Crawling Back Ch 02

Chapter Two: The Shackles Of The Present

When I first settled on this insane course of action to try and be Lucy's girlfriend again, I envisioned it going many different ways. Maybe she'd take me back, crying. Maybe she'd shun me, closing that door forever. Maybe it would be an uneasy, testy conversation, and we'd have work to do.

I certainly didn't imagine it could go quite like this.

The floor is cold, my knees are numb, and my shoulders ache from the repetitive scrubbing motion.

I'm on my hands and knees, a rag in hand, cleaning the floor like a servant.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

Even after she used my face and throat as a footrest, even after she made me accept to 'let her be herself' and advance no demands of my own, I didn't exactly anticipate I'd spend so much time just cleaning.

Which simply proves that I'm an idiot. That I go around with clown paint on my face, and rose-tinted glasses glued to my eyes. Shortly before I broke up with her, I was already doing so many chores for Lucy. Our living space was just my responsibility. And back then, her power over me was just implicit.

Now, she's made it explicit: I need her, she doesn't need me. She gets to behave how she sees fit. And I submit to whatever she demands, because I need to prove my remorse for dumping her, and I need to prove my love.

She literally told me...

If you come back, things will be the way they used to be... and then some.

So, what the hell did I expect was going to happen?

Every day since I've moved back in with her has passed by in a blur of cleaning, scrubbing, cooking, and more cleaning. I've fallen into a routine, a rhythm, that leaves me little time to think, to question, to doubt. I wake up early, make breakfast for Lucy, clean up after her, do the laundry, vacuum the floors, dust the shelves, and so on. At night, I kneel at her feet, massaging them. Sometimes I'll have to lie down at her feet while she plays, and obediently wait as she uses my face as her footstool.

For now, that's the only form of physical contact I'm allowed with her. Even at night, she gets her bedroom to herself, and I sleep on the sofa, which reeks of her sweat.

Then the morning comes, and the blur begins anew.

Back and forth. Back and forth. It's almost meditative, in a way. Mind-numbing work in the truest sense of the word. It dulls me. It blunts my edge. It makes it harder for me to think.

What makes it even harder is the presence of my girlf--of Lucy. I haven't earned the right to think of her as my girlfriend again, she's told me, not yet.

She's lounging on the sofa, her body stretched out in a relaxed sprawl. She's wearing her favourite pyjamas, the ones with kittens on them, and has for two days now. Her hair is a mess, and she's got a controller in her hand, playing some video game. I can hear the sounds of gunfire and explosions coming from the TV screen.

One foot is dangling off the edge of the sofa.

The socks have been on for as long as the PJs have. I can smell her feet from here, on the opposite end of the room.

I gulp. I can't look at her feet without re-living the moment in my mind, the supreme renunciation of my dignity. I grovelled to be taken back, to be given a second chance.

She placed that foot against my face.

This isn't a negotiation, she told me. Who negotiates with someone that's literally underfoot?

Your acceptance is unconditional, she told me.

I shudder. She hasn't even glanced my way in what feels like the whole afternoon, and I still feel the noxious, addictive effect she has on me. And I know why. Because she's inside my mind. I've let her past all my mental defenses, and she can do a lot of damage in there...

No, I can't let myself think like that. Lucy's not some evil mastermind, even if she looms so large in my mind's eye sometimes. She's just a girl, a bright, smart, exceptional, beautiful girl, serially misunderstood by the world. It felt so good, the codependence, the validation, and I'm sure I can get it back again. I just need to try.

And besides, Lucy's been rightfully wary of my return. I broke her heart! I pushed her off me and screamed at her and accused her of all sorts of monstrous things. Of course I have to earn her trust again. And if that means I have to submit with such contrition, so be it.

Maybe I should have pushed for a timeline, or mentioned it once in passing, but it'll be alright. All I need to do is be patient. Surely...

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I tell myself that I'm rationalising. That I'm just coming up with thin explanations for why I should keep taking care of household chores, of her needs, keep respecting her boundaries when she's expressed zero interest in mine. Keep humiliating myself at her feet when she hasn't even so much as kissed me once, hasn't promised me anything in return.

I haven't even told any of my friends yet that I've moved back in with Lucy. I've been so avoidant for the past year that even those that still check in to see how I'm doing are happy to accept brief, uninformative replies.

But I know what they'd say if they knew I was doing this.

I don't know... I don't know what part of my mind I should trust! This is maddening. I feel like I'm going crazy. All I know is that I'm growing more and more physically exhausted and emotionally despondent. And I still want her, so much. I just want to kiss her lips again...

The sound of Lucy's footsteps draws my attention, and I look up to see her standing over me.

The shadows have begun to lengthen, outside, the sunlight turning deeper and colder as it bleeds out from the sky. It gives the room a weird, almost liminal atmosphere, all the more surreal because of our positions. Lucy in her PJs and smelly socks, towering over me, the ex reduced to cleaning her floor in penance.

I stare at her from my position on all fours, my hands stilling on the rag. She's looking down at me with an expression I can't quite read. It's not affectionate, but it's not cruel either. More... appraising. Like she's evaluating me.

"Marina," she says, her voice soft but firm. "I've been thinking."

My heart skips a beat. Thinking about what? About us? About whether she's going to actually take me back as her girlfriend, not just her live-in maid?

I open my mouth to speak, but she raises a hand, silencing me.

"I've decided it's time for a change in your... attire," she continues.

I blink, confused. My attire? I glance down at myself. I'm wearing an old t-shirt and shorts, comfortable clothes for cleaning. What's wrong with what I'm wearing?

Oh.

Oh.

This is going to be a fetish thing, isn't it? Of course it's going to be a fetish thing, given the context, the... the foot stuff, the cleaning...

A cold sense of dread starts to pool in my stomach as my imagination conjures up images of frilly, revealing maid outfits. Is that what she wants? For me to prance around in some skimpy little costume while I clean? The athletic, popular ex-girlfriend, humbled and brought low in domestic servitude?

I can just picture it now - me on my hands and knees, dusting the baseboards in a tiny black dress with a white apron, my cleavage spilling out as I work. The very thought makes my cheeks burn with embarrassment.

I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. I don't want to do any of those things, but I know I will if she asks me to. Because that's the depth of my desperation.

"W-what kind of change?" I ask, my voice coming out as a hoarse whisper.

Lucy smiles.

"I want you to go get dressed up," she says. "I mean really dressed up. Full makeup, the pearl necklace, the works. And I want you to wear that dress - you know the one. The designer one you wore on our anniversary date."

I blink, momentarily stunned. That's... not what I was expecting at all.

"You... you want me to dress up?" I repeat, just to make sure I heard her correctly.

Lucy nods. "To the nines, girl."

I must be staring at her with a completely incredulous look, because she feels the need to add, "Think of it as a... special occasion."

For a brief, shining moment, I allow myself to hope. Maybe this is it. Maybe this is the turning point, the moment when things start to get better. Maybe she's finally going to treat me like her girlfriend again, instead of her personal servant.

Could it be... are we finally going to go out on a date? After all this time, all this drudgery and emotional turmoil... is this the light at the end of the tunnel?

"What's the occasion?" I ask, unable to keep the excitement from my voice. "Where are we going?"

But Lucy just shakes her head, a small, enigmatic smile playing at her lips. "Ah-ah-ah," she tuts, wagging a finger at me. "No questions. Just go get ready."

"O-okay," I say, scrambling to my feet. "I'll go right now."

Lucy's smile widens, and she reaches out to pat my cheek. Her touch is condescending, almost mocking, but I lean into it anyway, starving for any scrap of affection she's willing to give me.

I take a long, luxuriant shower that makes me feel reborn, and I take my time with my hair and makeup, curling my long tresses into loose, romantic waves and painting my lips a bold, alluring red.

I have a new bounce in my step as I hurry to the bedroom - well, Lucy's bedroom, since I've been sleeping on the couch. But maybe, just maybe, after tonight...

I rifle through the closet, my hands shaking slightly as I pull out the dress. It's a stunning piece - a deep, rich burgundy, with a figure-hugging silhouette and a daring slit up the thigh. I remember how confident and sexy I felt the last time I wore it, how Lucy couldn't keep her eyes (or her hands) off me.

I pair it Loubotin heels, and with the pearl necklace -- a gift from Lucy, from happier times.

Not that much happier, a part of me whispers back. You broke up with her, or have you forgotten?

But I handwave the doubts away much easier than usual, this time, because when I step back and look at myself in the mirror, I recognise the woman staring back at me. For the first time, in a very, very long time.

Poised, elegant, radiant. Someone who deserves to be wined and dined, cherished and loved and repeatedly brought to orgasm. Someone who has no real need of anyone, because she's got Lucy in her life.

I go back to the living room, where Lucy is still busy with her game. She looks up from her game, and her eyes widen in appreciation.

"Damn, Marina, you look breath-taking," she says, almost lost in thought as she drinks in the sight of me. "It's a shame you don't dress like this all the time... though I suppose I can fix that."

I flash her a smile, though it's a little bit hesitant this time. Lucy's still in her PJs, lounging on the sofa, playing. I mean, the place does only have the one bathroom, and it's still pretty early in the evening, so it's all perfectly normal, for sure.

But something nags at me. A nagging, insistent feeling of wrongness. It's silly, and I try not to listen to it, but it just compels... I feel like I just have to ask again...

"So, Lucy, where are we going?"

She sits back, her expression suddenly more serious. "Nowhere," she says. "We've got all we need right here."

The word hangs in the air between us, heavy and ominous. "Nowhere."

My smile falters, and I feel a sudden sense of vertigo, like the ground is shifting beneath my feet. "What... what do you mean, nowhere?" I ask, my voice small and uncertain. "I thought... I mean, with me all dressed up like this, I assumed..."

Lucy tilts her head, her expression unreadable. "You assumed what, exactly?" she asks, her voice deceptively mild. "That we were going out somewhere? That the special occasion was a date?"

I nod mutely. I'm trembling like a leaf. Why do I feel so scared?

Lucy lets out a soft, patronizing chuckle. "Oh, Marina. You really are too precious sometimes, with how slow you are. No, sweetheart, we're not going anywhere. Like I said, we've got everything we need right here."

She gestures around the room, at the messy apartment, the pile of unwashed laundry, discarded socks everywhere, the pizza boxes that are yet to be thrown out. My eyes follow her hand, and I feel a sinking sense of dread in the pit of my stomach.

"I don't... I don't understand," I say, my voice trembling slightly. "Why did you have me get all dressed up like this, then? If we're not going out..."

Lucy leans back on the sofa, stretching out her legs and crossing them at the ankle. The fabric of her PJs is thin and worn in places, and her hair is a tangled mess. The contrast between her slovenly appearance and my own elegant, polished look is jarring, and it makes me feel even more off-balance.

"The special occasion is that I'm restoring one of your girlfriend privileges," she says, " though you're not my girlfriend yet."

I blink rapidly, trying to make sense of her words. "But... but why? If we're not going out, then what's the point? What privilege?"

"Well, duh, obviously it's the privilege to be eyecandy for me again. I've barely looked at you all week, while you cleaned or even while using you as a footrest. I'm sure you've noticed. Well, I'm looking at you now! Doesn't that make you feel good?"

"I don't, I, I don't..." I say, unsure what I'm even trying to say. "I'm sorry, I don't understand..."

Lucy sighs, as if she's explaining something very simple to a particularly slow child. "I told you to dress up because I like you this way. You're hot. All dolled up and pretty and docile for me. Do I need a better reason to tell you to dress up?"

My lip is quivering. I'm on the verge of tears, though I hate that, I hate how weak it makes me look in front of her. "You... you..."

"I thought you'd be grateful," Lucy says, sniffing in disapproval. "I'm giving you the chance to be pretty for me, isn't that what you wanted? In fact, I'm being so generous that this is how I want you to look from now on. When you're doing your chores, when you're serving me, when you're being a good little aspiring girlfriend. I want you to be dressed to the nines, always."

I feel like I've been slapped. "You... you want me to wear this... while I'm cleaning?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

Lucy nods, a slow, deliberate movement. "That's right. I know it sounds crazy, you haven't earned that privilege yet, but what can I say... I have a soft spot for dim, slow gym babes like you."

I stare at her, my mouth hanging open in shock. I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes, hot and stinging. "You can't be serious," I say, my voice barely a whisper. "This is... this is insane."

Lucy arches an eyebrow. "Don't worry, I've come up with an idea to make sure that being my eye candy doesn't get your hopes too far up. It wouldn't do if you forgot your place this early in your penance... you need a firm hand to keep you in line, Marina. So... to thank me for allowing you to be dressed up, you're going to accept a few more, ah, limitations, as it were..."

Lucy's words hit me like a physical blow. I feel the air leave my lungs in a rush, my chest constricting painfully. The audacity of her gaslighting is almost enough to take my breath away. She's trying to present this as something for my benefit, as if dressing up in cocktail attire to do chores is some kind of privilege she's graciously bestowing upon me.

I should be storming out. I should curse her for making me waste my time, thinking this could actually go anywhere. But...

--Your acceptance is unconditional

--Things will be the way they were, and then some,

I can't move. I feel like I'm frozen in place. I don't want to go. I...

"From now on," Lucy says, snapping me from my stupor, "you're going to do every single chore the old-fashioned way. No more using the washing machine, the dishwasher, or even the vacuum cleaner. I want you to appreciate the hard work that goes into maintaining a household. It'll be good for you, it'll really humble you."

I stare at her, my mouth agape, struggling to process her words. She can't be serious. This has to be some kind of sick joke.

"You... you want me to wash everything by hand?" I ask, my voice trembling. "The laundry, the dishes... everything?"

"I already had you scrubbing the floor on all fours, it's hardly that much of a stretch," Lucy says, visibly amused. "But yes, everything. You'll sweep and mop the floors, dust the furniture, scrub the bathroom, hand was all of my laundry... all while dressed like you are now, that dress, those shoes. The look of a girl who expects to be proposed tonight, and instead all you're getting is chores and my feet."

For the first time tonight, her smile looks genuinely happy. "Looking like a princess, but acting like a medieval servant... can you see the poetry in it?"

I feel like the world is spinning around me.

Hand wash everything. Dressed like this.

The image is so absurd. So utterly degrading.

"Lucy, please," I beg, my voice breaking. "You can't do this to me. It's... it's too much. I can't-"

"Can't?" Lucy interrupts, her voice suddenly sharp. "I think you're forgetting something, Marina. You're the one who came crawling back to me, remember? You're the one who begged for a second chance. You literally grovelled at my feet. Well, this is your chance, take it or leave it. If you don't like it, you can just leave. I'll manage just fine."

I feel like I can't breathe. My chest is tight, my throat constricted. My tears are starting to trickle down my cheeks. Why doesn't she understand that I need her like I need air? Or maybe she does understand it, and that's exactly the problem...

"But... it's going to ruin the dress, and the shoes," I protest weakly, my voice barely above a whisper. What the fuck am I saying? What kind of desperate, self-debasing defense is that? I'm making this about the dress? Like it's obvious that she'd be more concerned about that, than about me as a human being, let alone a girlfriend?

Aspiring girlfriend, I correct myself, blushing with humiliation.

"So we'll get you a new dress," Lucy says, casually, "with your money. God knows you have plenty. Don't worry, I'll make sure you always look your best when you're tending to my needs. But I'll hear no more complaining from you."

"This... this is too much," I whisper, my voice hoarse with tears. "You're asking too much of me."

Lucy's eyes narrow, and her voice takes on a dangerous edge. "I'm not asking anything of you, Marina. I'm telling you how it's going to be. And if you don't like it, you know where the door is."

She leans back, crossing one leg over the other, studying me with a look of challenge. "You said you can't live without me. Many times, in fact. Now we'll find out if you were telling the truth."

I feel like I'm drowning, like I'm being pulled under by a current too strong to fight. I know it's the truth. I do need her. I can't imagine my life without her in it, even if that life looks like... this.

I'm being torn in two. Every instinct is screaming at me to run, to get as far away from this toxic, abusive situation as I can. But my heart, my treacherous, needy heart, is begging me to stay. To submit. To do whatever it takes to keep Lucy in my life.

In the end, there's really no choice at all.

Slowly, painfully, I lower my head in acquiescence.

"Okay..." I say, in a whisper so low and broken that I barely hear it myself. It's like it takes all the air and tension in my body with it, leaving me as a deflated, slackening avatar of complete personal defeat. The collapse of a girl's will. I look hot, and dejected, and weak. A decoration to be possessed.

A servant.

"What was that?" Lucy asks, with a smirk.

"I'll do it," I repeat. "I'll do whatever you want... I love you..."

Lucy smiles, a slow, satisfied curl of her lips. "I know you do," she says, and the lack of explicit reciprocation is like a stab through my heart. "Now come here, you dummy."