The Lonely (15 page)

I
close my eyes. The shows I've seen on bacteria and dish sinks are playing a
highlight reel in my mind. I nearly, very nearly, ask him to make love to me.
But the idea of his body pinning mine to the bed makes me gag. He starts to
roll up his sleeves. I see hints of tattoos sticking out the bottoms of the
rolled sleeves.

"Remove
the robe." He sounds disappointed.

"No.
Please no."

He
instantly walks to the door and taps and shouts, "Bring her back and bring
me Stuart!"

I
spin, "NO!"

He
turns back and watches me. With trembling fingers and sobbing tears streaming
my burning cheeks, I pull the robe away. It drops to the floor. He licks his
lips. I shudder again.

He
walks to the sink and holds a hand out. I slouch and shuffle on my burning feet
to where he stands. He smells so clean. His body is warm.

He
grabs the back of my neck and shoves me forward. His fingers bite into my neck,
pulling at the hairs. I see things being stirred up in the water. He turns the
tap off. Looking in I can see stains and old residue from whatever else has
been in the sink. His hand tightens.

"Wait."
I say. I don’t know why. I have no intention of letting him do anything else to
me.

"Yes?"
His voice is hopeful.

My
lip trembles. The filth in the sink is going to kill me. At the least I will be
horribly ill. I shake my head, "I'll do whatever you want."

"Do
you want me to make love to you?" He asks softly.

I
shake my head but answer with my lips, "Yes."

He
leans in, my body is on fire with shame and hatred, "I don’t believe
you."

His
hand tightens again and shoves my face forward into the water. I scream into
the dirty water for what feels like an eternity. I'm clawing at the edges but
the shiny metal is slippery. His hand is strong. I run out of air and suck by
accident. The dirty water fills my mouth. I don’t want to inhale it. I swallow.
It's cold and tastes of metal. My lungs scream.

He
pulls my head up. I cough and seize up. "P-p-please." I'm panting and
gasping. My stomach turns as the cold water makes its way down my throat and
breasts.

His
hand tightens on the back of my neck. I take a deep breath and hold it tight as
the cold water sucks my face into it. I don’t scream this time. I wait it out.
I keep my eyes closed. I start panicking when the air gets old and my body is
screaming for new oxygen.

I
start the clawing again. My feet connect with his leg. I kick and claw at him.
He pulls my face up. He's laughing. The edge of the sink is digging into my
stomach and hipbones. They're bruising. My lower lip trembles again.

"Are
you going to cry for me?"

I
shake my head.

He
presses his face into mine, brushing his lips against my cheek, "I want
you to cry for me. Please cry."

I
fight it. I fight him.

He
shoves my face back into the water. I decide to be calm this time. I won't cry
for him or anyone.

Something
brushes against my ass cheek. I start to struggle again. His fingers caress my
naked skin, softly. Patting playfully. I'm freaking out. My body had fought
before, but now I am thrashing and raging. I've run out of air and am sucking
it in.

He
lifts my head, laughing. "Well, seems like we found the magic
button." He steps away from me, "Thank you for crying."

He
grabs the door handle and knocks once. His cold stare will haunt me in that
cell. He grins and leaves the room.

I'm
humiliated and choking on the filthy water I've inhaled in. I grab the robe and
pull it on. I can't stop the tears. I can get away from the filthy feeling
that's covering me. Some of it’s the water but a lot of it is his hand, roaming
freely.

I
grip the robe and hobble back to the room on the arms of the men. The darkness
of my cell is a comfort. For the first time ever I am relishing being alone.

"You
okay Em?" Stuart asks from the hole between our cells.

I
shake my head in the blackness of the room. I can't form words. I know he will
understand. I suspect he's felt the same a few times. God knows what they’ve
done to him.

I
close my eyes and sleep. I'm safe and grateful to be alone. I never imagined I
would ever feel that way. But I do. I become one of the things that hide in the
darkness.

The
door opens. The light doesn’t bother me anymore. I don’t fight them when they
come for me.

I
stand and walk proud, I refuse to limp or cower. I won't let them have the
satisfaction of knowing my pain. My pain is private. It's the only thing I have
left that is.

His
hands have touched me, beaten me, tried to drown me. I will never cry for him
again. I have decided this in the dark.

I
walk past the blurry windows, noticing I've stopped caring about what city I'm
in.

There
is nothing left inside of me. I've drank sink water and sat in a room with my
own waste. I've eaten from the floor like a dog. I have nothing left.

I'm
not even a shell of a girl anymore.

Even
the dead girl is gone, left me in the dark at some point. I think I was sleeping
when she snuck off. I woke and I knew she was gone. I've slipped so far down,
that there isn’t anything left.

I'm
taken to the bathroom and cleaned. I don’t cower or fight her. I stand there,
hollow and alone. She cleans me quickly, softly. She has delicate hands. I hate
the mercy they show me and the pity in her eyes.

I'm
given a new robe. I look at the filthy one being thrown in the bin and feel
like I'm leaving a friend behind when we walk out.

She
walks next to me, not holding my hand or touching me.

She
opens the door to the room with the fireplace.

My
belly aches. My feet clench on the hardwood when I see the bed.

He's
sitting on the couch with his legs wide, like he always does. He looks
beautiful and harsh, exactly what he is. I don’t cower for him. There is
nothing left for him to do to me.

She
leaves and I stand, terrified but stubborn.

His
cocky grin creeps across his lips, "I've seen that girl before." His
eyes are lit with flames and excitement. "You ready to wrestle?"

My
right eye twitches, the fear inside of me is real. No matter how much I hate
him or try to hide it, the pain is going to be real.

"Go
sit by the fire." He points.

 
I turn my back on him and walk to it. I
kneel on the warm rug and wait.

He
pulls out a book and starts to read. It's Dracula. Bram Stoker's Dracula. My
knees start to hurt but I sit. He turns the pages slowly, like he is savoring
the feel of every word and maybe even the texture of the pages.

He
drinks from the glass next to him. I lick my lips. The water looks refreshing.
He glances at me, "Want some water?"

I
watch him. He shrugs and chugs back the drink. He sighs at the end and nods,
"That was good. Hint of lemon in it."

I
hate him.

He
lifts the book again and continues. My feet feel like they're going to explode
so I sit on my butt. My legs are crossed and pulled in tightly. I don’t want
them even an inch closer to him than they need to be.

The
fire is burning my back but it's better than sitting near him.

"Is
there anything you want to know?" He asks over the edge of the book.

"Why
am I here?"

"I
like you here. I like to read and know you're close by. It's comforting."

I
watch his eyes, they're so familiar. "Do I know you?"

They
squint into a smile. "Do you think you know me?"

I
shake my head, "I'm confused. You act like you hate me and want me to
suffer, like this is personal, but you have Stuart convinced it's about his
boss."

He
lowers the book, "Maybe it's both."

I
shake my head, "It never was about him. It's me. This is personal. You are
doing this to me for a reason."

He
folds the book closed and crosses his arms, "What reason could there be?
You're Emalyn Spicer, right?"

I
flinch.

He
laughs, "I guess we both know that’s not your name, is it?"

I
hate him. My heartbeat is picking up. Just when I think I have a steady calm
and can control the moment and my emotions, he pulls something new out of the
hat.

"Why
do you care what my name is?" I whisper.

He
stands and walks to me. He puts a hand out. I hesitate and then lift my hand
and put it in his. He wraps it tightly around mine and pulls me to the bed.

"Which
is it?"

I
glance at him.

He
raises his dark eyebrows, "The feet or you let me have you."

My
stomach aches. My feet and brain are both begging me to just let him do it. I
shake, "Feet." My voice is gone. My body disagrees.

I
undo the robe and let it fall to the floor. I climb onto the bed and lie back
with my feet hanging over the edge. I don’t care about the nudity or the
blindfold that is placed on my eyes. The pain I'm about to experience is
killing me. My whole body is tense and twitching. My legs are locked into
position. I hear the air brushing the paddle as it's swung.

"STOP!"
I scream.

My
hands are balls of sweat, clutching the blankets.

"I
will let you have me." I say in desperate gasps. "Just do it."

"You
want me?" He asks. He's breathing heavily. "Say it!" He shouts
at me.

My
lips tremble, "I want you."

The
paddle drops to the floor making loud noises. My feet are freed. I lift my
hands to the blindfold but he barks, "Don't move." I freeze and lower
my hands. I'm shaking.

"Slip
back up the bed to the pillows and lie there." His voice sounds weird. I
do it. I notice everything. The room smells like the fireplace and a subtle
cleaner or essential oils. The bed is soft and more comfortable than anything
I've ever slept on. The air is warm against my naked skin. I feel more naked
suddenly. I don’t know where he is. I don’t hear him at all. I lick my lips and
wait. It's more torture than anything in the entire world.

My
body is a tense ball of nerves.

I
wait for what feels like an eternity but he doesn’t touch me. A small hint of
curiosity niggles around inside of me.

Is
he going to? Was he waiting for me to ask him to do it and then not going to?

In
the silence of the room I hear something. It's the flipping of the page. He's
reading.

I'm
lying here naked and alone and terrified and he's reading? By the fire? I don’t
know what to say or do.

I'm
confused. Conflicted.

Shouldn’t
I be relieved? The blindfold across my eyes itches a bit. The comfort of the
bed feels wasted by the fact I'm stuck lying in one position.

The
air is warm but I'm shivering with anticipation. I hear the page turn again
slowly. He pours himself more water. I can hear the echo of it in the glass. He
drinks. I lick my lips again.

He
has me fixated on the water and the fire and the book. I'm a virgin. I never
wanted to lose my virginity this way, or any way. But he's got me so confused I
forget that fact.

I
feel something I'm not sure I've ever felt before, frustration. I'm not sure
where it comes from, but it's deep inside of me.

I
tremble with sickening disappointment. Stockholm syndrome is clearly setting
in. I'm disappointed the man holding me hostage and hurting me, doesn’t want to
touch me?

I've
officially lost my mind.

I
see him so differently. He drinks and I can imagine the glass of water against
his lips. They're plump and soft looking. I can imagine them against my lips.

Something
is happening to me. I'm about to ask for the foot paddling, when I hear him get
up. He walks softly in my direction. His shoes are gone. His steps are soft.

I
feel his weight on the bed. My stomach starts to burn. He grabs my right foot
and starts to rub softly.

I
notice the way he's pulled my leg, separating it from the other. My breathing
is faint and jagged. His is even.

Warm
air is creeping between my legs. His hands traipse their way up my calf, still
rubbing and massaging. Something warm and soft brushes my leg, just above the
knee. When it's gone the spot feels cold.

It
was his mouth.

I
tremble as his hands work their way up to my thigh. I'm about to burst with
something. Some small part of it is fear. Ragged and desperate fear.