Page 7 of Don't Say A Word

His gaze is intense and I’m almost quivering with the need to look away. But I don’t. If it were possible to square my shoulders, I would. Instead, I lift my chin and return his gaze. He blinks once and then turns and walks to where he sat before. There is a button on the wall and his finger hovers over it.

“I am going to unchain you now.”

I nod once. A short acknowledgment that I won’t try anything stupid. The chains lower and blood floods back down my veins painfully. I take the opportunity during his lack of attention to look around the room. For that’s all it is. Just a room. A room with one square window high on the back wall which exposes nothing but a patch of blue sky. A bed. Two doors. One open, one shut.

He’s standing before me again, tracking my eyes.

“The bathroom,” he says when my gaze falls to the open door. He reaches above me, his face coming dangerously close to mine. So close his breath caresses my face. Or assaults it.

My wrists are released and my arms fall to my sides, causing me to cry out a little at the pain of it. Immediately my eyes snap to his. Will I be punished for that cry of pain?

He shakes his head at my unspoken question and I want to slump to the floor in relief.

“Kneel.”

I drop to my knees without question, my eyes falling to the floor. It is concrete. Cold and hard. Out of my peripheral vision, his hand snakes toward me, cupping my chin and drawing my head upward. I keep my eyes down, not wanting to look at him, not wanting to see whatever is reflected in his eyes, and scared of the proximity of my face to his groin.

“Look at me.”

I try, but I can’t bring my eyes up. Tears roll down my cheeks. My eyes are stuck on a pebble encased in the concrete. It is red, and in stark contrast to the black, white and gray monotony of the rest. I hear the whistle of air and wince as a sharp sting inflicts the bottom of my feet.

I look up. I expect to see lust, sickened desire, but I don’t. I can’t decipher any emotion in his eyes at all. Maybe he has none. That scares me most of all.

My heart pounds as I wait for him to move. My eyes dance between his, unsure where to look, unsure if I can keep staring into the ocean of emptiness.

And then he leaves.

CHAPTER FOUR

MIA

Minutes pass before I rise to my feet. I feel like he is watching, studying me, so the first thing I look for is a camera. Sure enough, there’s one protruding from the ceiling above the door. There has been no effort to hide it. It’s there in plain sight, the blinking red light letting me know it is on. Is he staring at a screen watching me now?

I stretch. Not high into the air, but lowering myself at the hips, letting myself fold over my knees and relishing the strain of the muscles down my legs and lower back. It feels good to move. I twist and turn, forcing as much stiffness from my body that I can.

Moving to sit on the bed, I allow myself to bounce on the mattress as though I’m testing its softness. As though it matters. Springs groan. There is a single blanket folded at the foot of the bed. No pillow.

Walking into the bathroom, I take in the shower, toilet and hand basin. Another camera hovers in the corner. There are no shower curtains. No privacy. Liquid soap sits in a bottle off to one side. It looks out of place in the bluntness of the rest of the room, boasting hints of cherry blossom. Its color is offensive. So happy and bright.

Leaving the bathroom, I consider banging on the other door, the one that opens and closes only to let him in. I consider screaming and yelling at the glass in the little square window. But instead, all I do is lower myself to the ground, my back sliding against the wall as I return to the corner with the chains, hugging my knees to my chest.

The sky is so blue. I wonder if Mum and Dad can see the same patch of sky. I wonder if they’re worried about me, if they know I’m missing or if they think I’m at work or visiting friends. Have I been gone long enough for alarm? Was I unconscious for minutes? Hours? Days? Is my story splashed across the local news?

The door opens and panic floods. I pointlessly search the room for somewhere to hide. There is nowhere but under the bed and he would find me in an instant.

“Don’t say a word.”

My eyes search out that one pebble in the concrete, the splash of red. I have an urge to cover my nakedness, cross my legs, cover my breasts with my hands, but I don’t. Somehow, I feel as though he would get satisfaction from that action.

His feet are bare again as he pads across the floor. Worn threads of his jeans press beneath his feet and trail over the floor behind him. The scent of food wafts through the air, twisting my stomach. I didn’t realize I was hungry, but the intensity of it almost doubles me over in pain. I lift my eyes hesitantly. He’s carrying a tray which he places on the ground as he takes the only seat in the corner.

“Come. Kneel.” He nods to an empty space in front of him.

A war battles inside me. I don’t want to do as he says, I don’t want to succumb so easily, but what other choice do I have? I know he is capable of hurting me. I know the sting of the lash. And, although it isn’t that bad, I fear what else he might do.

He watches as this battle rages. I know he can see it on my features even though I do my best to hide it. His head tilts to the side curiously as though he’s studying my reaction. Finally, I get to my feet and kneel before him. My stomach groans loudly.

“You hungry?” Even though he asks it as a question, I know he doesn’t want an answer. He’s already made it clear he hasn’t stolen me for my words.

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