by Dori Lavelle
Resigned to her fate, Christa steps forward and reaches down with both hands to lift one of the dirty sheets. Then she drops to her knees in front of the tub, gazing into the water for a few seconds.
I know what she’s thinking. Like me, she’s so thirsty she wishes she could drink it. Her hand is shaking when she picks up the bottle of laundry detergent. It’s hard for her to open it with handcuffs on, but she does her best, then pours some of the blue liquid into the tub. She uses both hands to spread the soap in the water.
Finally, she reaches for a filthy curtain and dips it into the water. She faces us so her behind is not on display.
Guilt consumes me from within. I want to offer to switch places with her, but the price of disobedience is one we would both end up paying.
So I stand next to Dax, helpless as I watch her wash. I try to look away, but Dax turns my head to look at my sister’s struggle.
When it gets too hard for her to wash with her hands, she climbs into the tub and tramples the fabrics clean. Our maternal grandmother used to wash her bedspreads and comforters that way. When we visited her, she would fill the bath with water and let us have a go as well.
Once Christa trampled the dirt from the fabrics, she gets out of the tub, her face shiny with sweat. She uses her hands again to remove stubborn marks, then struggles to wring the water out. What feels like hours later, the washing is done and hung on the clothesline outside the kitchen.
Christa is still determined to obey as Dax orders her to cook lunch. This time, it doesn’t take her long to light the fire. Her eyes are dry, even though my own tears trickle down my cheeks.
She prepares a meal of roasted meat, rice, and steamed vegetables, a meal Dax doesn’t even offer her.
Unable to bear the look of hunger in her eyes as she watches us eat, I know I need to do or say something.
I inhale a dose of courage and steel myself for whatever will happen once I speak up. “Dax... sweetheart, give her something to eat, please. She needs her strength, so she can work.”
Dax continues to eat in silence. Then he nods. “You have a point. I’ll get her some bread.” He goes back into the kitchen and returns with three slices of white bread.
When he yanks the tape from Christa’s mouth and gives her the food, she shoves it into her mouth and barely chews it before swallowing it down.
“How about a drink?” I ask, hoping he won’t get pissed off.
He throws me a look, but grabs the bottle of water at his feet and hands it to me. “Don’t give her too much.”
My heart splinters as I hold the bottle while Christa drinks from it greedily, her hands tight around it. Some of the water pours to the ground because she’s drinking too fast.
“Enough,” Dax orders, but I don’t stop. I tip the bottle so more water can get into her mouth.
“I said enough.” The thread of warning in his voice causes me to turn around, to see the handgun he’s pointing at me. “Do as I say, or you will both be dead.”
“Okay, okay.” I remove Christa’s hands from around the bottle and stand, my stomach churning with fear. “I’ve stopped, okay?”
“Good.” Dax lowers the gun to his lap. “But since she had more than enough to drink, she won’t get any more water until tomorrow.”
That won’t happen. I will not let him do that.
Christa doesn’t say a word as she shoves another piece of bread into her mouth, moments before Dax grabs the rest and tosses it onto his own plate. He grabs her head again and tapes her mouth shut while she’s still chewing, and I force down a sick feeling.
After lunch, Christa washes the dishes while I’m handcuffed to a chair at the kitchen table, forced to watch her while Dax smokes in the doorway.
Christa gets the job done without even a glance at me. She’s acting strong, but I sense her pain and see the teardrops dripping into the sink.
When she’s done with the washing up, Dax grabs her by the neck and takes her back to her room. The sounds of the door slamming against the wall, the clink of her handcuffs, and her groans of pain, cause my lungs to constrict, making it hard to breathe. The door is slammed shut again, then there’s silence.
A terrible thought sneaks into my mind. Please God, don’t let him do anything to her. What if he rapes her?
“Dax,” I call out, trying to release myself from the chair. “Dax, come back. Don’t. . . please don’t touch her.”
My stomach is in knots in the time it takes for him to return to the kitchen.
He’s zipping up his pants when he reenters the room.
Bitterness fills my stomach. “No,” I shake my head. “You didn’t—”
“I didn’t what? Fuck her?” He dips his head to one side. “Why not?”
“You wouldn’t.” Tears plop onto my lap. “You wouldn’t.” I’m so broken I can barely form a full sentence.
He comes to put a hand on my head. “Calm down.” He throws his head back and roars with laughter. “I didn’t fuck the bitch. I was in the bathroom after I dropped her off. That’s what took me so long.” He runs his hand in circles over my scalp. “The truth is, I was playing a game. I actually wanted you to think I had sex with her.”
Fucking bastard. I’m both relieved and furious at him for putting me through those few minutes of hell. Thank God he didn’t rape her. I don’t know what I would have done if he had.
“I love to see you jealous.” He kisses the top of my head. “It shows that you love me.”
I don’t say anything to burst his bubble. Let him believe what he wants to. It doesn’t change how I feel about him, how much I despise him.
I’m at least glad that even though Christa is locked up, she will at least have a break from him. I hope she’ll be able to get some rest.
The rest of the day, Christa remains in her prison of a room and Dax pretends to be a caring husband, showing me around the farm, introducing me to the horses at the stables.
“I’ll teach you to ride one day. It’s so liberating.”
His words come from a distance away. My mind is not with him at all, but with Christa, though I do my best to respond at the right times so I don’t get punished again.
By the end of the day, I’m exhausted with worry about how Christa is doing inside the room. I hate that I cannot check up on her. She must be so hungry and thirsty.
So we both don’t get punished, I tuck my pain away and wait for whatever comes next. When the sun starts to go down, I pray he’ll bring her out to come and prepare dinner. That way I’ll be able to see if she’s okay. But Dax cooks dinner himself.
He lays it out on the kitchen table and places a candle in the middle. His attempt at romance falls flat.
When Dax sees I’m barely touching my food, feeling guilty to be eating while Christa starves, he comes to feed me himself, shoving the boiled potatoes down my throat. Everything tastes like cardboard to me.
Later in bed, he wraps his arms around me. From the other side of the wall I can hear Christa weeping. On one hand it’s good to know she’s still alive, but on the other, her sorrow shreds my insides.
Instead of crying or falling asleep, I think of a plan of action that would get us away from Dax forever. My impulsive ways are what have brought us to this place. I have to stop just reacting to things. If I want to survive, I need to be a different person, to do things I have never done before. I have no choice but to become the person I used to think was boring, someone who is responsible. I have to think like Christa.
For the first time in my life I understand the value of thinking things through before I act, the value of planning. Dax always has a plan. He’s always one step ahead. I need to find a way to beat him at his game of cat and mouse.
Chapter Eleven
I wake up before the sun comes out, still determined to find a way out of Dax’s life. The discomfort of the handcuffs around my wrist and the burn of the cigarette at the back of my neck, pushes me to focus on escaping. But most of all I have to do if for Christa.<
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As terrifying as it is to stand up to Dax, the alternative is scarier. The only other way out is death. I’m not about to go down without a fight.
Dax is still asleep next to me, an arm flung above his head while one of mine is handcuffed to the bed. The sound of his breathing makes my stomach turn with disgust. I have never shot a gun, but if I had access to one right now, I would pull the trigger without a second thought.
I lay on my back, searching my clouded mind for some kind of idea.
By the time he stirs, I still don’t know what I’m going to do. He turns to face me, puts an arm around my body. When he kisses my neck, a shiver runs through me. I cannot bear to have him near me.
My desperation to get away intensifies the urge to escape. An idea finally drops into my mind. I know what I have to do.
“Dax?”
“Yeah?” His voice is muffled as his mouth is still pressed against my skin.
“I need to ask you a favor.” Before I can lose the courage, I get to the point. “I’m begging you to let Christa go. I’ll do anything in return.” I stress the word “anything”.
He stops kissing me and looks into my face. “What do you mean by anything?”
“Anything. . . Anything you want.” My hands tighten into fists. “If you give me the chance, I’ll be the best wife to you. If you want sex every day, you’ve got it.” He doesn’t know yet that the bleeding has completely stopped. Yesterday, when I found the pad I was wearing clean, I grieved silently for my unborn child. Now that the blood is gone, the baby is only a memory.
Dax pushes himself up on an elbow. “I love the sound of that.” His hand moves across the sheets to my breast. He squeezes a little too tight, but I don’t move a muscle. “Show me first how grateful you’ll be if I let her go.”
I squeeze my eyes tight. Can I really do this? Do I have a choice? I open my eyes again and meet his gaze. “I want to make love to you but not with handcuffs on. They hurt my wrists.”
He hesitates for a moment. His hands move away from my body and he turns to gaze at the ceiling. Good. He’s giving it some thought.
Without saying a word, he gets out of bed and comes to my side with the key to the handcuffs. He inserts it into the tiny lock and sets me free.
As soon as I’m no longer bound to the bed, he falls over me like an animal in heat. I don’t push him away. Instead, I make myself reach for him. This is a small price to pay for freedom.
“I’ve missed you so damn much.” His tongue licks my neck, then my face. I shut my eyes so I don’t see the lust in his eyes.
I make all the right noises to pretend I’m enjoying myself, moaning as his hands sweep past parts of me that were once sensitive to his touch but are now numb from hate and pain.
I try not to be too loud. The last thing I need is for Christa to know I’m sleeping with the enemy. She might not understand.
When his mouth comes to my lips, a wave of disgust rushes through me, but instead of paying attention to it, I push my fingers into his hair to pull him closer. I kiss him like I’ve never kissed him or anyone before. In my mind I pretend I’m back in Hollywood, acting in a movie.
He breaks the kiss to gaze into my eyes, his skin flushed. “My wife is back. You have no idea how happy that makes me.” He kisses my forehead. “Now let’s make up for lost time.”
He only stops to slide a condom on before covering me again with his body. I’m not close to ready when he tears through me and I bite back a scream to contain the pain.
I don’t have to wish he would speed up, because he’s barely taking a breath. Inside my head I count his thrusts until it’s over.
There’s a sick grin on his face the entire time he slams into me. The look of victory tells me he thinks he won, that he has broken me to the point I have no choice but to give in to him completely.
His sweat coats my skin, making me want to shove him away. I find it hard to believe this is the same man whose touch used to make me go crazy with longing.
In the early stages of our relationship, he used to be so gentle, so loving. I never thought his love was the dangerous kind, a deadly obsession. But he’s an actor. He gave the best performance of his life. He fooled everyone around him, including me. He walked through each day with a smirk on his face, pretending he was the man everyone thought he was. Without his mask on, he’s just ugly.
As he pumps into me, his dick growing harder inside my body, I swear to myself that once I’m out of here, I’ll drag his name through the mud and make sure he’s locked up for the rest of his life.
I was always taught to forgive, by a mother who forgave my father for every hurtful thing he did to her. I’m not her. I cannot forgive this. If my mother were alive, she would understand.
One day, when Dax is behind bars where he belongs, I’ll visit him, often. I’ll look into his eyes from across the bars. I’ll smile and tell him I’m glad he’s no longer hurting anyone with his words and his toxic touch. I’ll go back day after day to watch him rot in prison.
When Dax is close to orgasm, his fingers wrap around my wrists, awakening the pain left there by the handcuffs. I try not to scream out, but a whimper escapes. He takes that as a sign that I’m enjoying myself and picks up his pace.
His eyes are closed now and sweat is building on his forehead. I continue to watch him until he reaches the finish line. Veins pop through the skin of his neck and forehead, his eyes squeezed tight as he roars, then collapses on top of me.
It doesn’t matter that I didn’t come. I never want to have any more pleasure from him. No amount will ever be able to dilute the pain he has caused me.
He rolls off me and I pull in a breath, relieved it’s over, for now.
He rests his chin on his hand and smiles at me. “I might have to get you on the pill. We wouldn’t want to deal with another pregnancy.”
I stifle my anger in case I do something that could get me into trouble.
“Will you let her go?” I ask. That’s the only thing that’s important to me right now.
He swipes a hand across his forehead to remove the sweat. “You really think I’m that stupid?” He shakes his head. “I love you, Emma but I don’t trust you. I used to once. I believed in us. Then it all changed. You changed.”
My chest tightens as my eyes plead with him. “Please, you promised.”
“I didn’t promise you a thing. You offered to make love to me, which is your duty as my wife. I don’t have to give you anything in return.”
“You keep saying you love me,” I retort. “If you do, you’ll do this for me.” As the words pour out of my mouth, tumbling over each other, another thought comes to mind, another idea. “You brought us here because you wanted us to be alone. Let’s do that. I’ll make this a beautiful home for us. Whatever you want, I will do it.”
“Do you mean that?” He narrows his eyes.
“More than anything.” The lie comes easy, fueled by desperation and fear.
“Fine, here’s what’s going to happen.” He blows out a breath. “Your sister can stop working for us, but she’s not going anywhere. Remember the shed I showed you near the stables? It will be her new home. She will stay there until she dies. That’s the best I can do.”
My stomach cramps in reaction to the horror he has painted in front of my eyes. Oh, my God, what have I done? Did I make a mistake? What if I’m speeding up Christa’s death instead of saving her?
“Why? Why do you need to do that? I don’t. . . I don’t understand.”
“Because she can’t leave this place. She’ll mess everything up for us.” He puts his hands behind his head and sighs. “That’s the only offer on the table, take it or leave it.” He draws nearer to me and kisses the tip of my nose. “Now that you’ve made me see that it’s actually better for us to be alone, I don’t want anyone else around. You know what?” He inspects his fingernails. “I’ll add in a little something extra. I’ll lock her up with one small bottle of water, that way you can enjoy her presence
on this earth for a while, even if you won’t get to see her. In return, you’ll be the best fucking wife, just as you promised.”
Chapter Twelve
I’m a crying mess as I beg Dax to change his mind, even telling him I’m fine with Christa continuing on as a maid. But it’s too late. He has made a decision and is sticking to it.
When the sun comes out, he handcuffs me again and kisses me softly on the lips. “This is the best thing for everyone. Thank you for the great fuck.”
He goes to take a shower while I sit on the bed, my head spinning out of control, tears warming my cheeks. I can’t believe I’ve pulled the trigger that could kill my sister. What if she doesn’t survive? She’s already so weak. How far can one small bottle of water go? As thirsty as she must be by now, she would probably drink it in one go and have nothing left to keep her alive.
I look around me, searching for something to strike him with when he gets out of the shower. But there’s nothing within my reach. Even if I hit him, how would I be able to run when I’m handcuffed to the bed?
I still haven’t found a solution when he returns to the bedroom, a white towel wrapped around his waist. He looks the way he had looked when I met him for the first time at the Baroque Hotel. He had looked so handsome then. Now he’s nothing but a beautiful monster.
He removes the towel from his waist and uses it to dry his hair. His head of hair reminds me of my shaved head. Done, he dresses quickly, then takes me to Christa’s room. His hand is gentle on my back, but I still feel the burn of his palm.
I hope Christa will see what I was trying to do, that she will know I was only trying to protect her. I wish I could ask for her forgiveness in case it’s the last time we’ll see each other. But I can’t do that with Dax around.
There’s a single bed in the room, but she’s lying on the floor close to the door. Was she trying to escape? When she looks up, her eyes are blank and swollen, her skin ashen. Since she’s unable to stand, Dax helps her to her feet.