And... we're back! For those of you keeping score, this story has been told from 5 different points of view so far. This chapter adds one more, but I
promise
we shouldn't be gaining any additional POVs, (at least not for a while). I don't need this turning into A Song of Ice and Fire. Haha
Remember all the disclaimers from the previous chapters, and let's get started!
Enjoy!
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9) The Runaway.
Naomi
I pull down my ratty pants and sit on the toilet. The seat is cold, but I hardly notice. I am alone for a moment; that gives me time to think. Privacy will probably be a scarce commodity in the days ahead, so I savor it while I can.
I've been collared... with a witness. That fact is simultaneously comforting and terrifying. My "master" has yet to fill out the paperwork, but as soon as he turns in one official document with my signature... I'll essentially be his property.
Of course, the documentation doesn't call me "property." It only lists this as "guardianship." As far as the
legal
side of it goes, I'm simply under his "protection," like a minor, or a geriatric old woman.
They can disguise this violation of human rights with whatever legal terminology they choose. But I'm not an idiot. Every man who sees my collar is going to expect me to follow Tom's instructions to the letter, just like a good little slave. That's the life I've doomed myself to.
Hopefully Tom will treat the collaring as a nominal one. The very fact that my future hangs in the balance, depending entirely upon his mercy.... it fills me with shame, but I can see no other recourse.
My mind races as I consider the repercussions of today's events. Thomas, the man who collared me, seems like he may be the last decent man alive. When I saw him hurl that damn collar... the same collar that currently rests around my neck... I knew that he was the only man I could trust to "own" me.
Still, I cannot trust him too much. I am in danger. Every day that the payload exists, my situation remains incredibly perilous. Thomas seems to be honest and trustworthy, but if I have misjudged him...
Women have lost so much already. Everything that we've worked so hard to build: gone, as if it was never ours to begin with. Tears threaten to flood my eyes once again. Female equality has essentially been erased, and now our individuality, our very personhood, rests on the edge of complete ruin.
All has been swept away under the unstoppable tide of the patriarchy. Women are being treated like pets now... property to be claimed. It's heartbreaking.
In this moment, I realize how physically exhausted I am. I double check to make sure the bathroom door is locked; I see that it is. I think it might be safe to close my eyes for a few precious moments. I wouldn't dare fall asleep though.
I'm in James' hotel room. He's one man I
know
for a fact I can't trust, but the urge to rest my eyelids is overwhelming. Still, I can't actually risk falling asleep. I'm just going to relax for a few seconds, but I know I can't allow myself to doze off.
Inexplicably, I am suddenly back in my foster-parent's home, in my teenage bedroom. The change is completely abrupt, but my mind doesn't question it.
I rise from my bed and glance around the room. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, but there is a deep sense of fear resonating within me. I open my door, and I am immediately greeted by a flood of balloons. It's my birthday. Why does that fact fill me with dread? For the life of me, I can't remember.
My body begins to walk down the hallway. I can feel my unease growing exponentially, but my steps are constant and robotic... they are leading me towards... what? I don't know, but it's something bad. It's something evil. It's something that is unfathomably heinous. The hallway seems incredibly long, but again, I don't really question it. All I can focus on is the looming sense of dread, which rises with each step.
The hallway finally ends, and I find myself in the kitchen. My foster-mother is standing in front of a sink full of dishes. I can hear her humming a cheery tune as she works. She is wearing a housewife's dress from the 1950's, and her hands are covered with yellow gloves, shimmering from the sink's soapy water. She turns to me, and I can see the dullness in her eyes... the listlessness.
"Your father wants to see you in the garage, Naomi." She turns back to the dishes, still humming. Her words are quiet, unassuming, and meek. They lack any of the fire that she had always possessed before... before something changed. But what caused her to weaken? The answer continues to escape me. "Happy birthday." She drones, as if the words lack any meaning to her.
The words mean everything to me, though. They somehow sound like a death sentence; although, I cannot fathom how such mundane words can generate so much dread within me.
I turn automatically, even as my fear redoubles. I shouldn't go into the garage; it's dangerous in there. I need to stop, Stop, STOP!! My body takes one step after another, refusing to acknowledge the objections from my terrified mind.
The kitchen seems unbelievably small, as my hand rests on the doorknob. The brass knob turns, and I slip into the darkness within.
A burst of light fills the room, and my foster father is standing beside me. He is massive, taller than I've ever seen him before. He places one colossal hand on my shoulder.
"Happy eighteenth birthday," he breathes. These are the words I've wanted to hear my entire life, but now they seem so repulsive to me.
I look up at him, and I can see his rapacious eyes looming over me. He wants power, control... and deep in my heart, I know he wants something else. He has been a trustworthy father figure to me for years, but now the way he views me has changed.
He no longer sees me as his daughter. I am a woman. I am an object to be possessed. The growing desire in his eyes breaks my heart. I thought I could always trust him. There was a time when that was true, perhaps... but he has changed. He has been corrupted.
Immediately, I realize that I truly hate him. I have never felt so betrayed. I want to lash out at him, claw at his face, and spit in his eye. Instead, I do nothing. I have always been a good, obedient daughter... suddenly changing at this moment is harder than I would have expected.
"Watch." He commands, and somehow I am compelled to obey. A screen appears in front of me. Flashing lights beam outward, and my eyes seem transfixed. My brain knows what the lights mean, but I cannot look away.
I stare at the glowing, pulsating lights for a tortuously long time. When the illumination fades, I blink. I expect to feel entirely different, but somehow I feel just the same. The only change within me is the looming sense of hatred and disgust that I feel for my father.
He pulls my head up to look into his face. His expression sickens me to my core. It is the look of a king, a ruler, an unquestionable despot. His lips stretch into an insidious grin.
