing that. He seemed so sure I’d follow. Well fuck that. He’d had me almost three weeks. I wasn’t that far gone.
I stood defiantly with my arms crossed over my chest. He turned and when he didn’t see me following right behind him, the smile left his face, and his eyes narrowed. He started to stride purposefully toward me, and I found my feet defying my desires and moving me back toward the house.
For all my tough thoughts, I didn’t want him to hurt me. At root I was a coward, and I knew it. I didn’t take enough risks, never had. I was just the kind of girl men like him dreamed of taking. The kind that was too afraid of pain to rebel in any meaningful way.
I’d stopped running because I was terrified of him knocking me physically to the ground. I was afraid if he did that, if he got a taste of violence toward me, he wouldn’t stop. We were in the middle of nowhere, and he was my only hope. Keeping him from turning on me was the only thing that mattered.
He slowed his strides to match mine as we walked together to the house. If the situation were different, it would have been companionable silence. I didn’t know how he managed the willpower to not reprimand me. But he’d managed the willpower to do every other completely calculated thing he’d done. So why not?
He was the most terrifying person I’d ever encountered, like a wild animal, and yet he reasoned. Predatory animals are so frightening because you can’t speak or understand their language. You can’t reason with them.
As we got closer to the house, I kept thinking of the ramifications of its size. Surely a house that big, there had to be servants at some point. He couldn’t possibly do everything himself. So people came to the house, and if they came to the house, I had a chance. If I screamed my head off someone would hear me.
He pulled out the blindfold, and I let him put it on me. When the cloth was removed from my eyes again, the fear I’d been secretly harboring was realized. I was back in the bad cell.
“Please, take me back to the other room. I’m sorry. I won’t try anything again. I won’t try to get away.”
He skimmed his fingers lightly over my face, cupped my chin, and brushed his lips softly against mine. I leaned into the touch because I knew it was the last one for awhile. I hated myself for trying to savor it. I should be happy he wouldn’t touch me, that I’d have a fucking break from his constant ministrations, but all I could think about was that I’d have to dance again in order to feel anything at all.
It didn’t matter what I did or didn’t do in that cell. I would be there until he thought I’d properly learned my lesson. He turned and left me alone, that deafening door click sealing my fate. Would it be a week? Two weeks? Surely a murder attempt, no matter how lame, would require more than one week’s penance.
I pounded on the door until my knuckles bled, screaming and begging for him to let me out, to not abandon me again. I couldn’t be alone like this again. Being in the cell now was worse than the first time. Seeing how bearable my imprisonment with him could be, and what I was getting instead.
I pushed down the feelings of shame at having displeased him enough to warrant punishment. Some part of me still knew it wasn’t true, or thought it might not be true. I wasn’t sure anymore, but I was starting to feel like I deserved the bad cell now.
He’d given me everything, and I’d tried to kill him. I finally moved back to my corner, cradling my injured hands. I soaked in the stinging feeling because it was
I stood there for a moment, gawking after him. I wanted him to physically drag me back kicking and screaming but he wasn’t doing that. He seemed so sure I’d follow. Well fuck that. He’d had me almost three weeks. I wasn’t that far gone.
I stood defiantly with my arms crossed over my chest. He turned and when he didn’t see me following right behind him, the smile left his face, and his eyes narrowed. He started to stride purposefully toward me, and I found my feet defying my desires and moving me back toward the house.
For all my tough thoughts, I didn’t want him to hurt me. At root I was a coward, and I knew it. I didn’t take enough risks, never had. I was just the kind of girl men like him dreamed of taking. The kind that was too afraid of pain to rebel in any meaningful way.
I’d stopped running because I was terrified of him knocking me physically to the ground. I was afraid if he did that, if he got a taste of violence toward me, he wouldn’t stop. We were in the middle of nowhere, and he was my only hope. Keeping him from turning on me was the only thing that mattered.
He slowed his strides to match mine as we walked together to the house. If the situation were different, it would have been companionable silence. I didn’t know how he managed the willpower to not reprimand me. But he’d managed the willpower to do every other completely calculated thing he’d done. So why not?
He was the most terrifying person I’d ever encountered, like a wild animal, and yet he reasoned. Predatory animals are so frightening because you can’t speak or understand their language. You can’t reason with them.
As we got closer to the house, I kept thinking of the ramifications of its size. Surely a house that big, there had to be servants at some point. He couldn’t possibly do everything himself. So people came to the house, and if they came to the house, I had a chance. If I screamed my head off someone would hear me.
He pulled out the blindfold, and I let him put it on me. When the cloth was removed from my eyes again, the fear I’d been secretly harboring was realized. I was back in the bad cell.
“Please, take me back to the other room. I’m sorry. I won’t try anything again. I won’t try to get away.”
He skimmed his fingers lightly over my face, cupped my chin, and brushed his lips softly against mine. I leaned into the touch because I knew it was the last one for awhile. I hated myself for trying to savor it. I should be happy he wouldn’t touch me, that I’d have a fucking break from his constant ministrations, but all I could think about was that I’d have to dance again in order to feel anything at all.
It didn’t matter what I did or didn’t do in that cell. I would be there until he thought I’d properly learned my lesson. He turned and left me alone, that deafening door click sealing my fate. Would it be a week? Two weeks? Surely a murder attempt, no matter how lame, would require more than one week’s penance.
I pounded on the door until my knuckles bled, screaming and begging for him to let me out, to not abandon me again. I couldn’t be alone like this again. Being in the cell now was worse than the first time. Seeing how bearable my imprisonment with him could be, and what I was getting instead.
I pushed down the feelings of shame at having displeased him enough to warrant punishment. Some part of me still knew it wasn’t true, or thought it might not be true. I wasn’t sure anymore, but I was starting to feel like I deserved the bad cell now.
He’d given me everything, and I’d tried to kill him. I finally moved back to my corner, cradling my injured hands. I soaked in the stinging feeling because it was
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