The Lonely

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.



Chapter Eleven



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.