Page 14 of Don't Say A Word

I am inexperienced when it comes to physical relationships. I’ve only ever had one boyfriend who I was intimate with. He was the popular kid and I was the quiet girl at the back of the class who stared at him longingly, just like every other girl in the school. He had blond hair, blue eyes and the most endearing of smiles. It made me want to sigh and scream at the same time. But it wasn’t until after high-school that we began to date. I’m not sure if he knew I even existed before that. But when he lost his scholarship due to smoking weed on the school grounds, Thomas Fuller became the cliché of the popular kid that was going places to the one who swept the floor at the local garage. He still played rugby but his chances of making it his career were over. And, as it turned out, he wasn’t talented enough to make it on his own anyway. He was just popular.

But when he walked into the bakery one day, moody and feeling sorry for himself, I didn’t see any of that. I just saw the boy whose face I had dreamed about for most of my high school years. My adoration inflated his downtrodden ego and we were soon dating. Five months we were together. Five months when I tried to convince myself that he was the man I had always wanted. Five months before I finally admitted he wasn’t.

Could this be some sort of sick revenge? And if so, why was it a stranger who held me against him and brought me to a trembling mess with the stroke of his tongue?

My captor leaves me alone for the rest of the day, although I can feel him watching. The red light on the camera burns even when my eyes are closed.

I sleep in the bed that night but I move it so when I lie down I can see the stars. They blink on and off so I know God is watching too. I wonder why he has abandoned me and then I remember that I have never turned to him in the past, so why would I expect him to save me now.

In my sleep I am safe. In my sleep there is nothing but darkness. I have no dreams, no faces that taunt me, but when I wake, he is there. Watching and waiting. Sitting in his chair which has been placed beside my bed. I sense him before I open my eyes. His scent. Sawdust and musk.

“Morning.”

I open one eye to glance at him.

“You look peaceful when you sleep.”

I risk speaking. He hasn’t said the command yet. Maybe I am allowed to appear human. “It’s because you’re not in my dreams.”

He lifts his eyebrows, deepening the creases in his forehead again. The lines fascinate me and I wonder what makes them so appealing. I wonder what made them so deep.

“You didn’t seem to mind so much last time I came to visit.”

Color creeps up my cheeks but I refuse to cower. I sit up and rest my feet on the cold ground, defiantly resisting the urge to cover myself.

“It doesn’t change what you’ve done.”

“And what exactly is it that I’ve done?”

“You’ve stolen me, chained me and forced me to do things against my will. Just because my body betrayed me by doing what it did, doesn’t give you the right to keep doing it.”

“I am only acting on behalf of someone else.”

I narrow my eyes, staring at him so hard I hope it hurts. “My requestor.”

“Your requestor.”

“Did he force you?”

“Force me?”

“Yes, force you. As in threatened you. Hurt you. Made it so you had no choice.”

“There is always a choice. No one can take that away.”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time you’re beating me into submission.”

“Beating?”

“Yes. Beating,” I spit back.

“I would hardly call anything I’ve done to you a beating. Many people do that sort of thing by choice.”

“So you’re admitting I don’t have a choice?”

He rolls his eyes. “It could be worse, you know.”

“Worse than stolen, chained and beaten?”

---