Page 11 of Mind Games

There was no way he would give me a drink. He might enjoy me begging for it. He fucked with my head so much. Instead of my usual vicious thoughts circling around my head, he was at the forefront of everything. I went over the questions he asked me again and again, only to realise he somehow knew too many details. He asked me when Tom had touched me, not if he had touched me. Perhaps he believed me.

It took me four years to be able to tell my mum, and instead of helping me, she attacked me. I thought about it for years and concluded that she either knew all along or blamed me. Her precious husband could do no wrong. She gave up any pretence after that, and I was left to deal with Tom for another three years before something snapped inside of me, and I ran away. He became more brazen and depraved over the years.

With a sigh, I turned over and cuddled into the soft fur of Pooh Bear. As horrid as Dr Lewis was in taking my freedom and my clothes while sticking me in his basement, I felt grateful for the comfort of being able to hug the cute bear. The sun shone into the small decking area. The majority of these kind of townhouses were converted into apartments. Space was very much coveted in the city.

The door opened, and I glanced over my shoulder to see Dr Lewis walk in, holding a pale green ceramic bowl. My eyes skimmed over him. It was the first time he wasn't wearing a suit, yet he still managed to look formal. My cheeks heated when I focused on his hands. The same hands that touched every inch of my body last night.

He sat on the bed, and I saw that he had porridge with a red berry sauce on the side for breakfast. I opened my mouth when he lifted the spoon to my lips. He had a calm energy this morning. I studied his face while he fed me and wondered if he enjoyed taking care of me or if he was pretending.

Did he enjoy the control? Was this part of his ‘treatment’?

“Thank you, Daddy,” I said after he fed me the final spoonful.

A genuine smile was my reward. It softened his cold grey eyes as the slight wrinkles at the corner of his eyes showed. He looked like a normal, attractive man. The striking contrast between his dark hair and lighter eyes was an unusual combination. He no longer needed his glasses to hide behind since his crazy was now out in the open.

“Good girl. You deserve a reward,” he murmured as he stood up with the bowl.

He left the room for a few minutes and returned, holding some neatly folded clothes in one hand and a glass of water in the other. It was a pale blue, lightly checkered pyjama set. He unbuttoned it, and I held my arm out for him as he dressed me. It all felt very intimate, but it wasn't creepy. Tom never put clothes on me. He only used to take them off.

I stood up and watched him bend down to put the bottoms on for me. When I looked down, he had white cotton panties in his hand. I held his shoulder while I put my foot through the underwear before he slipped the warm, brushed cotton bottoms on. It dawned on me that Tom only used to remove my clothes.

“He used to tell me how much he loved me,” I whispered. “They all lied.”

He glanced up at my words, but I looked away from his piercing eyes.

“While I cannot take all of your pain away, baby. I will ensure that the ones who failed to protect you will pay for what they did,” he vowed.

I swallowed the lump in my throat before I met his eyes. They had a fierce look, and I was shocked at his barely contained anger. His words hit home about making them pay.

“What do you mean by making them pay?” I asked, puzzled as to why he would care.

Did he know Tom and Violet?

“All in good time. Take your medicine while I comb and braid your hair. I have pretty blue ribbons for your hair today,” he said as he stood up.

“Yes, Daddy,” I said, looking away from him again.

For some reason, it was getting easier to call him Daddy.

Chapter 8

Nathan

She took the pill I had left beside the glass of water and sat on the bed, waiting for me to comb her hair. Her words sent a fury through me. The victims that I had encountered never triggered such protective emotions in me. The perpetrators were the ones that I toyed with before killing them. Daisy would learn about Tom and Violet’s mindset. With my sessions, she would understand how their roles were the cause of trauma but also how to come to terms with the hand she was dealt with. The rest she would pick up from the books. She had no choice if she wanted to alleviate the boredom of being locked up.

On the positive side, she was beginning to adjust. I never anticipated her delight in voluntarily thanking me while calling me Daddy. It gave me hope that things would progress faster than I’d planned. She put the glass on the side table and settled down on the bed, but she put her bear on her lap as she stroked him.

I unbraided her hair from last night and began to comb the soft, wavy auburn locks. As a teen, she often wrote about how she hated herself and everyone else. Her self-care was nonexistent.

“You have beautiful hair, Daisy. I’m glad you didn't cut it,” I said as I brushed it back before I put the brush down.

“Thank you, Daddy,” she whispered.

I braided her hair and tied it off with the matching pale blue ribbon. My speed was improving, but the result could have been more neat than it was. Because of her past, I knew she hated pink, so I avoided the colour in her room and clothes. Her diary was an open wound, full of shame, anger and pain.

“Why did you never tell any of your therapists about your mum and stepdad?” I asked as I stroked her braid.

With a sigh, she moved back on the bed until her back rested on the headboard. I watched as her hand pressed down on the plump bear’s belly. She closed her eyes before she spoke.

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