My dreams were vivid and tumultuous. I slid and fell as if I were insubstantial as mist through every solid foundation I encountered. An endless grasping plummet into darkness.
I jerked awake on my low slung pallet, naked and horribly sore between my legs. I doubled over as the waves of throbbing pain assaulted me. My throat was rough and it was obvious I'd been screaming. Every movement brought renewed stinging pain to the welts on my body, but my knotted muscles suddenly insisted on a long arching stretch that left me trembling with exertion.
It took a few minutes of rolling wild eyes and jerky breaths to search the room and determine he was not in sight. My panic eased a bit at that, and then more when I noticed that my back was coated in some sort of medicinal salve, probably Neosporin. I reached a hand to my neck to feel for the raw skin I knew was there and realized I was still wearing the leather collar. It was connected to the wall by the mattress, but with a long length of cable this time. I supposed he thought he was kind by allowing me to access the toilet and shower. My bloodshot eyes snuck a look at that spot in the middle of the cell where I had been strung up and I shuddered at the memory.
Sitting up left me lightheaded and shaking, and I remembered I hadn't eaten in what felt like days. It could have been. I had no idea.
Continuing the examination of my body, I noted I had been cleaned, but I still felt soiled. Suddenly, getting to the shower became a desperate, deep need. I lurched to my feet and stumbled down the cell, leaning heavily on the wall. The shower came to life under my bruised fingertips, an instant flood of steamy water engulfed me. I stood there, forehead and palms against the tile, long ropy strands of hair dangling across my face. I almost managed not to cry, but eventually, my tears mingled with the shower's steady sluice down the drain.
The lock clanged on the door and I jumped, crouching back into the corner like a beaten dog.
He entered the cell holding a tray and a simple folding chair. He paused to observe me for a moment with those smoky hazel eyes, then, satisfied, he closed the door, locking it behind him. He set up the chair and settled himself in it with an easy, casual grace, leaving the tray across his knees.
"Turn off the water and come here." His voice was calm and neutral, like he was asking for the time from a stranger.
I couldn't think coherently from the adrenaline coursing through my body. My limbs simply wouldn't move.
"Don't make me ask again, child." This time, the darkness had crept into his quiet speech and the implied threat was enough to remind me what he could do. Frantically, I twisted off the water flow with pruned, trembling hands, and slowly moved down the hallway, stopping just out of his reach. The man was sitting down and shouldn't be able to grab me with a tray on his lap, but I had seen the quickness of his reflexes before, so I stood what I instinctively figured was "out of reach" and shivered, dripping cooling droplets onto the checkered linoleum floor.
He told me to sit, indicating the floor at his feet with a nod of his head. I watched his face carefully as I lowered myself, grimacing in pain as the hard floor rubbed against the raw flesh of my legs and buttocks. He noted my discomfort and smiled. Startled, I suppressed my horror at his sadism and sat as comfortably as I could while still trying to cover breasts and genitals with my hands and folded thighs. I was close enough to smell that haunting cologne and my guts roiled.
Setting the tray to the side, he produced a towel from the duffel bag by the chair and held it out. I took it, careful not to touch him and dried my goose-pimpled skin. Internally, I prayed he would let me keep it, a cover for my nakedness, but he beckoned for me to give it back, and reluctantly, I did.
He lifted the cover from the tray to reveal several dishes of food. Instantly, my mouth watered and the rumble from my stomach breached the silence between us. With that smirk firmly in place on his mouth, he selected a bowl of broth and a spoon, offering a bite in my direction. Tentatively, I slurped down the warm chicken broth. It was salty and rich and homemade and I licked my lips. He watched my mouth and tongue with a sudden intensity and I froze. But then the moment passed and he continued feeding me like a child, first broth, then some steamed carrots and juice. Murmuring under his breath as I sipped the last bit of broth, he said "That's my girl..."
He gathered the remains of the meal and set them near the door, being sure to always keep me in sight, carefully stowing the one fork he had brought with him in a bag. Returning to my place, he circled me, kneeling at times to examine my wounds with a clinical precision, applying a dab of ointment here and there, pausing when I flinched. Finally, he sat back in the chair, one booted ankle across his knee, hands folded in his lap.
"Now then. There are certain truths you must come to accept," he said kindly, with a reasonable, encouraging tone. "You belong to me. I knew from the first moment I saw you that you were created for me alone. So I have taken steps to ensure that we are together." With that last statement, he gestured at the room and me, meaning that my current state of captivity was all going to plan. With a delicate stillness, I sat and listened.
"This room is simply a beginning. A harsh, but necessary, introduction to your new life. One of fulfillment, and purpose, and dedication. Here you will learn to appreciate your destiny, your gifts, your beautiful, essential design. You will also learn obedience, loyalty and respect."
He leaned forward in the chair, locking those piercing eyes, now a darkened forest green, with mine.
