Page 42 of Make Me Scream

“Thanks.”

I avoid his gaze, clutching my hands together in front of my hips.

“Turn around. Let me see the back.”

Blood rushes to my cheeks, but I do as he says. If he wants to teach me humility, this is a good start. He may like what he sees, but who likes to feel so… examined?

I do, apparently — wetness gathers inside as he scrutinizes me closely.

“Good,” he says after two rotations. “Let’s begin.”

Before I can react, he takes my wrist and locks it into one of the cuffs. Squealing in surprise, I try jerking my arm away, but the chain holds it tight.

“Having second thoughts?” Lane asks.

I force myself to be still and compliant.

“No. It was just a reaction.”

“You sure?”

“I am.”

Lane nods, then locks my other wrist; I don’t fight him. The chains pull my arms out wide, nearly to full extension. More than enough to render me helpless, but not so tight that they start to hurt.

“That’s an important lesson, Gwen. I think you learned on the subway that when you do art in public, you aren’t going to be in control. If your piece isn’t going the way you thought it would, or how you wanted it to, you won’t be able to do anything about it.”

I test the cuffs, pulling against them as hard as I can. They’re completely inescapable. Whatever Lane has planned next, I’m helpless to stop it.

“More importantly, you should have the mindset of not interfering, even if you want to. Sometimes you have to let the results speak for themselves. Got it?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’ll be back soon and we can get started.”

“What?”

Lane turns and walks out.

“Hey!”

I’m at a loss for more words than that. He just left. Like I’m not here, hanging from the ceiling and naked. What the hell am I supposed to do?

He said “soon,” so I calm myself down. He’ll be back in a minute or two, I’m sure. Maybe he had to go get something.

Wondering where he went keeps my mind busy for a little while, but the problem with waiting around in a state like this is that it’s impossible to tell time. Counting the seconds makes them take longer, so I stop after two minutes’ worth.

That’s still more time than I thought Lane would take. What’s keeping him?

What if he doesn’t come back? What if he’s waiting for me to pass out to do something terrible?

Is he watching me?

I look around, searching for a hidden camera, but don’t see one.

Frustration bubbling over, I yank the cuffs hard, but the chains hold firm. Their unbreakable grip releases a surge of hunger within me. My core drips at the thought of what Lane could do while I’m stuck like this. Fighting the chains only makes the sensation grow stronger. Now that I can’t get away, my body doesn’t want to.

Will Lane be able to see what his bindings are doing to me? Did he know this would happen? Is he just waiting until I’ve driven myself into a state of desperate need? What if I can’t stop myself?

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