Dark Exposure

by Amy Isan

  My jaw drops and my eyes widen. Too much exhaustion, hunger, and sexual tension. I can't contain it. Before I can even try and cover my mouth to stop the words from spilling out, I ask, "What the fuck am I doing here?"

  He stares at me, clearly stunned that I'm questioning him. Probably especially after being so obedient. It makes me sick, how my stomach knots when his eyes meet mine. How his hands feel stroking my shoulders. How he smells and tastes. "You wanted to be a model, didn't you?"

  "Bullshit," I say, pushing forward through my frustration. "You said that in the hotel, then the next thing I know I'm in fucking Italy!"

  "Mind your tongue, Lily, or I might just have to —,"

  "— To what? Get rough with me? Punish me? I don't even know if I'm a prisoner anymore! You're having people tell me you don't want to see me, then when you do, you kiss me! I wander around the house with no one to talk to, and nothing to eat. At least when I'm cuffed to my bed I know what I am to you — just a prisoner for your desire. Now I feel like something else, I don't even know."

  He's silent, but his lips grow thin as he sucks in his breath. He's finished dressing and as I catch my breath and try to gather my thoughts, he approaches me. I swing my arms to try and keep him away. "Stop! I'm sick of the games, Giovanni! Answer me! Why the fuck did you bring me here?"

  Giovanni sighs heavily and looks past me, or rather, right through me. I try and hold his gaze but it's impossible. He runs his finger through his hair to fix it, and then looks back at me.

  "I brought you here to test you. To see if you have that spark of life. That vibrancy... some might call it... a soul."

  "A soul?" What's he talking about? I don't have a soul? Doesn't everyone...?

  "Yes, Lily. A soul. To capture that flame of life," he extends his hand and spreads his fingers out like a tiny explosion. "I caught it long ago, when I first started taking pictures, with that very camera." He points at the Polaroid. "But I never saw it again. Despite my years of work for magazines, newspapers, and clients, I have yet to find that spark again. I'm convinced, a woman has to be near breaking point, near the very edge of her existence, to reveal that ember to my camera. That's what I've been working to achieve all this time. But I'm starting to see that Monica was right about you — you're too wild. Too untamable. I haven't been able to break you."

  My jaw drops but I can't move or say a word in response.

  "I've seen it. That flame in your eye when I get close. It's the thing I've been looking for. But every time I catch a glimpse of it, you shut it off, like a burner losing its fuel."

  "Why do you think I fucking do that?" I lash out at him. "Because I'm in a psychopath's house, who is trying to literally break me, like I'm some kind of horse!"

  His voice hardens and his eyes narrow on me. "Careful, Lily. We wouldn't want to make you wilt too soon." He leans into the closet and pulls out a pair of handcuffs. "Let's find out if you still have that conviction in a minute."

  "You said I could leave after I sucked you off."

  "Yes, I did," he says, approaching me. "That was before your little outburst. Your little vent. Do you feel better? I have a feeling I'm going to feel better very soon." He grabs my wrist before I can move for the door and latches a cuff on me. It must've been hidden in his closet. I try and fight back, but he's already dragged me to the post of the bed and latched the other half of the handcuffs to the bed. I stare at the post and then at him. It feels like boiling water is running through my veins. My face sears with anger.

  "Let me go already! You're fucking crazy!"

  "Am I?" Giovanni says cooly. "Then why do you enjoy touching me so much?"

  "I don't! I fucking am revolted by it. Every time I'm near you, I feel like I'm going to throw up. I don't know where you got the idea that I enjoy it."

  He grabs my face and squeezes my cheeks together and forces me to look at him. His breath is hot on my face, and it rises up to my forehead. "Your eyes. Every time I see you."

  He pushes my face away in disgust and turns from me. "You can think about what you've done while I go into town."

  "Into town?" I cry. "For how long!"

  "I hope you've thought about your inner demons by the time I get back. Whatever keeps stealing that flame. I'll have someone bring you some food to make sure you don't wilt."

  I quit. My body is too exhausted and the mere mention of food is enough to make me collapse. I sit on the bed again and try to lie down, but I can't. My one hand is bound too high on the post, so I can only sit uncomfortably and at a weird angle. He gives me a grim look before closing his door. I can hear his feet on the carpet, and I really wish... I hadn't said anything.

  More fucking chains. More wooden posts. He would have something like this in his room. The twisted bastard.

  He's a god damn monster. I should only feel hatred and disgust for him. So why won't my heart stop racing?

  CHAPTER 8

  After a couple of hours two servants come into Giovanni's bedroom. They both glare at me and mutter something to each other I can't understand, and leave two small trays of food on the bed. After drooling over the steak and peas, I realize I'm gonna have a hard time to even eat anything.

  Since Giovanni locked up my dominate hand, I'm forced to lean over awkwardly and try to eat with my right hand. Peas stumble onto the mattress, and the steak is difficult to cut with just a fork. Fuck it. I pick up the steak and start tearing off chunks with my teeth. Each bite is more satisfying than the last.

  I manage to eat most of what didn't fall to the floor. I'm sure he'll be really excited when he sees the mess I made. Like it isn't his fault or something.

  Water. I need some god damn water. I stare into the open bathroom and ache for the chance to lean my head under a faucet and lap up the cold water like a cat.

  I stare up at the cuffs holding me to the bed and look if there's a way to get the cuff over the top of the post. Of course there isn't. The metal brace is attached to a ring, not the actual wooden post. God dammit. I'm sure he had slip ups before, when he was less experienced with... kidnapping? Model shopping? I don't even know what to call it.

  I lick my parched lips and stare at the bedroom door, leaning forward and straining my imprisoned arm to try and hear out into the hallway. Maybe the servants just forgot to bring me water, and someone is on their way right now? Otherwise... I guess I'll have to wait for Giovanni to return and release me.

  Is that how I really feel? That he'll just release me? After all the teasing and grinding and back and forth, the thought of him doing any more makes my heart pound in my ribcage like an animal, and I just wish I could stop letting these thoughts get to me. He doesn't make me want to vomit, but I wish he did.

  Footsteps sound down the hall, the click-clack of heels on stone. Once they hit the carpet in front of Giovanni's room, the sound is muffled. I can't think of any of the servants I've seen wearing heels...

  The knob turns and Monica walks into the room. I lean back and try to not look pitiful. She gives me a fake smile and closes the door behind her. She's the last person I want to see right now.

  "What do you want?" I ask.

  "Just seeing what Giovanni did to you this time... since you were misbehaving."

  "It was your fault," I mutter. I yank on my chain and the metal cuff digs into my already bruised wrist. "He never called for me at all."

  "Oh? I guess I must have misheard him," she says, while walking over to the bed. She runs her finger along one of the bed posts next to me and smiles with light amusement. "What did you catch him doing?" Her eyes light up when she looks at me again.

  "Showering."

  "How'd he punish you?"

  Turning my eyes toward the back of the room, I keep my mouth shut. I don't want to even think about it, let alone talk about it. She grins wickedly and comes closer to me. "Did you suck his cock, sweet princess?" She grabs my face and forces me to look at her. Or she's gauging my reaction. I flush. "I thought so. He always does."

  "
Always does what? Makes everyone suck his cock?"

  "You haven't realized it yet?" Monica says, a slight laugh in her throat. Fingernails on a chalkboard to me.

  "I haven't had time to realize shit, lady," I groan, licking my lips and trying to keep my voice from going hoarse. "If you haven't noticed, I'm usually locked up."

  "We all were at one point," she says. "Haven't you wondered why all the servants and maids and gardeners are women?"

  "Cause he's a sick fuck that likes having a lot of women around?" I say the words, but I already realize where she's going. The jealousy, the spiteful looks in their eyes, the aggression they show to me for no reason at all.

  She chuckles a little. "He tested all of us, and we all failed."

  All those women... have endured what I have, and the only thing they got in return was being a disappointment. "Why aren't you cleaning up around here then?" I gesture toward the bathroom with my free hand. "I'm sure there are some puddles Giovanni left from his shower." I look at the floor near the closet, "Or maybe some cum that dripped off my chin. You could go lap up either spill if you'd like."

  She doesn't flinch. "I'm freed of those duties because I have to manage all the others, and soon, I'll manage you, too."

  "How do you know that?"

  "Giovanni is very predictable," she begins. I already want to slap her across the face. "He always brings new girls home, usually brunettes, then after a week or two, they show up cooking in the kitchen. Then they slowly adapt to their new lifestyle."

  "The prison lifestyle isn't for me."

  "It isn't prison," she says. She sits down in a chair near the door and crosses her legs. "It's freedom from his tests. It's not being chained up at night. It's not being constantly probed and asked questions."

  "That's what you call freedom?" I just stare at her, dumbfounded.

  "You'll see soon enough. In a week or two, you'll be begging Giovanni to let you stay with him, to service him instead of service the house. He'll decline, and you won't be invited into his room any longer. The best part is, I'll make sure you get the worst of the work."

  "Why!" I want to crumble. I wish I could lie down and just shut my eyes, but it's impossible with how I'm restrained. "Why me? Why do you fucking hate me so much?"

  "Because," she says, rising from her seat and approaching me. I want to push her away, but she anticipates my movement and knocks my hand back. Her rings bash my knuckles and I hold back a startled cry. "You replaced me. I was going to be the one to satisfy him. I was the longest he kept around, then the next thing I know, he just left." She arches an eyebrow. "It was a day like today, really, when he left me tied up in his room. The next time I saw him, he had just thrown you into your room."

  "You think... Do you think I wanted this? I begged for this? That I went to him and said, 'please make me your slave, that'd be grand.'"

  She slaps me across the face, knocking my head sideways and against the hard bed post. I lift my eyes, stunned and gaping, and look at her. Her eyes are boiling and could just pop out of her head. Her forehead is red and the hand she just slapped me with is now curled into a jeweled-fist. I brace myself for another hit by squeezing my eyes shut and tucking my chin against my chest.

  "The greatest honor is to be that man's slave, Lily. I'm sure you'll appreciate that one day. When you're downstairs making sure the potatoes boil properly, you'll wish that he had chosen you, that you were good enough. You'll die thinking about him with other women. You'll scream that he's taken another into his studio. That you meant nothing, despite what you might think."

  I raise my face to her and shake my head, pursing my lips. "You're wrong. I won't be like you. I won't be a narcissistic bitch. Why else would he reject you?"

  She raises her fist and I flinch, which makes her laughter ring out again. That grating ca-caw of a voice driving me mad. She silently moves back to his door and opens it. With her hand on the knob, she turns to me and says one last thing, "That's what I said to the last servant who tried to warn me, before I ended up in the kitchens. The cycle always repeats itself." Then she's gone.

  I breathe a sigh of relief. My face stings from her slap, and my knuckles are cut up from her rings. I can't decide if she's a bigger pain in the ass than Giovanni. At least I know how I stand with her. Full of hate and anger.

  Giovanni is another matter entirely.

  — — —

  Finally, after what feels like years, Giovanni comes back. His return isn't grand or celebratory, but quiet. By the time I feel the rush of wind and smell his cologne in the air, he's already inside the room. I must've dozed off or something, since Monica's heels were louder than him opening the door.

  I try and read his face, but I can't. I raise my head up from my bizarre sleeping position and look at him. He wrings his hands together and shakes his head. How long has it been? A couple of hours?

  My mouth is sour like I've sucked on too many candies. It smacks when I open it, and as I shift to look at him and say something, I notice my left arm is numb. I look at it and it's tinged a blue hue, the wrist twisted in the cuff wrong. Pain shoots through my shoulder like a hot knife.

  "Jesus Christ," I breathe as I sit upright and fret over my arm. Is it fucking dead? Did he kill my arm?

  He walks up to me, his crotch right at my eye level. My eyes wander up his body and to his face. Those clouds are covering the sea in his eyes, like a storm on the horizon. I can't even feel his gaze on me. "My arm... Master," I say. I point at it and try and shake it with my free hand, but it feels even worse when I do that. At this point, pins and needles would be an acceptable trade for what I'm experiencing.

  "Sir?" I ask, still waiting for something from him. He's still distant, like he's trying to look at something behind me... or inside me. "Please..."

  "Have you thought about what you did?" he asks, as if I've said nothing since he walked in. I gawk at him and knit my brow.

  "Yes, Master."

  He looks at my blue arm and touches it. "Looks like you're wilting," he comments. It sounds more like he's talking to himself than me. He produces a key from his pocket and slides it into the cuff, unlocking it. My left arm drops free and bounces against the bed, and I still can't move it at all. He grabs my left wrist and lowers it between my legs. "Leave it there."

  I obey him. As the blood flows back into the arm, it feels like it's being lacerated. Like knives twisting in my skin. It's enough to make me bite my tongue.

  Giovanni moves into the bathroom and the tap is turned on and off. He returns with a glass of water and hands it to me. Instinctively, I try and take it with my left hand, but it doesn't move, and just trying to lift it makes it hurt all the more. After a second of wincing, he puts the glass into my right hand and watches me drink the whole thing. Water dribbles down my chin and onto my lap, making me look like a kid with a garden hose. I can't be that mad, because right now he's my fucking hero. I hand the glass back to him, and he fills it again before returning to me.

  I down it as well and feel a little less parched. The pain in my arm subsides and it's a deep red now, like sandpaper has worn it down and made it raw.

  "That'll pass in a couple of hours," he says, which makes me tear my eyes from it and look up at him.

  "What were you doing? You were gone forever..." I mutter under my breath. His eyes pierce me as he clasps his hands together. I add, under my breath, "sir."

  "That's better," he strokes my face and I want to bite his hand and nudge my cheek into it at the same time. I'm sitting on the bed, unrestrained, and I have no desire to move. He's pacing back and forth from the closet to the bathroom. "It wasn't that long, maybe three hours."

  I want to say, 'try sitting three hours with your arm bound above your head,' but I imagine that won't go over well. I don't want to endure it again. My arm throbs with each beat of my heart, and whenever he paces near me, it races.

  "Were you looking for new models, Master?" I ask, trying to seem genuine. I don't want him to think I know Mon
ica talked to me. If I'm casual enough, maybe he'll think I'm just trying to make conversation.

  He stops pacing abruptly and looks at me with a puzzled look. "Why would you say that?" He tilts his head, and an expression flickers across his face that I don't quite catch.

  "It's just..." He's closer to me now, and his scent is getting to me. I gulp down the lump rising in my throat. "We only did the one shoot... and you keep telling me I'm no good."

  "That's what you think I've been saying?" His puzzled expression melts away and he rubs his forehead. "No. You just need more work than I expected. When I saw you at the casino... you seemed like you had it inside you, but I didn't expect it to be so locked away."

  I keep silent and wait for more. He shakes his head and chuckles a little, that deep growl rising from his throat and making me tighten my thighs together to try and hide my arousal. He scratches his chin and looks over me, studying me like a painting. I blush and avert my eyes from his.

  "Yes... I'll have to think of some new things. I think we're close though." A cold chill runs up my back. Close to what?

  "What do you mean, sir?"

  "To being the woman I've been looking for my whole life."

  I shake my head and don't meet his eyes. "I don't think I'm who you think I am."

  "Oh," he says, as he sits down next to me. The bed sinks a little. His hand touches my thigh and my breath stops in my throat. "But you are, Lily. I have plans in store for you. Lots of money is riding on finding just the right model, or my entire career and reputation will go up in flames. A lot of important people are waiting for me to start working again."

  He grips my thigh and brushes my leg toward my knee. I stare at him. "Bullshit."

  Without warning, Giovanni slaps my thigh, making me yelp. "You're misbehaving again, Lily, don't make me take you back to your room."