Chapter Eleven; Therapeutic
"No stop .... fuck please stop"
Siena's face contorted in the pain of the unnatural sensations she would be feeling, her predicament, her latest test contributing enormously to the overbearing discomfort she conveyed.
From her the contorted grimace she sucked in quick shallow breaths as she attempted to muster the inner resolve to compose and control herself.
"Oh god no please.... please .... it's too .... it's too..."
"Painful?" Logan completed her sentence for her as he looked up at her.
Her head held up by the posture collar, she had no other choice than to face forward. He figured she'd be unable to even see him at the height in which her restraint held her, the collar preventing any movement to her neck all her sight therefore limited to the radial vision of her eyes.
"Please..." she begged once more, but he held off offering her any reprieve.
Beneath the black silk Cami top her chest rose and fell, sweat beading on her exposed skin as she continued to take only repeatedly short sharp breaths.
Both her fists balled, as her arms were held outstretched at right angles to her body. Three-inch-thick black leather straps wrapped her upper arms in two places as well as her forearms, near the elbow and finally her wrists. Her body and legs fell straight beneath her a further black leather strap wrapped her ankles as she hung there begging for mercy. Logan watched mesmerised as she hung there from the thick black wooden crucifix over the bed.
The cruel object Logan had set eyes on the moment he'd entered the room for the first time when he brought Siena Mancini to this room with Ari.
It's macabre positioning above the double bed could suggest heavily towards its dark purpose, Logan took a deep breath on a vision of a fantasy that ran through his mind's eye.
His head turning to his left towards the bed on the fantasy of a second female stretched out across the bed, held down by her wrists, looking up at Siena while he...
"Relax," he broke his own concentration stating the words coldly watching her.
Siena once shown now, darkly fixating on her turmoil. Something inside him burning that little stronger than when he'd previously, harshly restrained her. She never reacted like this before, in truth her emotions had barely flickered until this moment. Her mind slowly breaking.
"I can't ..." she stated through gritted teeth, "I can't it hurts...oh fucking hell it hurts."
"Think of your sins Siena," Logan verbally goaded her being in no mind to end her latest punishment. "Think about what you've done ...why you're here"
"I'm sorry..." Siena sobbed, her voice croakily breaking. "You know I'm fucking sorry... oh fucking hell you know I regret what I've done."
Her voice wavered at first but grew in resolve towards the end of her sentence. Nevertheless, a single tear trickled down her right cheek as against physical gravity she tried to adjust her body position rather than accept the situation in which she found herself.
"There's a gravity to your gravity" Logan darkly chuckled at his own dark humour taking off the protective face mask he wore. "No one's gonna save you but me Siena... nobody can save you because nobody knows your here except for me."
"I know..." Siena whimpered, "I know ...Please just..."
"What the fuck are you looking to achieve here a Logan?" Chloe asked from over his right shoulder.
He ignored the blonde he'd sensed approach through the shadows just before Siena had spoken, she was dressed rather fittingly in a black leather dress and a pair of over the knee black leather boots.
Despite his ignoring her Chloe continued to speak his unspoken thoughts for him.
"She's sorry Logan....sorry for what she's done... definitely sorry she ever met you... I mean just look at the fear... look at those tears... are they not real enough for you?"
"She can cope," Logan stated under his breath as the young Italian continued to snivel and whimper within the barbaric restraint.
"You think," Chloe chuckled "See that's you .... you don't realise when you've gone too far.... your self-indulgence outweighs your conscience... like the time you nearly killed me while fucking me."
Her words didn't register as he looked towards the frail body of the olive-skinned young girl trapped at his mercy.
As Logan watched her his mind wasn't on Siena, it wasn't Chloe that his thoughts dwelt on, suddenly he thought only of Ari. Ari as she stood practically naked upon a stool in the basement of the Dark Star, trembling, frail, petrified eyes looking into his as she stood there with her hands cuffed behind her back, a course rope noose pulled tight around her slender neck.
"You've outperformed all my expectations... I don't know why I'm surprised because I should've known you would," he heard his own words on the echo of his own memory.
"This is a fun one..." Chloe stated coldly, "...I do like this one."
Ari stood there, eyes closed as nervously she swallowed hard, she doesn't open her eyes as she continued to stand there balancing on the heels of thigh high black leather boots as the low stool on which she balances creaks under her fragile weight; she's almost serenely at peace with her fate.
"Trust me," Logan hears his own words once more. "I won't let you come to any harm."
"But you will..." Chloe interjected. "Do it Logan... fucking do it... you've got her trust... kill her... hang her... choke the life out of her just like Gemma had her life choked from her."
"No," Logan whispered but not without seeing the illusion shatter on the image of Ari wide eyes, not without hearing the harsh primal sound of her fighting for her very breath as the slipknot caught tighter and tighter around her slender neck.
"No... that wasn't me... that wasn't fucking me," he stated aloud.
As the nightmarish vision that had been a reality dissipated, he grabbed the low stool on which Siena had stood while she'd allowed him to restrain her.
A restraint she'd seemed compliant with before he'd removed the stool, her bare feet settling on the smooth black wood of the still immediately, as she supported her weight. She immediately found solace against the predicament in which he had held her. He heard her speak, heard a relief in her voice but her words did not register.
She could have said anything, but he would not have heard her from the blood rushing in his own ears. His own breath trapped in his lungs as the vision of Ari scarred his memory, interspersed with glimpses of Chloe struggling for breath through a clear plastic bag. Then Gemma's limp body placed in a shallow grave. Her face morphing to that of Kimberley Adams. As tears burned in his eyes, he stumbled across the room leaving Siena in her restraint. His hand snatched at the door handle twice, but it would not open.
Confused he suddenly remembered the need for the four-digit security code. His lungs burning with the need for fresh clean air his head swimming with anxiety.
Flames licked around him flames that crept along the walls, crackling flames he could feel the heat of, looking back into the room consumed by the raging fire he saw her, heard the snap of Hetti's neck as she fell lifeless to the floor.
Eventually he heard the click of the door lock as his hands near ripped the handle from the door with the downward pressure he applied.
In the bright hallway he found the sanctuary he sought, his breathing hitched he pirouetted as his back hit the wall on the opposite side of the corridor as he slumped, all energy seeming to drain from his boy as he slid down the cream-coloured wall. The door to Siena's room latching slowly closed, extinguishing the sights and sounds of his own horrors as it did.
Chloe sat beside him casually pulling at a thread of denim from the frayed edge of little black denim shorts that she now wore with a sleeveless black t-shirt.
She placed a finger softly under his stubbled jaw, lifting his head turning him to face her sweet smile on lips painted cherry red.
"Fuck me Logan... you need therapy."
**********
He sat alone at the kitchen breakfast bar; his head held low not even caring to look out across the vista the garden offered him on another bright sunny day. Turning in his hand the business card for the psychologist he knew, who he believed he could trust in.