Page 22 of Cruel Beginnings

He begins massaging the medicated cream into my breasts, and the agonized stripes of fire fade to a dull heat. His thumbs stroke over my nipples, which are swollen with hateful arousal. Were they swollen when he was whipping me? How did this happen? He watches me, and as I bite my lip and fight not to pant with pleasure, I can see him drinking in my struggle with a faint smile.

My knees tremble, and I’m afraid I’m going to fall. I’m still in enormous pain, but I no longer feel as if my skin will split with the tiniest movement.

He walks away, going to the sink to wash his hands. When he returns, he holds out a glass of water to me, and two white pills. “Extra-strength painkiller and a mild sedative. You’re still going to be in pain for days, of course, but this will take the edge off. You may thank me.”

“Thank you, Master,” I mutter, staring at the floor again so he won’t see the hatred flaring in my eyes.Fuck yourself up the ass, Joshua Smith. You’ll never be my master.Thinking that makes me instantly feel better about myself. I revise the earlier list of rules that I made for myself.

That list was based on believing he’d torture me to death. Now, if he’s telling me the truth, I’m facing a different, equally sinister plan. He wants to break me down mentally and force me to be something I’m not. A crawling slave with no will or wants of her own. A slow, humiliating death of the mind, rather than a quick, agonizing death of the body.

New rules.Lie to him all the time and pretend you’re going along with his twisted plans. Remember that you’re a free woman, and no human can ever truly own another. Constantly watch out for any opportunity to escape.

My hands tremble as I stuff the pills in my mouth. I wash them down with the water, suddenly incredibly thirsty.

He walks over to the wall and uses the intercom to call Elizabeth, and I jerk in horror. “My clothing! Please give me something to wear! Master!”

“You haven’t earned it. You’re doing a shit job of remembering to address me properly, and your behavior today was completely unacceptable.” He smiles at me sympathetically. “Let’s hope you do better tomorrow, hmm?”

I glare at the ground again. “Yes, Master.”I hope you choke and die, Joshua Smith.

The next thing I know, he’s cuffing my hands behind my back. Elizabeth walks in, ignoring me as the hood goes back over my head.

The cuffs and the hood are unnecessary at this point; I’m in too much pain to move quickly, much less fight her off, and I’m positive there’s no easy way for me to break out of this house, wherever it is. They’re just being used as a tool to break me down psychologically, to reinforce the difference between upstairs and down. Heaven and Hell. Freedom and misery.

But the tactic doesn’t work, because I recognize it for what it is, which pleases me. I have to figure Joshua out if I’m to have any hope of escape, and any insight that I can glean into his twisted mind will be helpful.

Elizabeth chains me to the floor again before she removes the hood and handcuffs. She’s carrying a bottle of water and a cup with two more pills in it, which she sets down on the floor.

As she leaves, I call after her. “I’m sorry for whatever he did to you, but it’s reallyfucked upthat you’re helping him keep me prisoner. He has no right to do this to me. It’s monstrous, pure evil, and you’re just as evil as he is to help him get away with it.”

She twists around to glare at me, and shakes her head. What? She’s saying it’s not fucked up?

Whatever.Bitch.If I ever get the chance to take Joshua out, I’ll take her out too. I turn my back on her, dismissing her from my existence.

My back aches, and I lie face down on the bed. My breasts hurt too, but they’re the least painful, and also in this position, I’m hiding my face from the camera and snatching back just the tiniest bit of privacy for myself. The overhead light winks out, plunging me into darkness. I feel woozy from whatever was in the pills he gave me, but the pain’s keeping me awake.

Alone like this, with nothing to distract me, the full horror of my situation comes crashing back down.I’m locked in a serial killer’s basement.

No. No. Don’t do that to yourself, Tamara.

I try to think comforting thoughts so I don’t spiral into hysteria.

Heather will notice the mail piling up on my doorstep and report me missing. If she doesn’t, if she’s so mad at me because of what I said a couple of days ago that she’d let me vanish and not even try to help, then the landlord will. He lives down the hall from me, so he’ll notice the mail too. And my rent is due in a few days. I’m always compulsively on time with the rent.

Heather wouldn’t bethatpetty, though, would she? I don’t know if I’m being paranoid because of my wretched situation. Still, there was something about the way that she flipped out on me out of nowhere. It was so extreme. It made me realize that I didn’t know her anywhere near as well as I thought I did. The funny, loud-mouthed party girl can also be a mean bitch.

Never mind. My landlord will report me missing. And they’ll notice at the shelter when I miss my volunteer day, but that’s not for another few days yet.

Where will the police look for me, though? How can they go up against an influential, obscenely wealthy businessman like Joshua Smith? Would they even dare question him? And if they do, will they be able to see past his lies? He can be sickeningly charming when he chooses to be.

I push those thoughts aside. I have to think that I’ll be able to escape somehow. I don’t know how, but I must tell myself that this isn’t my life, that someday, some miracle will set me free.

The thought of the homeless shelter makes my throat swell with sorrow. I loved working there so much. I really felt like I was making a difference in people’s lives. Even just talking to women, lending them a sympathetic ear, letting them know that it wasn’t their fault, it was never their fault. I was making friends there, and I’m afraid they’ll think I’ve walked out on them. I can’t believe I may never set foot in there again.

I can’t even let the thought of school enter my head without wanting to scream. I worked so hard, for so long, to get that scholarship. Even if I were to escape, would I ever have such a wonderful opportunity again?

“Eat ground glass and die, Joshua Smith, and your little bitch Elizabeth, too,” I mouth into the mattress.

I start to do the tapping ritual on the mattress, and then I start laughing hysterically and crying at the same time, great hiccupping sobs rolling out of me. The tapping won’t work; it was for protection. It’s much too late for that.

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