Liana

 

 

 

Three weeks. It’s been three weeks since he grabbed me off the street, removing me from a life I had come to loathe.

By now, people must be looking for me. I haven’t had access to the internet or a TV during the last twenty-one days. But I bet I would see my picture on the local news.

I wonder if Luke had been questioned as a suspect? Kidnapped or killed by the ex-boyfriend, that would be such a classic, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he was one of the first to be questioned after it became apparent that I was missing.

How long did it take for anyone to notice? The Monday after my disappearance? Wednesday? Maybe even an entire week? No, I don’t believe it would take them that long. I’ve always been very reliable, an exemplary employee who never skipped work or even took sick leave. I’ve always shown up at work when I was expected to, always. And if not, I would have called in before anyone even knew that I wasn’t there.

But who knows how things are now that Professor Miller is gone? It may have taken them a few days to start worrying about me because everyone is too preoccupied with his death. Or they might have thought that I’m overwhelmed by grief and thus unable to show up for work or to call in sick?

My mind has been too preoccupied with what has been happening between me and Joseph to drift away to all the things I left behind. But once in a while, when I’m by myself and not too exhausted or too dazed by a play session, I find myself faced with the reality of what I left behind. The insecurity of unemployment, the grief of losing the nicest boss I could ever ask for, and the pain of a broken relationship. None of that matters here, in this house, in this bedroom.

All that matters is us. Joseph and me.

We have talked a lot during the past week, but I can’t talk about these things with him. I can’t talk about a job he doesn’t know I had because he thinks that I’m a full-time prostitute. I tried to talk about Luke, but it felt wrong, and he cut me short anyway. It must have been the most awkward conversation we’ve ever had. He seemed to be in agony when I talked about Luke, about the things he said about my sexual desires, about what he did to me to finally make me realize that I needed to kick him out of my life.

I let out a deep sigh and turn off the water in the shower. He will be back soon to bring me downstairs for breakfast, and I need to be dressed and ready.

Each day with him is similar, and yet so different that I can never know what to expect. All I know is that it will entail a lot of pleasure, sometimes pain, sometimes a training session so hard that it makes me question my decision to stay here of my own free will. I can see the effects of his training in the way my body reacts to him. Just the sound of his voice, a look on his face or the most trivial touch can cause my core to throb with desire. I’m often wet before he even touches me. I’ve grown dependent on him, and that unsettles me.

And I’m getting addicted to all of it. To him especially. I feel like I will never have enough.

That’s what scares me the most.

Because I know that all of this will come to an end. He will let me go eventually. I don’t know when it will happen, but I know it will.

He thinks I’m a prostitute who’s just doing this because he’s paying her to. No matter how close I may feel to him, how intimate our time together has become. None of this is real for him, and he’s probably done it before, probably many times. He keeps saying that I enjoy special privileges, but he may say such things to all the girls.

I shake my head, chasing away uncomfortable truths. All those things are future Liana problems. She’ll be able to deal with it.

All I have to focus on is today, and I don’t have much time left to get ready before he shows up for breakfast.

I’ve just stepped out of the shower and in the process of drying myself off, when I can hear footsteps outside in the hall.

Oh my God, he’s back already!

I hurry to wrap the towel around myself and scurry out of the bathroom, falling to my knees in the bedroom just as he opens the door.

Something is off, I can tell right away. The way he swings the door open, the way he’s breathing so erratically.

I lift my eyes up to him, confused at his exasperated behavior.

My breath catches when I see his face. His cheeks are blazing red, his hair messed up as if he’s ruffled through his black strands a few times frantically, and he’s panting like he’s in a panic. I barely recognize him. He has never looked like this. Horrified, confused, and angry, all at once. Something must be terribly wrong.

Our eyes lock on each other as he freezes a few feet away from me. I’m sitting on the floor, positioned the way I was trained to sit, with my palms on my thighs and sitting back on my heels.

I want to ask him what it is. I want to know what’s wrong.

But I can’t find my voice. His troubled hazel eyes speak of too much terror.

I don’t dare ask because I’m scared of the answer.