Chapter 8

The reality was worse than her fears, she decided on what she thought might be the third day. She had lost track of time and days, waking in both the darkness of night and the light of day several times. It was night again, the inky spill of night sky visible between the curtains and the stars winking brightly, but she did not know if it were the second, third, or the eighth night. He was a warm weight over her, his breath rising and falling in steady rhythm. His hair was black silk, the strands thicker than her own, obscuring her vision. She knew that as heavy and abandoned as his limbs seemed, he was not as asleep as he seemed. Experience told her that it took very little movement from her to wake him. Not that she could move far. Whatever it was that swelled between them, locked them together, and it was only at that time that he slept, when she was pinned helplessly beneath him, tied to him, with no escape. He would wake when that tie released, and usually went out of the bedroom during that time, where she would hear his voice rise and fall, in a language she did not understand. She would venture into the bathroom when he seemed very involved in whatever he was doing and inspect her injuries. Her body was riddled with bruises, and her hips ached from being forced and held open by him. There was a sharp pain in her stomach that was not due to any food, but as a result of the press of him against her cervix, but that pain was mild compared to the rest. He had bound her to the bed and then pierced her nipples and clitoris, something that had been both terrifying and painful to endure, and that even now she could not bring herself to look at too closely, the metal testimony to her lack of ownership of her own body. Her body was her enemy, her muscles shaky and weak, her bones protesting movement. It hurt to use the toilet, bringing tears to her eyes. It hurt when he cleaned her, his big hands seeming oblivious to the ache of her breasts, or the raw pain between her legs that he left from his constant use. He fed her frequently, but always the same bland food and water and he only fed her if she was draped over his lap, placing the portions on her tongue, requiring her to close her lips around his fingers, which often carried the taste and scent of their sex on them because he used those same fingers to scoop the combination of their fluid from within her and smear it over them both. It was disgusting on so many levels that she had ceased to try to identify them. The come smeared across her skin would eventually dry into a cracked, milky skin tightening uncomfortably until it puckered her flesh. Sometimes he would carry her into the bathroom and wash both of them. If he washed her, he expected her to reciprocate, and if she did not it would result in her being forced onto her knees with the water raining over her, whilst he clenched his fingers into her hair and thrusted into her mouth. She did not like that, because he would thrust into her throat, and she would struggle to breathe, and struggle to prevent her body from gagging. He enjoyed her terror, his sharp canine and premolars bared in a feral snarl, his words sharply toned. Yes, he seemed to say, if you do not do as I ask, this is what will happen. He spoke on his version of a phone mostly to other males, but at least once there had been a woman, and she had known from the tone of both their voices that they had been lovers. She wondered why was he tormenting her if he had another? Her opinion on the situation had no importance, as it had not since the initial invasion, and she was resigned that it never would again. There were levels of discomfort and humiliation that would have been abominable before, but in this environment were unavoidable reality. She might not want to accept him between her legs, but that did not mean that she had the ability to refuse him. She might not want his touch on her skin, but she did not have the ability to prevent it. And, she was certain, that there were worse options than this man. Her body might ache from his, she might resent his touch, and she might know that the woman with whom he had conversed was a threat, but, aside from that one episode of piercing, he didn t deliberately cause her pain. He fed her, kept her clean, and, whilst he did not permit her to lock the bathroom door, he let her have her privacy within it. That her expectations would spiral to such a low so quickly was humbling. She remembered the boyfriends and dates that had come before, her assessments of worthiness for her bed by car, clothing, manners, conversational skills, attractiveness - measures of selection that now seemed so shallow. It had not taken much to strip such distinctions from her criteria, she thought wryly. She did not know what position her owner held, or what vehicle he drove. She did not know his family, his education, nor what property he owned. None of that mattered as much as how much discomfort he caused her, what mood he was in when he came to the bed, and whether he brought food with him or let her endure hunger because she had displeased him in a way that she was not certain of. Her waking time was not spent pursuing education, career, or self-worth. It was spent trying to appease the mercurial moods of another, the rules of whose temperament was not clearly outlined or defined, and with whom she shared no common language with which to determine an understanding. Her survival instinct was strong. Put to the test in this situation, she became an attentive and resilient subservient. She could tell from the set of his shoulders, the tone of his voice, from the position of his eyebrows, the expression of his eyes, when she needed to prostate herself before him, surrender her body to him completely, in order to avoid his anger. He wanted something from her. Something beyond the physical sex. Something important enough to him that he continued to try to coax it from her. Sometimes he grew frustrated, his eyes searching hers as he growled himself into hoarseness and his grip tightened on her. If she knew what he sought, she would give it to him, rather than continue to risk his anger and the bruises it brought. She counted his breaths, and decided he was asleep enough. As long as she kept her movements slow and minimal and did not try to extract herself from beneath him, he would not wake. She curled her little finger and thumb towards each other behind his head and saw the fizzle of energy pass between the digits. She folded her fingers into her palm, before slowly opening them, the fizz of energy spreading between her fingertips like spiderweb. His body was large, his weight mighty, and the rise and fall of his breath steady and strong, yet behind him, she pressed the fingers of both hands together, and drew out flames, the heated air of their bite sucking his hair up into the vacuum, and causing him to murmur and shift against her, his head turning, his hips still locked. She closed her fingers, suppressing the flames. Opening her fingers, a flame glowed bright on her littlest fingertip, it s light dancing across the scars that ridged his back. She lowered that fingertip towards his skin, holding her breath, waiting until the moment that instinct had him stir, trying to save his skin from burning. The flame went out as he lifted over her, the bright blue of his eyes meeting hers. He murmured something in his language before dragging the roughness of his tongue along her jaw, the words meaning nothing to her, and then he rumbled, that sound that came more from his chest than his throat, a rhythm that rose and fell hypnotically, and seemed to call to the depths, the most primitive parts of her, so that her body melted to it, her heartbeat raced, and her brained fuzzed. There was a bell from the living area, and, his flesh released, he rose from her, without bothering to cover himself, and went out of the bedroom door. She heard his voice, and that of another male. She tiptoed to the bedroom door. Her owner s back was to her, between the other male and herself, and over his shoulder emerald green eyes met hers. She felt their touch like a shock of cold water. Her owner turned, following the other man s gaze, and snarled at her. She ducked into the room, her heart pounding in her chest.