Page 38 of Captive Souls

It was dark outside.

The passage of time was murky to me, but I’d begun my run in the morning. I didn’t know how long I’d been unconscious initially, but it couldn’t have been that long. Then …

Shame washed over me.

After Knox and I had had that strange conversation where I could’ve sworn I saw emotion, desire on his attractive face, he’d left. And I’d … pleasured myself on this very sofa. Where he slept.

After I’d almost killed myself from running miles with no nutrition. After Knox had almost starved me, all while having food that could’ve avoided the entire situation.

Humiliation ate away at my already aching muscles. It was one thing to be attracted to my captor—something I’d need yearsof therapy to work through—but it was quite another thing to act on it.

No, I didn’t throw myself at him, but the act of pleasuring myself, thinking of him in a spot where he could’ve walked in at any moment—wantinghim to walk in at any moment—that was going too far.

My mind flashed back to The Devil card and its urging me to embrace my shadows, my sexuality, but also reminding me that doing so could destroy me.

The clanging sounds continued as my indignity spiraled.

He was in the kitchen, that much was clear.

How long he’d been in there was anyone’s guess.

A burst of horror squeezed my lungs.

What if he’d come in when I was…?

No. Even with my extremely questionable survival instincts and my dulled senses from injury and masturbation, I would’ve noticed a killer in my midst.

Surely.

No. He hadn’t seen me.

But I’d done it. And I absolutely couldn’t do it again.

Masturbation was healthy and normal; I believed every adult should regularly indulge in self-love, using whatever fantasies got them going. But that should be done in the privacy of their own home, not in a cabin in the woods while being held hostage until they agreed to marry a murderous mob boss.

A pang of panic and thick homesickness clutched my stomach.

Would I ever be home again? In my warm, chaotic, messy apartment that held all of my memories, an entire life that I’d treasured?

Never in my life had I felt so hopeless. And that was saying something since I’d lived a far from charmed life.

But I’d always, always had hope. Even if it was just a small shred of it shining in the darkness.

In the cabin, despite the soft lamplight in the corner, there was only bleakness and despair.

I angrily wiped away the single tear trailing down my cheek.

It took a lot of effort, both mental and physical, to get myself up off the sofa. My legs were shockingly unsteady, as if I’d been lying in a coma for weeks instead of napping the day away.

My bladder urged to be emptied, so I made my way toward the bathroom, planning on ignoring Knox completely. For the rest of our time together.

A dark form emerged in my path just before the bathroom door.

Since I’d been so intentlynotfocusing on him, he’d been able to catch me off guard.

Coward that I was, I couldn’t lift my eyes to look at him in the face. Not out of fear. Out of shame. I was convinced I was wearing some kind of brand, a scarlet letter from what I’d done on his makeshift bed, and he’d be able to see it, figure out what I’d done.

Then he’d find a way to use that to break me.

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