by Roxanne Lee
Chapter 3.
I had trouble keeping the grin off my face.
I was severely disappointed in myself.
I had been left to stew for longer in the now cold water while he'd led her to the living room.
I'd have sat there for weeks. Freezing, my appendages turning numb one by one, if only it meant he would leave me alone.
I heard the glug of the wine bottle and the chink of glasses, soft feminine laughter and husky male appreciative chuckles.
I think I may have even relaxed somewhat. My shoulders were less strained than usual, the muscles surrounding my shoulder blades less bunched. This is what she gives me. This is why I am so indebted to her; she gives me freedom. Even for just one night, the freedom to breathe.
A door swung on its hinge and I heard his departing, "one moment Clara", before his footsteps headed in my direction. I thought him rather brave this evening. To leave me in the bath in full view should she have needed the bathroom. He normally would never be this disorganised, this was quite the risk for him. It must have been a complete surprise that she arrived.
He appeared in the doorway, fists clenched and jaw locked. I could see his frustration out of the corner of my eye and it almost made me laugh in smugness.
He couldn't have his pet prize tonight, it was taken away from him and now he pouts like a child.
"It seems our plans must change for this evening. Get out of the tub, pumpkin; I can't get my shirt wet. "
Our plans. Ours....as if I want this...as if she's ruining my fun, not just his.
I heave myself up as quickly as possible, my arms are weak and struggling to hold my weight. I am weak.
He hisses and taps his foot impatiently."Quickly please, I do not expect to have to ask again. "
"Yes Sir, I'm sorry." The words nearly stick in my throat when I force myself to flash him as I throw a leg over the side of the bath and pull myself to standing. I am eager to be locked inside my cell. I will endure many things for this reason. A room originally made to be my prison has become a safe haven, a room where I am locked behind a steel door, nothing can touch me there. It is a hundred times better than where I had thought I would be tonight.
He moves quickly to drain the bath as I dry myself off and slip the nightie back over my head. He pushes me hurriedly towards the hall and I nearly fall over my own feet when they don't move fast enough. The nightie is loose and sags over my chest, it doesn't look like he'll take the time to tie the back up again. I hold it up with one hand attempting laughably to save my dignity. A dignity long since lost.
He grabs my arm in a tight clasp and hauls me faster towards my cell. The keys are already in his hand and I know even though he's slightly panicking at the thought of being caught, of his persona slipping so drastically, he is also experiencing a cheap thrill at the rush of adrenaline.
He swings the door wide and launches me through the doorway, his grip changes to around my neck, squeezing lightly, enough so that the pressure is uncomfortable for my breathing. Permanent marks are not acceptable on my skin, but he has no qualms in regards to bruising.
"I'll be back for you soon, " he hisses at me."You had better be my perfect little pet when I return, the wait will just serve to frustrate me more."
This is a warning I'm taking seriously and my rotten heart sinks a little. My reprieve will be short and ultimately will only prove to be worse in the end. She's never interrupted his time with me before, perhaps messing with his schedule wasn't such a good thing for me after all.
When the turn of the lock signifies his retreat I sink to the floor and curl my knees to my chest to wrap my arms around them. I pretend my own touch is comforting and that it doesn't disgust me as much as anyone else's does. It's astounding how the simple act of skin to skin contact can produce such violent reactions in the pit of my stomach. I suppose it's understandable considering my current situation but I had always thought of myself as rather level headed. I know that it wouldn't be him touching me. My brain understands this yet still my skin crawls at just the thought of contact and bile works it's way up my throat. I marvel at the human body and the conditioning responses it learns; he has ruined me for life and no others revenge will ever feel as exhilarating as mine.
I lay there for a while. An hour, a few hours, could be either. My mind drifts and weaves a world deep in my subconscious. I see and hear nothing from beyond my prison as my imagination runs riot and I see only dream opponents and hear only dream words.
The scratching invades my mind slowly and it troubles me at first. I cannot understand how the sound made its way into my dream-world, a place only I have control over. So slowly that it makes me ashamed of my senses, the sound interrupts my distraction and I'm brought back into the room. It's the sound of nails against the heavy steel door. I can barely make it out and yet it's a continuous, monotonous sound like a tree branch against a window in the wind, that is odd enough in this quiet house to get my attention.
Had I not been so distracted, I may have had longer then a passing thought on how the signaller was aware of my exceptional hearing.
I moved my head slightly towards the door in confusion, a frown gracing my forehead and the nightie rustling slightly against the floor at my movement. The scratching stops almost immediately and my heart pumps hard once in response.
I rise slightly and carefully crawl my way to the door, trying to see through the slit at the bottom, though the lack of light proves my attempt useless. Even so I press my face to the floor and try to make out the shifts in shadows listening intently for that scratching.
"I know you're there."
The whispered voice has me sucking in a breath and I whip my head back scuttling like a frightened rabbit away from the door. My panting breath takes a while to get under control and I nearly laugh at myself. Really? After everything, this is what frightens you? The whisper comes again and this time I'm more prepared for it.
"I know you're there. I've known for some time. I will get you out I promise, Arya."
My gasp this time is audible probably even to the voice beyond the door.
"How?"
My answer is low and soft yet somehow I know that they'll hear me and even more, that they will understand what I'm not asking: how do they know me?
"We never forgot you, Arya. I have been trying to get to you for a long time. That time is near, believe me I will get you out and you will never have to return."
The whisper was female I realised. Such pretty words. I wondered what game this was and what my punishment would be.
"You have suffered much...We have suffered much. I have done things I am not proud of to be close to you."
That voice.
I knew that voice.
"Clara?" My question was incredulous. I had always thought it insanity that a women so close to him could not see the sickness just under the surface.
"Yes," she paused in her answer as if ashamed to verify my thought. She had nothing to be ashamed of, I had her beat hands down on shame.
"I have to go I don't want him to wake up and find me gone. I promise, Arya, I will come back for you, I just had to let you know that you aren't alone any more."
I could have cried. Honest to God cried.
I hadn't cried for years, it was such a pointless endeavour when it changed nothing. But this woman's words, a few simple words nearly brought me to tears. I couldn't speak over the tightness in my throat but needed to force something out in acknowledgement. A whispered "thank you" was all I managed before reaching out to the door that I'd unknowingly gotten closer to and placing a hand on the cool steel, I followed the sound of retreating, light footsteps.
Someone knows about me.
The thought was astounding. I sat in the dark. Cool cement floors freezing my bare feet to numbness, but a spark deep inside flared bright and warming, a dangerous spark that I couldn't stop no matter how much I willed it.
A spark of hope.
Chapter 4.
That s
park had been burning all night. What started as a small flame in the pit of my stomach had ignited over night into a forest fire, burning through my gut, destroying false thoughts and leaving ash in its wake.
It was a frightening, sobering thought; this hope, this promise of survival. I could very well be getting out. All this planning, all these years to be rescued by his mistress.
I very nearly laughed at the irony.
Light eclipsing shadow, freedom through terror. How to deal with the idea of an end to my servitude was causing serious malfunctions in my brain. I could not cope with the thought of getting out. It seemed so real at this point that I didn’t know how to feel, whether I should be stoically calm or crazed in anticipation. It was all too much for my fragile state of mind.
I sat for hours staring at the door, the wall separating me from my escape, the exit from my incarceration. By the morning, when the birds were starting their first early calls to each other I had but one thought remaining: I believed in Clara.
I could not stop myself. So many years believing I was alone in my misery and with one two minute whispered conversation I had grabbed a hold of the hope she offered and refused to let go. She, like me, had been living a lie. This above anything gave me what I needed; a reason to trust in another.
When his steps first sounded on the wooden flooring coming in my direction, I scuttled, as I always did, towards the corner of my cell. My body curled into its usual position, my hair covered my face. But the reaction was slow, my movements laboured. My bodies own act of defiance against its torturer. Small in thought but a triumph in my mind.
This hope was already going to get me killed.
The locks swift turning refocused my attention and I held my breath as he whistled his way into my room. He seemed especially cheery this morning, perhaps his frustration had been worked out on Clara for a change.
I instantly felt a pang of guilt at the thought. I may have been taught this level of selfishness, this need to save myself above all others but even that thought was below me.
He grabbed my arm and dragged my body to the hallway. He had not uttered a word which was odd, but I assumed he had other things on his mind. As long as he was preoccupied it was better for me. My arm began aching slightly in his firm hold and I lifted my head to see our destination. We were headed towards the kitchen and I brightened at the thought of food. The bathroom door was shut as we passed but I stared at it anyway hoping he would see my need for the toilet. If he did he ignored it and carried on dragging me forward.
At some point I must have scraped my skin against a rough piece of wood, the metallic smell of blood assaulted my nose. Weak as though it had been in the air a while but enough to reach even my only slightly stronger sense of smell. I couldn't feel the scrape but then again my legs had a numbness to them that only the cold could deliver.
I smelt the kitchen before I saw it. The aroma of meat sizzling and bread toasting brought a gurgle to my stomach. This morning was turning out to be almost too good to be true. He had cooked. For me? I wasn't sure but obviously as I had been let out, Clara had gone. The thick rug was a soft respite on my skin before the wooden floors continued through to the kitchen. The smells intensified as he pushed through the heavy doors and my stomach ached in appreciation.
He sat me in a chair and placed a dish in front of me. I frowned slightly at the sausage and eggs, waiting for the punchline; I hadn't had a decent breakfast in four years.
"Eat up, baby girl." He persisted.
I wasn't going to turn down a good meal. I was still confused but as he watched me eat in something akin to glee I could only guess on his intentions and in the end, my stomach overruled my brain.
He stood over me stroking my hair as I ate. I'd managed maybe half of what he'd put on the plate and only that because he kept forcing me to take another bite until he was satisfied I'd had enough. My confusion grew.
"Do you need the bathroom now, pumpkin?"
I swallowed involuntarily hoping I gave the right answer. What that would be can, and often did, change on any given day.
"Yes please, Sir."
He smiled in response, slightly crooked with an odd glint in his eyes. His arm gripped my bicep again and I resigned myself to my normal mode of transport. Yet again I was dragged along the floor towards the bathroom. If I had thought of myself as being of any consequence I may have complained about this humiliating treatment.
On reaching the bathroom door he nudged it open with his foot and pulled me in behind him. He let my body drop to the floor and left me on the tiles. The cool surface took my attention, the fullness of my stomach made me lazy. I idly stared at the corner tiles not thinking of what was to come just, for once, enjoying the blissful ignorance I was in. His voice confused me when it came, it took a while for me to come to full consciousness.
"Oh dear. Well that just won't do will it? Hmm what a mess."
I blinked and turned slowly to face him. The scene behind his wicked grin came to me in flashes.
A pristine white bath stained in russet tones.
A sliver of water spilling over the edge of the overflowing tub.
A pool of water on the white tiled floor. That same russet colour edging it's way towards me.
My eyes flicked to the walls surrounding the tub.
A streak of vibrant red above the taps.
A splatter on the opposite wall.
A large hand print outlined in scarlet on the edge of the bath, a matching one decorating the hot tap.
It took longer than it should of, I regret, to fully understand the consequences of my actions. As the scene came in full techni-colour reality and I noticed the long blonde strand of hair clinging to the side of the tub, that truth came crashing down on my chest, a full blown kick to the solar plexus that winded me and had me gasping for air.
He tapped towards me, a spring in his step. Grabbed my frozen arm and pulled me up his body until I was standing against him, supported by his thick forearm.
I could see into the bath from this height.
The lady in the water, floating yet not. Her face remaining suspended above the coloured liquid, her body curved slightly as if he'd held her down by her stomach as she'd thrashed. Her eyes were open yet sight-less, a creamy film beginning to cover what I assumed would have been bright blue. The skin at her fingertips and toes wrinkled and pruned and turned white as it softened. A glaring slash across her neck. Ear to ear, a devilish smile on an angels face.
I whimpered in his arms. My weakness prevalent. I just wanted to turn away, I could not bear to face this woman in my failure.
"Ssh, baby girl."
Those hands. Those hands although clean were stained in her blood. They caressed my cheek as if attempting to console, only to grab my jaw and turn it back towards the tub.
"She thought to take you from me. You know I can't have that, Arya. She has been punished for her insolence.." he paused in his ramblings, nothing he said would make it okay, nothing could take away the death that now stained me. He lent closer and kissed the side of my head as his grip tightened to the point of pain on my jaw."..as must you be. Do you think I wouldn't know? How many times must I tell you? I own you, little girl. It seems.. you need a reminder hmm?"
I don't think I heard his words. Or maybe I heard I just wasn't listening. All I could see was Clara. Floating in the bath. That red tinged water surrounding her. The sound of her voice, so desperate to help me, as if she had owed me something. I owe her now, I owe her a life.
I felt one hand grip my hip hard, another used to push me forward to grab onto the rim of the bath. I heard the smack of a belt buckle on the tiles as it was dropped and the sound of a zip unfastening echoed in the hollow room. My eyes widened and I stared into her dead eyes. God not like this. I threw my head quickly to the side to avoid throwing up the contents of my stomach over her and managed only just, to aim for the waste bin under the sink. My heaves continued until nothing was left and he patiently waited for me to fin
ish. I assumed he had wanted a reaction from me, I'm sure he's quite pleased that he's literally made me sick to my stomach. His hand grabbed my hair and pulled me back into position as if reigning in a horse.
"Don’t you look away from her, baby. I want you to see what you've done. What you made me do to punish you. Every time you feel my cock bottom out inside you I want you to scream at her these words: I don't want to be saved."
I could hear the sneer in his words. A tear dripped into the tub, only to be swallowed up by the rusted pool. As I felt him force his way inside me I never, not once, looked away from those eyes. An apology searing from my gaze as he defiled her spirit.
Chapter 5.
The weeks following Clara's death were harrowing. As my body repaired the damage caused by his punishment, I wiled the days away in isolation. It was that isolation that troubled me, with only my thoughts to concentrate on I had too much time to remember the hope that had lasted just one night.
The bruises left by his possession twinged at every movement. I welcomed the pain though, it was a reminder of what I had caused.
Such devastation could only bring penance.
It had occurred to me during this time that something was different about him. I felt incredibly stupid for not realising it earlier. Had I really thought the man had enough cameras to monitor my every move? How infantile.
What he definitely wasn't, was a werewolf. He was over six foot by an inch or two. Bulky in stature but not muscled, broad across the shoulders with a paunch to his stomach that instantly signified non-wolf. The metabolic system of wolves so advanced that excess fat was almost impossible to achieve.
The one obvious reason though, was the simple fact that he aged. His black hair streaked with grey and wrinkled forehead announced a man nearing fifty. Should I ever find my wolf, shifting would slow my ageing to almost immortality. The regenerative abilities of wolves so complete that I could conceivably remain forever young. What a torturous gift.