I wake to the faint hum of the lights being turned on in the cell. I’m so fucking cold. The only thing he gave me besides the chair was my chenille throw. At least it was freshly washed. Not like that matters now though, since I've got it bunched up underneath me as a makeshift mattress. It fucking sucks.

The lock clicks and the doorknob turns. I quickly get into position. I’m mindful of keeping my hands exactly how he likes them.

My heart flutters in my chest. Last night he didn’t stay. He left me with dinner and watched me eat it in silence. An air of disappointment and distrust surrounded him. I don’t understand why he’s angrier with me now than he was when he put me in here. I feel like I’m failing, and I don’t know what I’m missing. I wish I could go back in time. If I could, I would.

He walks in front of me and stops. I look up at him, hopeful that today he’s in a better mood.

“Good morning, kitten,” he says simply.

“Good morning, Anthony,” I respond.

He puts a bowl down on the floor. It’s oatmeal with strawberries and cream. It’s my favorite. I had a shit-ton of it at my house and I find myself wondering if he went back there. I want to know if he was able to find the earrings, but I don’t ask. I stay in my position and look at the bowl and then back at him. He didn’t feed me dinner last night like he did before, and I didn’t think much of it. But this morning reminds me of the first time we met, of him feeding me.

He shakes his head no and walks to the chair to sit down. “You don’t get my touch in here, kitten. That’s part of your punishment.”

My heart sinks as I pick up the bowl and watch him cross his arms. I feel fucking sick. He’s so fucking angry with me, and I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to take it back. I had to try though, didn’t I? No, I chose to.

“I got your earrings. You won’t get them until you’re back in your room.” His voice has a hard edge.

“Thank you.” My voice cracks, and I have to take a deep breath to steady myself.

“What do they mean to you, kitten?” The use of my pet name brightens my spirit and my chest fills with hope. It’s not lost on me that if he decides not to forgive me, he could kill me. He will kill me. It’s not just that though. I hurt him. I disappointed him. That shouldn’t affect me like this, but it does.

I jump at the opportunity to answer. And at the chance to do something and to talk to someone after spending hours alone and barely sleeping in this room. “They were my mother’s.” I wipe the sleep from my eyes and clear my throat of the knot growing there.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” His words are short and simple, but I can hear the faint compassion in his voice.

“Cancer,” I answer as I stir the oatmeal. I’m hungry, but it’s not nearly as appetizing as it was before. I don’t talk much about her. I don’t like remembering.

“I know,” he says, not moving from his position. A small, sad smile forms on my face. Of course he knows.

“Do you want to play the game, kitten?” he asks.

“Yes,” I immediately answer, and I don’t even care that I sound desperate. I fucking hate that game, but I want him to stay.

“How does a girl like you wind up with a man like Lorenzo?” I hate his question. I don’t want to talk about him or think about him. I have to work hard not to show how upset it makes me.

“I just needed something different. He distracted me, I guess.” He did. I nod my head thinking about how I went from crying all day and struggling to pack up my mother’s things, to getting drunk and doing things I never thought I would.

“So you went for the bad boy.” He says the words like he’s disgusted by them, which is fucking ironic.

“It works in the books,” I barely get the words out. It’s what I really wanted. I wanted to find love. Even if he didn’t love me back at first, I was hopeful that I’d eventually find my own happily ever after. I thought I'd found a hard man who’d melt for me in time. Instead I found an abusive fuckface. 'Cause let’s be real, that’s what life gives you when you go out looking for Mr. Wrong.

“Your turn, kitten. One question.” He leans forward in his seat like he’s ready to leave, and I hate it.

I ask the one thing that’s been on my mind for hours. One thought that sickens me. I wish he’d just hit me and make that my punishment. I’d let him beat me if it meant this would be over with.

“I’m surprised you haven’t hit me,” I say. He makes no move to answer me, and there's no change in the expression on his face. He's silent for a moment.

“I don’t want to hit you,” he finally answers. And I believe him.

“Why?” I just don’t understand. Lorenzo thrived by showing me how strong he was. He fucking loved dominating me physically. I keep expecting the dams to break and for Anthony to let loose on me. I expect to be physically punished for my infractions. I'd thought he was restraining himself before, but now that I look back on it, I don’t think he was.

“I’ll never hit you. My father used to hit my mother, and it made her do bad things. I don’t want that for you or anyone else.”

“I’m so sorry.” My heart twists with agony. That’s a horrible thing to grow up with. I can’t even imagine. My own father passed away when I was younger in a car crash. I hardly remember him. I can’t imagine growing up in a house with abuse. My eyes search his, but he gives nothing away. “Bad things?” I ask tentatively.

“She beat me instead since she couldn’t hit my father back.” My mouth falls open with a gasp as he continues. “I was young, but I remember.” His voice is flat and devoid of emotion. My heart is fucking destroyed by his words.

“I’m so sorry.” I shake my head, as though I can deny the truth.

“She’s dead now.” My throat closes and dries. His life just gets sadder and sadder. I want to scoot closer to him, but it’s obvious he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want sympathy. I don’t even think he’d accept compassion.

“Did your father...?” I don’t finish, but I don’t have to. He nods his head once with his eyes locked on mine.

“He killed her when he saw what she’s done; snapped her neck in front of me. He thought he was doing the right thing.”

My mouth hangs open in shock.

“I don’t even know if he ever hit her or if he didn’t love her. I know next to nothing about what their relationship was like, apart from what my mother told me. We never talked about it. She beat me and he killed her for it. That’s all I know.” He gives me a sad smirk. “There’s a lot of, ‘let’s not talk about it’ that happens in the familia.”

“I’m so sorry.” I repeat my words; I don’t know what else to say. I feel pathetic that I have nothing to offer him. Tears threaten to fall. I feel nothing but empathy for him and the pain he must’ve felt. Both our mothers are dead, but mine never hurt me. I never once questioned if mine loved me.

“Don’t be. My brother’s always been there. And in a lot of ways so has my father.” His hard expressions soften somewhat. “I have to go, kitten,” he says.

“No, please,” I say. The bowl falls from my lap to the ground as I crawl closer to him.

“Are you telling me no? Are you the one giving orders now?” My shoulders hunch in as I lower myself to the ground. Tears slip down my cheeks. Some for me, but most are for him. I want to hold him and soothe the broken part of him I know exists. But I also need to be touched. I can’t stay here like this.

“Please, Anthony. I want to earn your touch.” I say the words with the desperation I feel.

His eyes widen with surprise and the darkness that’s plagued him since last night seems to lift slightly.

“What are you thinking, kitten?” he asks.

“Whatever you want. I’m yours.” I’ve never said truer words.

“Lie on your back and spread your legs for me.” He gives his command and I obey. I refuse to think of this as anything but meeting my own needs. I need to feel something other than this emptiness.

“Good kitten,” he says and rises from his chair. “I’ll come back tonight once your punishment is over.”

With that, he leaves me.

Alone and pathetically bared to a man who won’t touch me, I curl up on my side and cry. I don’t know how long, but it doesn’t matter. It’s not long enough to fill the emptiness inside of me.