Dark Exposure

by Amy Isan

  "Yes," he says. "It is. Now, change into it."

  "But... the door..."

  "Don't pay attention to it, Lily." He stands stoic like a wall in the frame of the door, but I can see people passing through the courtyard and halls behind him. Sometimes they peek past his shoulder, but never for more than a second. Have they seen this kind of thing before? I slowly peel off my shorts and let them drop to the floor, before kicking them aside. I take my shirt off and let it fall from my fingers to the ground as well.

  I pull the black dress over my head and thread my arms through the straps. It's similar to the blue dress from yesterday, but the fabric is more sheer. Its fitting is tighter, more like a cocktail dress than a summer dress. I straighten out my bra and look at him for approval. He's folded his arms and leaned back on one foot, with his eyes looking me up and down. I can't stop myself from blushing. I wave my hand, as if I'm fanning my face and try to explain my red cheeks. "It's really hot here, sir."

  Sir. The word is slipping from my lips easier and easier. He nods with satisfaction and extends his elbow for me, just like yesterday. "Where are we going, sir?"

  As I thread my arm through his, he pinches his elbow down and pulls me toward him enough to make me stumble. He catches me by my shoulders and doesn't let go. I stare up at him, bewildered. His smile fades and he speaks, his face close to mine and his breath minty and fresh. "You may think you're playing a game right now, Lily, but I assure you, this isn't a game. When I told you to call me sir and master, I didn't mean sarcastically or with dismissal."

  As I start to shake my head, he stops me by putting his finger to my lips. I have to restrain myself from kissing him. He hesitates as his finger lingers on my lips, and his eyes look into mine. I shake my head, which breaks the moment and his finger pulls away from my face. "I never say it sarcastically," I say, flushing. I feel compelled to continue, even though I know that's always how anyone loses in any negotiation. That is what this is, isn't it? A kind of test? "Maybe once, sir, yesterday. But not since then!"

  He sets me back on my feet and pushes me against the wall, his forearm planted against my chest like a steel bar. I stare at him, and he relents and pulls off me. Giovanni turns away and clears his throat, before straightening out his tie and brushing some lint off his jacket. The olive-skinned man doesn't say another word on the subject, but simply extends his elbow again for me to grasp. I do, and we start walking down the side of the courtyard again, both of our feet loud on the hard floor.

  He's taking us past the dining hall and through another hallway to another wing of the house. The decor changes a little, the tile turning into carpet and the ceiling rocketing into the sky as we enter a closed off building. Huge crystal chandeliers hang tenuously every couple of yards, and they each seem to twinkle in the light coming in from the huge bay windows that line the top half of the room. I want to walk slower, but his pace never changes. He never lingers or looks at anything, like he's just passing through an empty room.

  I keep twisting my head back and forth to try and catch glimpses or take mental note of certain things. A grand piano is in this room, the lid opened all the way up. Across from it, against another wall, is a fireplace, with a stone hearth and chairs surrounding it like it's a television. I know I'm poor when that's the closest comparison I have.

  We leave the room and pass through another hallway, this one with paintings on the wall opposite the windows. Each one has the distinct texture of brush strokes embedded in it, but I've only even seen that aesthetic at trendy gift stores where they fake the texture on a copy. I get the feeling that these hanged portraits and landscapes aren't copies.

  Strange though, I expected more photograph and fewer paintings. Isn't he supposed to be a photographer?

  Another doorway and the scene changes dramatically. We're standing in a suffocatingly lit and white room, with lamps and shades all over the place. There seems to be no logic to their placement, but a small white sheet hangs in one corner of the room, sprawling from the ceiling to the floor. Cables run underneath huge rubber humps, splitting off to each light and shade fixture. There's a chaise lounge in front of a camera, on top of the white backdrop, and that's where Giovanni directs me. I sit down awkwardly on the edge of the lounge and cross my legs. The lounge is taller than I thought it would be, and the black dress I picked out is almost short enough that it would only take a subtle tilt of the head to see my underwear.

  A couple of other people are in the room too. They're too sharply dressed to be servants... and they're men too. I've never seen a man in this house until now.

  One blond man with short hair immediately walks up to me. He has a small name tag hanging from a lanyard that's around his neck, and I scan it quickly: Stephan.

  He says something to me in Italian that I don't follow. Maybe I could at least pick up on some things if they would just slow down already. Giovanni says something to Stephan, which turns Stephan back to me. Stephan tilts his head, like he's examining me, or confused. Maybe Giovanni is telling him I don't understand or speak Italian.

  Stephan sighs heavily. He's holding a makeup kit in the crook of his elbow, and he squats down to meet my face. His blue eyes are gentle. He's speaking Italian again, but slower. While it is what I thought would help, it only sounds patronizing now, like I'm some kid he's trying to scold for something. He opens up the makeup kit and stares at the brushes and colors available to him, before looking at me again. I feel put on the spot, and I don't like half the colors he's considering with his fingers. He lifts them up and holds them against my face, each time shaking his head until he comes across a deep-purple hue. I shake my head and push his hand away, and point at one color he ignored: crimson-red. He frowns and looks to Giovanni. The Italian man simply nods and directs Stephan's attention back to me. Giovanni's eyes meet mine as Stephan opens the red eye shadow and starts applying it. He instructs me with some harsh and sharp words each time he wants me to close one eye to work on it. Giovanni walks over to another man who is behind one of the cameras and converses with him, leaning into him and talking in hushed tones. Even if they were speaking English, I wouldn't be able to hear.

  The light is bright and painful now that I'm right in the center of it. I squeeze both my eyes shut and try to breathe deeply, but Stephan yammers something off and pokes me in the cheek. I swipe at his hand instinctively and knock him away with a twhack. Giovanni is immediately on us, but his gaze isn't directed at me as I thought it would be.

  He stares at Stephan, who cowers down and holds his hands up to try and shield himself. Is he trying to protect himself from an anticipated attack, or just from Giovanni's piercing eyes? After a moment, Giovanni says something harsh and menacing sounding, and walks away. When Stephan sits up again to keep working on me, he's stone-faced and stoic. I don't expect another word from him.

  After a few minutes, he's finished. The sensation of having makeup applied to me by someone else feels strange and unnatural. I can't see what I look like, but the cameraman and Giovanni seem pleased. Giovanni points at me and then says something to the cameraman, and the shutter goes off along with a simultaneous flash of four standing lights scattered through the room. Spots are in my eyes. I wasn't prepared at all.

  "What the hell?" I ask, forgetting myself as I rub my eyes. "At least warn me!"

  Another flash and I'm blinded again. Giovanni grunts something in disapproval and pushes the cameraman aside. He walks past the line of digital cameras and kneels down next to me, his hand going to my shoulder. I'm still stunned and kind of dizzy, and I try and meet his eyes, but purple and green splotches are hovering in the air.

  "Lily?" he says with what sounds like genuine concern in his voice. He shakes me a little and I look at him again. "Relax. I'm sorry you weren't warned about the lights. I forget that you aren't used to this." He looks up around us as if he's scolding the lights silently. He cups my hand and stares into me, and I don't understand why he's so concerned. I was just a little disoriented. I sha
ke myself and his eyes glaze over and he retracts his hand. He stands up and walks back behind the camera. He leans over and peers into the finder, and I stare at the camera's lens. "Perfect, Lily," he says.

  He takes another picture, but I'm ready this time. The lights flash and the camera shutter clicks open and closed. He takes another picture, and another. Between shots, I stare around the room and notice that everyone else has left.

  Why did they leave? Did they do something wrong? Did I? At least, since no one else is around, I don't feel as ashamed to have to say... the special words.

  "Ah... sir?" I start, trying to not mess up his shot. I don't know why. Shouldn't I be trying to sabotage his whole operation? My heart is still racing from his hand touching me. A thrill from the camera and lights going off, just for me. I always figured I was kind of... plain.

  Giovanni ducks out from behind the camera and looks at me. "Yes?"

  "Uhm... what magazine is this for?"

  He shrugs and dips his head back behind the camera and snaps another photo without me being prepared. He chuckles a little at my shock, then takes another. I'm growing flustered. He just shrugged! What the fuck does that mean? What is this? Just some snaps for his personal collection? Does he even work for a magazine company, or does he just drag women here, chain them up, then take pictures for his spank bank? I feel my face turning red and my chest heating up, but it only makes the shutter snap faster, the lights flash quicker.

  "Not good enough," he murmurs. He dips from behind the camera again and stares down at me, clapping his hands together and pressing his fingers to his lips in contemplation. He tilts his head back and forth, then nods to himself.

  "Take off your dress... Wait, never mind that. Lift it up." I stare at him, feeling my eyes grow wide. I was right, this is just for his sick pleasure. All of it has been. I hoped that he wasn't lying about the magazine, so that at least he had some truth to what he told me back home. So he wasn't just completely psychotic. There's no magazine. No model. Nothing. When I don't move, he repeats the command, "Lily, I said, pull up your dress."

  I shake my head and my eyes feel wet. I fight back the urge to let the dam break, partially because of the makeup. "No. I won't."

  He raises his voice a little, but not in anger so much, but frustration. "Lily... are you disobeying me?"

  I sit up from the chaise lounge and stare right into the camera, ignoring his gaze. "Yes, sir."

  Without taking his eyes off me, I keep my eyes locked on the camera lens. He runs his hand across the top of the camera body and presses the shutter button. Lights flash, and I finally meet his gaze again. His other hand is gripping his tie, pulling it down and loosening it with just the weight of his arm. Giovanni looks flustered and bright red. His forehead is dewy.

  "Remember what I said would happen if you didn't obey me, Lily?" he asks.

  I nod, but keep the fire stoked in my chest. My heart is racing so fast that my hands are shaking, and I have to clasp them together to keep myself from losing my resolve. If he sees any crack, he'll take advantage of it and wedge a crowbar in it, and pry until I'm completely broken into pieces. Then what? Then I'll be finished.

  "Yes, sir," I repeat. Immediately, he starts charging toward me, his feet swift and stride long. He's right up next to me, staring down at me. I can't tell if he wants to hit me or not, but I won't flinch and cower like Stephan did. What good did it really do for him?

  I stare up at Giovanni, a kink forming in my neck makes me ache. His green eyes are full of fire, but walled off somehow. I don't know what he's thinking. His slacks brush up against my knees, and I shift to keep us from touching. I break my gaze from him and notice his erection bulging inside his pants. That must've been why he was gripping his tie to hard... to try and stop himself.

  I keep my eyes on his erection. I want him to know that I've seen him come undone at this moment, just like he did at the hotel. I feel empowered.

  He flushes and takes a step back, but I reach out and stroke him through his slacks. He grunts with some hesitation, but steps forward again so he's near me. I stare up at him and his eyes are like electricity. His veins are bulging on his neck and forehead. "Does it piss you off, master? When I disobey?" I ask him, feeling myself grow stronger with each twitch of his cock underneath my hand. I push my palm hard against his crotch and try and dig my fingers around the layers of fabric, feeling the outline of his head through his clothes. He's almost too big for me to get a hold of. I feel a flood of warmth and I squeeze my thighs together to try and stave off any of my own weaknesses cracking the surface.

  He shakes his head and pulls away, pushing my hand off of him. He storms out of the room, slipping past the cameras and exiting through the door. I'm stunned and can't take my eyes from the closed door for several moments. What was that? He just stormed out? I didn't even get punished like he said I would. I'm almost disappointed.

  The lights are bright and hot. I stare at the black cameras and their glistening lenses for a moment. A cord extends from one of them and is plugged into the camera itself. I've seen those before... remote shutters. I lean down and scrape my foot against the cord and bring it closer to the lounge. When it's within reach, I pick it up and stare into the camera it's attached to. I press the shutter a half dozen times, making different faces, progressively angrier until I'm scarlet with a mixture of embarrassment, shame, and resentment. I drop the remote shutter to the ground and it clicks off once more, the light blinding me with surprise.

  There's two doors that lead out of this room, and for some reason, I can't bring myself to even look away from the one Giovanni left. I might be able to escape. Right now. This is my chance.

  I summon up some courage and stand to my feet, but my legs are weak after the adrenaline rush with the domineering photographer. I move toward the far door, and it feels like it only grows more distant with each step I take. Like it's receding into the background.

  Eventually I reach it, feeling light headed, hungry and thirsty. I haven't eaten today, but I can't worry about that right now. I pull on the knob of the white door and it clicks open.

  My heart pounds again as I pull the door and find a deep room. The only light is from the studio spilling into it. I duck my head inside and find a light-switch.

  It's a storage closet. Filled with old cameras, tripods, furniture, props, and more light fixtures. A huge storage closet. The furniture and decorations are piled in one corner of the room, and some old boxes are stacked on shelves. The lighting isn't really adequate to see very far into the back, but I'm not ready to climb over anything anyway. There aren't any windows in here, and all I might end up doing is getting trapped or injured. If I broke a leg, I'd really be fucked. It reminds me of garages stuffed full of everything but cars.

  I wander inside and let the door close behind me. I pick up one of the older cameras and handle it, feeling its heft and weight. A lens is still attached to it, but what would I even do with it? It must've cost thousands of dollars. I set the camera down and find something different: an old Polaroid. I lift it up and scrape the layer of dust off the top. Two packs of film are sitting underneath it, and I pick them up, too. I find an unused chair in a corner and sit down, holding the Polaroid and its film in my lap. I flip open the bottom of the camera and tear into the film. The deck slides into place easily and the camera snaps closed. I haven't seen one of these in years, but I still remember the one my grandma gave me for my birthday one year.

  I took a lot of photos with it, but then they stopped making the film and that was the end of that. I shouldn't be so surprised that Giovanni would have some laying around. I grip the camera and lift it to eye level, peering through the finder and taking a quick snap of the storage room. The film spins and spits out a photo immediately, which starts to darken. I shake it vigorously, encouraging the chemicals to mix more quickly. I've heard that it isn't good to shake them, but it feels so good.

  The photo develops and looks good. I smell it and feel myself taken
back. I have to keep this camera... somehow.

  I sneak back out of the storage room with it tucked under my arm, and move back to the lounge. The studio is still empty. What? Do I just have free reign of the whole house now?

  I sneak up to the door Giovanni left through and hold my ear against it, trying to listen for any movement, like if someone is just waiting for me to leave and catch me. There's no sound.

  I grab the handle and push the door open, and find the hallway deserted. Not even any servants or employees flitting back and forth. I pad down the hallway, my feet light on the carpet and hard on the stone.

  This place is way too big. Even straining to remember all the paintings and 'landmarks' that I noticed on the way into the studio, I can barely navigate my way back to the courtyard where my room is. I stop in the grand piano room and stare out the windows. This side of the house is overlooking a huge garden, completely stuffed full of fruit vines, trees,and other plants. There are some gardeners milling about, pulling weeds and tending to things, but most of it is just swamped in plant life and insects. Some birds swoop down from their nests and catch grubs.

  I'm gobsmacked. How can a man like the one that kidnapped me also have such a beautiful garden? Even if he doesn't personally work on it. I turn toward the piano and resist touching the keys. I really want to see if I remember any of my training from when I was younger and my parents forced me to take classes.

  I leave the room and pass through the next hallway, dipping through a door and finally making it back to the courtyard. As I stand on the stone floor with the Polaroid clutched in my hands, I stare across the garden at my room. Why go back to my room? I should try escaping while I can...

  I snap a photo of myself from below, making a face at the camera. The film slides out and starts developing. First, the outline of my face, then my tongue comes into view... then I drop the photograph and clutch the camera against my body. Giovanni is in the picture, and must be standing right behind me. How didn't I notice? I turn to face him, the camera digging into my ribs, and see him bristling with an energy I can't describe. He grabs my arm with nothing more than heavy breathing.