He had violated her without a touch. She sank down into the bathtub, letting the water come up to her chin. The soreness in her muscles was fading, but her body felt weak. Too weak to wash her hair. Too weak to shave her legs. Too weak to pull herself up from the water when it began creeping towards her mouth.
He was slowly taking control. Taking every piece of herself she'd created. She stared into the white tile of the hotel shower. What part of her would be next? Perhaps it would be the part of herself she no longer offered to anyone. It had been ten years since she'd allowed a man inside her. Two had managed to take advantage of her naivety, but she had learned the lessons she was supposed to learn. At least Ben would be honest. He would never lead her to believe her pleasure was relevant to him.
A soft knock sounded on the bathroom door. She pushed herself up, leaving the water softly rippling over her breasts. "You can come in."
The door opened slowly, Ray's forehead creasing as he peered into the bathroom. "I just wanted to make sure you didn't need anything," he said, leaning against the doorframe.
"What did you think I may need?"
"I don't know." He bit into his lower lip, the hair on his chin sticking out towards her. She thought about how rough it always felt beneath her fingertips. "I could help you wash your hair, or your body, or help you shave... Whatever you need me to do, Mistress."
"Shave?" she questioned, sinking back down in the water. "You'll cut me."
"I promise I won't cut you."
"How can you promise that? How much experience do you have in the art of leg shaving?"
"I've never shaved a leg before," he said, taking a few more steps into the bathroom, "but I have a lot of experience shaving my face and my balls."
The smile felt strange on her face, as if her lips couldn't quite figure out what was happening to them. "I guess since you have experience shaving your balls..." She grabbed onto the edges of the tub, pulling herself back into a seated position.
He bent forward, grasping the back of his shirt then pulling it off over his head. Her eyes ran down his arms, remembering how the serpents had danced as he wrestled Ben to the ground. She wondered what it must feel like to be a weapon. A woman knew no such feeling.
He shoved his pants to the floor, the bars of his cage glinting underneath the light. The black ink on his leg was fading, needing to be renewed once more to last until the date was reached. She had never allowed him out when she didn't have him tied down. She couldn't risk losing control of the only part of him she thought would ever hurt her. He grabbed the razor and shaving cream out of her bag then stepped over the edge into the water, sinking down across from her.
Her toe traced over the names permanently inked onto his torso, making its way over the cursive E in Evelyn and A in Angelo. "Do you miss them?"
"Everyday." His hand wrapped around her ankle, pulling her leg out of the water and setting her heel down on the edge of the tub next to him. She waited for him to comment on the condition of her legs, but though they hadn't seen a razor in over a week, he covered them in shaving cream as if they were already flawless. His eyes focused on his task, his hands steady as he slid the razor smoothly over her skin.
She tensed when he began running the blade in short swipes over her ankle. "Be careful," she warned, ready to jerk her leg away.
His lips pressed against the side of her foot. "Please relax, Mistress. If you make me nervous my hands are going to start shaking." He pulled his hands away from her skin, making them tremble uncontrollably.
She weakly kicked out at him then brought her heel back against the porcelain. Her eyes wandered to his caged length, noticing it lifting slightly, hinting his offer wasn't all in innocence.
The razor ran over her knee, then higher, over her thigh. She watched it sliding over her skin, his hands as steady as they were when they had pulled the gun from her grasp. He twisted, beginning to work his way up the other side.
"Do you want me to keep going?" he asked, his eyes lingering between her legs.
She stood, the water rolling down her body until it landed with the rest. Then she sat down on the porcelain ledge, leaning back against the tile wall. She pulled her legs up with her, spreading them and resting her feet back down on opposite edges.
"Are you comfortable?" he asked, his hands gently pushing her thighs farther apart.
"Yes."
He smoothed the shaving cream over her, covering her with the rich lather. His tongue stuck out slightly to the left as he ran the razor over her skin, his breath steady and focused. The blade slid over her gently, carefully unveiling her folds. "Bare, right?"
"Yes."
His fingers brushed against her, moving her skin so the razor could slide safely over her. "Mistress..." he started, his voice unsure, "there was something I wanted to talk to you about..."
"Okay..."
"I don't like that you're having to stay in a hotel—"
"I'm not going home," she cut him off. "Not until he's behind bars."
"I don't want you to go home." He set the razor down, his task complete, then lifted himself onto his knees, bringing his face level with hers. "I want you to come stay with me." His eyes were soft, his soul pouring out with his plea. "Let me protect you. Let me serve you."
Her lips froze shut, refusing to allow her heart to blurt out an answer.
"Please, Mistress..."
********************
He took a sip of his coffee, the liquid already growing as cold as the air outside. He had failed. Again and again he had failed. For three years he had tried to prove himself worthy, and now she was farther away from him than she had ever been. He had held her trembling body in his arms, whispered promises to her he didn't know if he could keep. How could he catch a man he didn't know how to find? The only lead he had was a white car, a car he had found in a place that brought him no closer to where he needed to be.
"Are we just gonna sit here all night... Officer Ray?" Garrett asked from the passenger seat.
His hands tightened over the steering wheel. "If you call me that again, I'll punch you in the throat."
"Is it, like, a sex thing? You're Officer Ray and she's your prisoner?"
He ran his hands over his face, wondering how much longer his friends would continue to torment him about something they could never understand.
"Come on, tell me. I promise I won't tell Jake."
He shifted the car into park and shoved on the door, stepping out into the street. The houses surrounding him were old. Some had been well maintained. Others, like the one he began to approach, were showing their age. Faded blue paint peeled up in some areas, and he imagined the flowered curtains showing through the window had been there since the first owner decorated fifty years ago.
Garrett fell in behind him, refusing to give up the interrogation. "Why is this such a big secret? I've been your partner for five years and you've never mentioned her to me. Who is she? Where did she come from?"
His knuckles rapped against the white security screen. A television and muffled footsteps sounded on the other side of the door.
Curly grey hair and squinting blue eyes peered out at them through the holes in the screen. "Can I help you?" the woman asked, though by the roll of her eyes he assumed she knew why they were there.
"Hi, I'm Officer Bennett. This is Officer Carson," he started, trying to look past her into the house. "Are you Florence Whitmore?"
"Are you here to ask about my son?"
"Yes—"
"He isn't here and as far as I'm concerned, you all are morons for letting him out." Her hands moved to her hips, a frown of disgust frozen on her lips.
"Do you have any idea where he may be?" he asked, hoping she would give him a lead.
"Probably carving up some poor woman somewhere," she replied, then shut the door.
********************
The end of her scarf blew in the wind as she stepped out of her car. She shivered, tucking the stray strands of blonde behind her ears and smoothing the black woven fabric down over her chest. The heels of her black boots pounded down against the brick steps. She paused outside the red door, trying to convince herself she was stronger than she felt. The chime of the doorbell rocked through her even though it was she who had pressed it.
"Mistress," the collared man greeted her, stepping to the side. "Madame Victoria is ready for you. I'll take you to her."
She followed him up the staircase of the mansion, wondering why a house so big always felt so empty. Unlike the château, there was no movement behind these walls. At least not anymore.
Her heart was pounding through the silence, almost breaking through her chest when his hand turned the knob of the white door at the end of the hallway. He held it open as she passed through it then there he left her, staring into the back of a throne. A frail hand hung over the edge, the nails painted red. The color was the same as it always had been. Deep, like fresh poured wine.
"I know you're not waiting for me to call you closer, Natalia." Half a face tilted her way, the skin almost translucent over the high cheekbones.
She crept closer, inhaling the scent of vanilla that always lingered in the air whenever the red nails were near.
"Come where I can see you."
She moved to the front of the throne, holding back tears when she saw the woman seated upon it. A scarf woven with red and orange threads covered the now bare head where red hair used to flow like silk down to perky breasts. But there were no more lines of tension in the red shirt, the emptiness underneath still not enough to save a life.
"Don't look at me like that, Natalia."
She looked down at her hands. All the experience she had at keeping a neutral expression was failing her, leaving her eyes filling with tears she swore she wouldn't cry.
"You're supposed to lie to me like everyone else." Thin lips parted into a smile, the teeth underneath still as flawless as the rest of her used to be. "Tell me I still look young and vibrant. Tell me I look as though I'll live forever."
She looked up, searching for the brown eyes that only had so much time left to look back. "You look as though you'll live forever, Professor."
Professor Holland laughed softly. "Yes, I will. Only it will be vicariously through you, my beautiful Natalia."
"I may be following close behind." She said the words under her breath, wiping away the tears she had tried to hold in.
Professor Holland reached forward, her shaking hand grabbing the end of the black scarf. She pulled it gently until it fell to the floor. "Don't ever let a man collar you. I raised you better than that."
Her tears began to fall harder, dripping down her cheeks to the floor. "I can't walk around looking like a battered woman—"
"Enough." A red fingernail pointed to the floor. "Sit."
