Page 5 of Dear Owen

In an instant, he was upon me, his strength overpowering as he pushed me down onto the mattress. I struggled, my hands pushing against his chest, but it was futile. He was an unstoppable force, his fingers gripping my jaw with bruising intensity.

“You will not starve yourself,” he growled, his face inches from mine. “You need to keep up your strength.”

With his free hand, he picked up a piece of chicken, pressing it to my tightly sealed lips. I turned my head, trying to evade him, but he was relentless. He pried my mouth open, shoving the food inside. My instinct was to spit it out, but he was quicker, his hand clamping over my mouth, holding it shut.

“Swallow,” he commanded, his eyes blazing with an unsettling mix of anger and concern.

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes as I chewed so I wouldn’t choke. Why did it have to be so good? I swallowed, and he released his hold on me, though he remained close, his presence suffocating.

“Good girl,” he said, his voice softer now, the approval in his tone a bitter reward. “You need to take care of yourself, Kira. For your own sake, and for mine.”

I turned away from him, curling into a ball on the mattress, my body shaking with a mixture of fear, anger, and the unsettling realization that, even now, there was a part of me that craved his approval, that yearned for his touch, despite the terror it brought.

Owen watched me for a moment longer before rising to his feet. “I’ll be back to check on you,” he said, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

With that, he was gone, the door shutting behind him with a finality that echoed in the silence he left in his wake. I lay there, the taste of chicken parmesan lingering on my tongue.

It must have been not an hour later when the door to my prison creaked open. Owen stood there, the dim light casting a sinister silhouette around his form, and in his hands, he held a set of handcuffs. The cold steel glinted ominously, a silent threat that sent a shiver down my spine.

“What are you doing?” My voice was a hoarse whisper, the words barely audible in the oppressive silence.

He didn’t answer, his movements deliberate as he advanced toward me. I backed away, my heart pounding in my chest, but there was nowhere to run, no escape from the inevitability of his touch. He was upon me in an instant, his strength overwhelming as he wrestled me into submission, a wild animal caught in a trap.

With one swift motion, he clasped one cuff around my wrist, the metal biting into my skin. I fought him with all the strength I had left, my free hand pushing against his chest, but it was like fighting a force of nature. He grabbed my other wrist, pulling my arms around his waist, and with a final click, the other cuff was in place, trapping me in an intimate embrace I couldn’t escape.

My breath came in ragged gasps, my body pressed against his, the weight of the handcuffs a constant reminder of my helplessness. Owen’s heart thrummed against my ear, a steady rhythm that belied the violence of our struggle. His hand moved to my hair, smoothing it back with a tenderness that seemed at odds with his brutality.

“Shh,” he whispered, his voice a low rumble in his chest. “Just relax, Kira. You’re safe with me.”

I wanted to scream, to lash out at him for the cruelty of his words, but my voice had abandoned me, leaving me to stew in the turmoil of my emotions. Owen guided us down onto the mattress, his movements precise and controlled, as though he hadn’t just overpowered me with brute force.

He adjusted the pillows before pulling the blanket over us, the scent of his cologne surrounding me, a fragrant cage from which there was no escape. I hated how soft the fabric was against my skin.

I was acutely aware of every point of contact between us, from the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath my head to the warmth that seeped through the layers of our clothing.

As the adrenaline coursing through my veins began to ebb, I felt overwhelming fatigue take its place. The combination of emotional exhaustion and the physical restraint of the handcuffs forced my body to surrender, my eyelids growing heavy despite the chaos of my thoughts.

I drifted into an uneasy sleep, the steady beat of Owen’s heart a lullaby that sang of captivity and control. My hands, trapped beneath our combined weight, grew numb, the pins and needles a distant sensation that barely registered over the thrum of my pulse in my ears.

I was lost in a dreamless sleep, a prisoner in the arms of my captor, when the sound of his voice pulled me back from the brink of unconsciousness. Owen’s words were soft, barely more than a murmur in the stillness of our confinement, but their meaning pierced through the fog that clouded my mind.

“You’re mine, Kira,” he said, his breath stirring the hair at my temple. “And I’m never letting you go.”

Five

The morning lightthat filtered through the basement window was a dull gray, a color that seemed to seep into my bones and leach away what little warmth I had left. Owen had uncuffed us before the break of dawn, his movements as silent as the shadows that danced across the walls. He left without a word, the sound of the lock sliding into place was a cruel reminder of my confinement.

I lay there on the deflating air mattress, my body aching from the night spent shackled to him. The imprint of his warmth still lingered on my skin, a ghostly presence that I couldn’t shake off. I stared at the cuff still clasped around one wrist, the metal cold and foreign against my flesh. The other cuff lay open, a silent sentinel waiting for nightfall when it would once again bind me to my captor.

I could hear the distant hum of the central heating system kicking in, the sound a muffled echo in my ears. It was a constant, mechanical lullaby that did little to comfort me. I pulled the blanket tighter around my shoulders, the fabric rough against my palms, and let out a long, shuddering breath.

The hours crept by with agonizing slowness, each minute stretching out into an eternity of solitude and introspection. My thoughts were a tumultuous sea, crashing against the walls of my mind in a relentless assault that left me feeling adrift in a vast, empty ocean.

When Owen finally returned, it was with the same air of casual dominance that he wore like a second skin. He set a tray of food on the floor beside the mattress, his movements precise and controlled. The aroma of scrambled eggs and toast filled the room, a domestic scent that seemed out of place in the midst of my captivity.

“Eat,” he commanded, his gaze fixed on me with an intensity that made my stomach twist in knots.

I looked at the food, my appetite nonexistent, but the memory of him force-feeding me the night before was still fresh in my mind. I reached for the plastic fork, my hand trembling slightly as I brought a bite of eggs to my lips. They were bland and rubbery, but I swallowed them down, each mouthful a small act of defiance against the control he sought to exert over me.

---