Avery swam back to consciousness reluctantly. The gnawing in her stomach was constant and it flared from time to time to remind her just how miserable she really was. It was nothing compared to the dryness of her mouth and the weakness in her body. The chain he'd used this time was too short to let her reach the bathroom or even get up into the bed so there had been no access to the sink or toilet after he'd left. Her hands were behind her but she'd managed to pull the blankets off the bed to make a small nest for herself on the floor as far from the smell of her excrement as possible. It didn't help much.
If he didn't come back soon she was not going to make it. She knew at least two days had passed. Despite the constant fading in and out, she felt time crawl to a standstill. Dehydration confused her, sent her mind down long corridors of thought before she turned around and realized she had no sense of how she'd gotten there, having forgotten all the thoughts that preceded it. Her heart beat felt sluggish and too loud in her ears; her bony joints dug into the hardwood below the blankets. She didn't even have the energy to wish for salvation, just the thought running desperately through her head.
He'd come back and fuck her, and make the world right again.
It might have been minutes or hours later that she felt his footsteps thudding towards her through the hardwood floors. She didn't have the energy to respond to him calling her name. He sounded scared, out of control. It would have frightened her if her relief wasn't so overwhelming. She didn't want to die.
The door to the bedroom burst open with a bang.
"Holy shit, Avery."
She felt his hands on her neck, feeling for her pulse. His hands were cold from outside but his fingers didn't shake.
"Shit, shit, shit"
She cracked her eyes, opening her dry lips. Keys jingled, the cuffs fell open and he lifted her off the floor. She felt his body, clothed but warm as a welcome balm as he carried her out of the room. Then water, cold and unpleasant on her skin, rushed at her from the shower head above. He tilted her face upwards and she let the stream between her lips, washing away the days of starvation. Her whole being focused down to the sensation of the cool liquid running over her tongue. She'd never tasted anything better. His hand cradled her head, holding her up against his body as his clothes were soaked. When her stomach protested the onslaught she leaned forward, resting her forehead against his chest. His hands ran over her body, the smell of soap soon banishing the stench of neglect.
"I almost had them. I didn't mean to be gone so long."
She didn't have a response for that.
He kept her anchored to him with one hand as he washed her thoroughly. She was limp, unable to hold any of her own weight. He helped her to drink more. The shower ran hot then cold again as he touched her, checking every inch of her skin. It wasn't in itself a sexual act, more like repossession.
When she was clean enough he transferred her to the couch. She felt a band squeezing her arm and a sharp pinch at the inside of her elbow. If she'd had the energy to move she might have reacted but the most she could muster was a frown. The lingering ache under her skin where he'd jabbed her got her to open her eyes. There was a saline bag dangling from one of the embedded rings in the ceiling on a rope he typically used restraining her. He was connecting the fluids to the IV line in her arm.
"It's okay, Angel. Sleep. I've got you."
But he didn't have her, he'd left her alone for too long. He was breaking his promise. Her throat was too dry to say anything and she was too tired to fight. The door slammed shut on consciousness and she was gone.
*
Her dream was so vivid, a memory more than a fantasy. One she could not turn away from though she felt the dread pit in her stomach.
She was bound in place in the rocking chair, stuffed full with toys, ropes crisscrossing her body in an unyielding embrace. Harrison was fishing down at the lake and she could see him through the trees from time to time. She didn't know if he'd set the toys on a timer or he was manipulating them from where he was but either way she had precious few faculties left to contemplate it. Her hips pushed forward as the vibrations faded, leaving her on the edge. The movement made the chain that attached her nipple clamps to the one on her clit sway with the weight and she moaned into her gag.
He might be gone for an hour, he could be gone for three. There was no way to know how long he'd keep her there, stuffed and desperate. This was nothing new, another day in a long chain of days where she existed as herself only in times between his final violation of the evening and sleep. He had been more stable of late, which meant far too much of his attention was directed towards her. She had begun to lean into her role, allowing herself to revel in the fact that she was his anchor in the storm of his mind, finding some amount of power in it, however misguided it might be.
She squirmed again, the vibrations began a slow, tortuous increase in intensity. Behind closed lids she imagined him returning, the wild look in his eye. He'd fall on her, bring her to rapturous climax as she brought him back down to earth. He revolved around her as she existed for him.
Her dream-self heard the call, and the creaking of the deck. In reality that day, she had been too lost in her fantasy, too distracted to hear the alien sound of another person's voice.
In the dream his face crystal clear, the black beard streaked with white down from the corners of his lips, his worried expression and shocked blue eyes. Even the hand he reached out to release her gag-- the scars on his fingers and the smell of cigarettes from his skin.
"Dear lord, are you okay?"
