The comments about Ch. 6 were almost entirely negative, and I don't blame people for not liking how that chapter unfolded-I didn't like it either. I actually re-wrote it three separate times, but each time it ended the same way. I really thought that was the end, and it bothered me-I didn't want Phyllis' story to finish that way.
Suddenly, just last night, inspiration hit, and I blazed through this chapter with no effort at all.
I make this pledge-there will be no more 'dream sequences' ever in this story!
*****
PHYLLIS jerked awake with a mild curse, then swore louder as her head thumped against the concrete wall.
'Son of a fucking bitch!' she snarled, slumping down on the thin mat and touching the back of her head gingerly. In the little rooms Alexander called the black cells, there were no blankets or pillows, just a narrow pad to sleep on. Phyllis couldn't sleep flat on her back or stomach, and without a pillow sleeping on her side gave her a sore neck.
So she'd gotten into the habit of falling asleep propped partway up in a corner, and waking up suddenly had caused her to smack her head.
She rubbed her fingers against her cheek, trying to determine if they felt slick. The cell was pitch black, so she couldn't see if there was any blood, but her hand felt dry.
She took a couple deep, slow breaths. 'Fuucckk,' she said softly.
Ever since the bastard had brutally whipped Rogue, she'd been having vivid, intense dreams. She liked the one where she cut him up and bit off his dick-hell she even day-dreamed that one when she was awake.
But there were too many nightmares-nightmares in which it was her, not Rogue tied between two poles while the bastard tore up her body with a brutal whip, or nightmares of being back at that horrible brothel.
And for the three or four days she'd been in the black cell, the worst nightmare of all-the one where she was thrilled to see him, eager to be used by him, the willing, enthusiastic sex slave he wanted her to become.
It was strange. Her time in the darkness had made her more determined than ever to keep resisting him any way she could when she was awake, while at the same time bringing on these nightmares of total submission when she slept.
'That's why they feel like nightmares,' Phyllis thought as she rubbed her face sleepily. 'It's your brain trying to deal with your worst fear.'
She felt her way along the wall to the toilet, peed, and sat back down on the mat, leaning her back against the wall. There was nothing else to do. The lights went on twice a day, when she was fed, and once a day Barry took her out to shower and brush her teeth. The other twenty-two hours a day, all she could do was sit and wait, pace, maybe do a few pushups...
And think about what she was going to do-how she was going to act-when he finally let her out.
She'd given up trying to figure out Alexander. Either he was nuts, or being unpredictable on purpose to keep her and the other girls off-balance. Either way, there was no guessing how he was going to react to anything anymore.
She should have gotten far worse than poor Rogue. Instead, he'd just chucked her into the dark and left her alone. Phyllis figured he thought it would be a horrible punishment-to be alone and bored for endless hours in the silent darkness.
It was backfiring. Alone in the dark, Phyllis could feel her strength and determination coming back. She had endured so much, been put through so much hell, and she was still here, still going, still herself.
She felt like she'd won.
She knew the bastard couldn't figure out how to deal with her. His plan had fallen apart, and his attempts to improvise had failed. Yes, she obeyed him out of fear, but he wanted so much more and she would *not* give it to him.
Her last day 'in the light' had actually started out pretty easy. She hadn't had to endure Alexander's presence until nearly noon, after breakfast and a long, tough workout supervised by the stone faced Barry.
A quick shower and Barry dismissed the other girls, leading Phyllis to one of the playrooms. She stood, naked and passive, while he put her in restraints-cuffs on her wrists and ankles, all connected by light chains. When he was finished, she couldn't raise her hands higher than her waist, or move her feet more than a foot apart.
Alexander entered and looked at her for a long time while she just stared at the floor, fighting to not show the anger and hatred in her heart.
'Dove,' he said at last, and she lifted her head slowly.
His expression grim, her captor reached into his jacket pocket and held up her little knife.
He didn't say a word as she stood there, chained and helpless, staring at the tiny knife she assumed sealed her fate.
Alexander thought she would break down, cry and plead and beg for mercy, but she confounded him again. As the realization he had found her weapon sank in, Phyllis felt light-headed, almost giddy. She was filled with the freedom of having nothing more to lose.
She finally looked him square in the eyes, her expression fearless and defiant. It was over, and the thought filled her with a bizarre sort of relief.
'Do you even want to try and explain why this was in your room?'
'I thought I'd take up whittling,' she quipped, and oh god it felt good-so FUCKING good-to not have to kiss his worthless ass anymore she almost laughed.
His eyes narrowed. 'You're in enough trouble without the stupid jokes.'
