by S I Taylor
She thought about kicking him, about spitting on him, and about killing him. But she wanted to bide her time. She wanted to think of a way to get away from him.
“Barbara, I’m going to enjoy you. I’m going to take my time with you. But first, I’m going to teach you that I make the rules. All of those times that you denied me you will regret today, but then I will reward you and pleasure you.”
“You’re sick and this isn’t normal. You can’t own me because I’m not yours to own.”
He strode toward Barbara and bit her lips. He then walked over to the cart and grabbed a leather whip with several straps with metal prongs on the ends and stood behind her.
“You will be mine. I will break you until you’re begging for me to stop and fuck you.”
A loud swoosh wheezed in the air and the straps pierced her skin across her back. She let out a muffled growl, trying to hold back her screams.
“Fucking scream, Barbara.”
“No!”
Swoosh. Another lash at her back.
“Scream!”
“No!”
She clenched her jaw as another lash hit her back. Over and over and over again until her back was raw and bloodied. Blood was slowly running down her legs and a small pool had formed at her feet.
He faced her and tilted her chin to his eyes. Tears were streaming but no noise was coming from her.
“If you won’t scream from pain, you will scream from pleasure.”
He took the blade and cut her panties off. She watched as they landed on the ground, soaking up the blood forming there.
He grabbed her legs and spread them, placing them on his shoulders. He gripped her thighs tight and brought her closer to him. He delved his tongue inside of her as he began to go in and out with his tongue.
Barbara started to shiver and the more she tried to fight it the more her body craved it.
She looked up at her restraints and gripped the chain hard. She mustered all her efforts and squeezed her thighs together. He bit his tongue and flailed his arms, trying to get away from her. He clamped his teeth on her thigh but she didn’t release the grip she had. She was committed to getting away. Her adrenaline was high as she fought through the pain. She looped her legs together and continued to squeeze. Her muscles were cramping but she was not giving up. Neither was he as he scraped at the wounds on her back. She screamed and squeezed her thighs tighter and she could feel his body grow limp beneath her grasp and he finally stopped resisting.
She cried and the firm grip she had on the chain left painful dents on her palms. Her wrists were raw from the cuffs around it. She felt as if all the blood had drained from her fingers, but she was released from him. She looked down and saw him face down on the wet floor.
“Fuck, how am I going to get down? I didn’t think this through,” she said.
At the sound of Nixon hitting the ground, the creaking door swung open, slamming against the wall. Barbara was startled, as she had forgotten about Mr. Riley.
In a few steps he was in front of her, looking down at Nixon lying on the ground.
“What did you think you were doing?” Mr. Riley said as he kneeled next to Nixon, checking his pulse.
Barbara just looked below her and didn’t answer. There was no use in answering a question which he knew the answer to. But that didn’t stop him from getting up and slapping her across her face, causing her to swing slowly, adding more friction and pain to her wrists. He continued his assault until he was tired and her face was swollen.
“You’re lucky he’s not dead but just unconscious,” he said. Mr. Riley placed Nixon over his shoulder. She wished her damage was more than just knocking him unconscious, but she couldn’t dwell on her mistake. She’d reacted too quickly and hastily. He carried Nixon to the bed and left her still hanging from the ceiling. Being suspended was causing her blood to drain from her arms. She was bleeding, in pain, and hallucinating.
Her eyes fluttered. She tried to fight it, but she couldn’t battle her body. It needed rest and she couldn’t grant it that notion. She wanted to see what would happen once Nixon was awake, once he got up. She had already gotten a beating from Mr. Riley—what would Nixon do?
The air in the room grew warm but she was cold. She was shivering and the chains above were rattling loud at first but then it was faintly disappearing. The room was getting blurry and her hearing was getting distant. Her mind was separating the reality she was experiencing. It was going deeper into the darkness. Into a place she ran to when she couldn’t cope with her surroundings. She was moving into a dark place. Her dark place. Where pain and reality didn’t exist.
Chapter 46
“Why did everything have to end like this? I wanted to be your only one. I wouldn’t have had to take such drastic measures if only you wanted me as much as I want you. I love you, Barbara. Love causes you to do anything to make each other happy. Even though if at first one of us must suffer, just as I suffered at first being away from you without being able to give you my love. But now I must help you see that we are destined for each other. Now you will have to suffer but I promise it’s temporary. You will see that you love me, and we will be together. Even if I must kill you. We will die together.”
Nixon stood over Barbara, slamming his fist hard onto her enclosure at his last sentence. She startled at the noise but composed herself. He grinned at her as he stroked her damaged skin from the small opening of the cage. She was enclosed in a large metal cage like a dog in a kennel. She squirmed in the corner, trying to get away from him. He taunted her like she was his prey and he the big bad wolf. She was naked and her wounds were open, but were smeared with an orange liquid. She knew the strong scent of iodine and was thankful that her wounds would not get infected. He must’ve taken it from Lori’s medical supply kit, she thought.
Barbara stared at him with disgust. She needed to get away from him. He was getting worse. His obsession was not normal. But what obsession is normal anyway?
“I want to get out of here! This will not get me to you. This is making me hate you.”
“I warned you. I warned you! The more you pushed me the faster I would slip through the cracks.”
“Nixon, you’re not slipping, you have fallen.”
“Shut up. You did this to me. You needed my help. I was trying to help you. Your life was in shambles and I had the means to lift you.”
“I didn’t need you. I was doing fine on my own. I’m an adult, everyone has issues that they must deal with on their own. If I needed your assistance I would’ve asked. Just as I asked you when I needed you for a job.”
“A job! That’s what you consider a want. That wasn’t the kind of want I was referring to. I wanted you for me. I wanted to take care of you.”
“But I didn’t want it that way. I wanted to be stable and I wasn’t.”
He paced the room, grabbing his hair, checking his watch. He looked at her—she couldn’t make out his facial features. She didn’t recognize him anymore. He was someone else. He kept looking at his watch. He was expecting something or someone. “I could’ve given you stability.”
“I wanted it on my own.”
“Bullshit! You wanted it by stealing. By living a life of crime.”
“You were fucking doing it along with me. Or did you forget?”
He walked toward the cage but a knock at the door stopped him and Mr. Riley walked in.
“Good, finally you arrived. I was getting impatient.”
“I was teaching, and I can’t diverge from my routine.”
“Fine, meet me in the dining room.”
Mr. Riley opened the door to the cage and grabbed Barbara, dragging her out as she scratched at his arms, kicked, and fought to get out of his grasp.
“Let me go!”
“Don’t worry. I’ll let you go in a few minutes. You’re going to enjoy yourself. Rather, we’re going to enjoy ourselves,” Mr. Riley said.
He carried her and she felt his cotton shirt against the rawness of
her wounds. Every movement caused more friction and pain.
“You’re hurting me.”
“Stop moving and it won’t hurt so bad,” Mr. Riley said.
“Where are you taking me?”
“You’ll see.” He grinned.
The hallways brought memories to Barbara. Memories that she was suppressing. They were lighting a path out of the darkness of her mind, creeping into her reality. She held her breath and pushed them back. She pushed them further into the dark. Those memories were not going to resurface to haunt her again.
With a thud he threw her on a wooden chair. She fought as she tried to stop him. But she was getting weaker. The pain was stronger than him. She had to conserve the little energy that she had if she wanted to get away from them. So she watched as the large tip of the leather strap entered the metal buckle, as he pulled hard against it, as it cut the circulation from her wrist, as the hook entered the small opening of the leather belt, and as the tip was secured. He repeated the same methodical movement around her other arm, torso, and legs. It played in her mind in slow motion—she was detaching herself from the moment. She wanted to forget this was happening to her.
“She’s ready,” Mr. Riley said.
“Good, bring the other things from the kitchen.”
“Yes, sir. Right away.”
Mr. Riley left and returned with a white tablecloth, which he draped on the table that separated her from Nixon. Mr. Riley proceeded to place on it a candle, which he later lit. A silver cart was next to Nixon as he sat across from Barbara.
“Dim the lights and leave us alone,” Nixon said.
“But I thought…”
“Stop hesitating. Now do as you’re told.”
Nothing came out of Mr. Riley’s mouth but his eyes screamed menace. Slow footsteps dragged across the floor. The room was dim, but Nixon’s face was dark. The room grew silent, but the squeaks of a distant door opening and closing made everything echo in the abandoned old house.
“I had something prepared for you. Your favorite.”
“I don’t want anything.”
“You haven’t eaten all day and I know you’re hungry.”
He placed a plate of food in front of her and she stared at it.
“Oh, I know what we need to make this a memorable date. The date that we should’ve had years ago.”
Nixon took his phone and flipped through the screen. The shadow that it cast on his face was terrifying. But not as terrifying as what he was doing. Norah Jones’s soft melody was playing. He was tainting the nice connotation she had with the song with this moment and she hated him even more for it.
“I don’t want to hear that song.”
“Why?” He looked perplexed. “It’s your favorite song.”
“I lied,” she said, gritting her teeth.
“You’re lying now. I heard you sing it. And you sang it to me at my request,” he seethed.
“Yes, I know. See how it works? If you’d just asked then, then maybe—I mean, I know I would’ve considered a real date with you.”
Laughter erupted. “Of course, that would make a lot of sense considering that I took you to eat and you basically told me that you would have declined my offer under normal circumstances. You see how I must take matters into my own hands. You drove me to this madness.”
A white napkin was placed on Barbara’s lap as his lips devoured hers.
“Now be a good girl and eat your meal.”
“I told you I’m not hungry. Besides, how am I supposed to eat if my hands are bound to the chair.”
“I will feed it to you. I’m here to please you.”
He grabbed a fork full of mashed potatoes and placed it on her lips. She turned her head and it smeared across her face.
He casually looked at his watch. “Very well, since you don’t want to eat, you’ll just watch me.”
He forcefully devoured her lips once more, licking the remnants of blood that trickled from her ruptured lips, before returning to his own seat.
With his back straight against the chair, he held his fork and knife, cutting small pieces of chicken, swirling them in the gravy before bringing them to his mouth.
“I never understood why people like so much carbs. It’s so bad for your body,” he said, “I prefer vegetables. Steamed vegetables. It’s filled with the essentials for your body. Don’t you think?”
Barbara stared at him. He was trying to make light of the situation as if she wasn’t naked strapped to a fucking chair. She didn’t want to entertain his sadistic game. But she had to do something to get away from him and Mr. Riley.
“Yes, you’re right,” she agreed.
He nodded. “I knew you’d come around. Tomorrow we’ll have vegetables instead. How do you want them—sautéed, grilled, or steamed?”
“However you like them.” She wanted to ball her fists but the confines of the belt around her wrists impeded her from doing so. She managed to plaster a fake smile on her face instead.
His fist slammed against the table, rattling the silver forks and knives against the white round plates. “No! You decide. How do you want them?” He clenched his jaw as he spoke.
She knew the only way to get to him was to agree and go along with his psychotic game.
“Steamed,” she quickly replied.
“Good, then that’s what we’ll have.” A sliver of his charisma returned to his face, but it was quickly replaced by his manic features. “Quincy! Quincy!”
“Yes, sir,” Mr. Riley responded as he walked toward them.
“We’re done here. Take her back to her room and make sure you instruct her on what to do next. I want to play a little before she’s back in the cage,” Nixon said as he stood and nibbled on her left breast. “Make her obedient if you have to.”
The soft tune of Norah Jones disappeared in the distance as she was whisked away yet again to torture. It was at that moment that she realized who Quincy was and where she heard that name when Iggy mentioned it to her.
“With pleasure, sir,” he said through gritted teeth.
Her knees almost gave out again and she forced herself to stay upright. She didn’t want Mr. Riley to dig his fingers into her wound again as he forcefully gripped her to remain still.
Her head slumped on her chest as she knew exactly how this scene was to be played out. She had done it for two years for Mr. Riley. She knew that he stood on the opposite corner of the room watching her to make sure she did as she supposed to do.
She realized that there was tension between Nixon and Mr. Riley and this was the perfect time to get him on her side and for him to see that Nixon was not in his right state of mind. The chemistry between them felt awkward. The situation she was in felt surreal to her and she wanted to wake up from her nightmare.
She raised her head to look at him in the corner and spoke softly, forcing him to move closer to hear her.
“Mr. Riley? Quincy?” Saying his first name sounded foreign to her.
“What do you want? Your role is to be quiet and speak when spoken to.”
“I know but you also know that role too as it is now reversed.”
His laughter echoed in the room and she felt as if he mocked her.
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re also only allowed to speak when spoken to.” She said softly in a low tone struggling to speak as her lips were beginning to swell.
“I am not,” he said, confused.
“Nixon believes, in fact he knows, he’s superior to you.”
He let out throaty laughter. “How so?”
“He won’t let you partake in any of his fantasies. He watched you for two years with me, he wouldn’t let you participate in what he was doing in the bedroom earlier, in the dining room, and more than likely definitely not for this. I can tell he doesn’t respect you.”
He seemed to be thinking about her words but he was still skeptical. “What are you talking about?”
“You call him sir and he calls you Quin
cy. If he considered you his equal partner you would call him Nixon or even be calling the shots, instead you’re preparing his meals, serving him, and handing me to him. You had me first. He hadn’t even touched me before until today.”
He stood in front of her locking eyes with hers. There was no movement from him. She wanted to pressure him into a corner to convince him that Nixon was belittling him but with his stoic expression she felt as if it was a lost cause. Mr. Riley was a loyal puppy to his master.
She lowered her head in despair and heard footsteps approaching. She wasn’t going to give up. With every step Nixon took toward the room she pleaded.
“We can run together.”
The creaking of the floorboards were getting closer.
“We can be together.”
Closer.
“If I stay here you’ll always be watching just as he did for two years.”
She knew the layout of the house and could picture in her mind that Nixon was paces away from the door.
Mr. Riley leaned in close to her, held her head between his large hands, and forced her to look directly into his eyes as he spoke. For a moment she thought she had gotten to him by his hesitation, but the grimace in his face spoke a different tone.
“I told you, Barbara, that one day you’ll need my help. You’re all alone. I won’t betray the hands that feeds me. I have chosen my path just as you were chosen for yours.”
He released her as Nixon turned the doorknob and entered the room.
“You can leave, Quincy.”
“I warned you,” she whispered before Mr. Riley moved away.
“You said I could stay.”
“Not today. I want her alone. To myself tonight. You’re testing my patience, Quincy. You don’t want to end up like Marlo, Blake, or Jody, now would you?” Nixon warned.
Mr. Riley clenched his jaw. “No, sir.”
“Now leave!” He gestured for toward the door.
Mr. Riley stormed past her and she felt a pang of hope that she could use that to her advantage when she was alone with him again. But for now, she had to play Nixon’s sadistic game.