Captive in the Dark(29)

The farther Caleb progressed down the road, the less he heard the crickets and his steps, until finally they were completely drowned out by music and noise. The bar in this piece of shit town was indeed open. Caleb’s mouth tilted up in the corners.



SIX

It was raining outside. I could hear it. Taking a deep breath, I slowly opened my eyes, forgetting for a moment where I was, but then the sadness set in. I didn’t exactly know what day it was. He kept me in the dark, always, with only the nightlights to guide my way around the room. I didn’t know why he did things this way. If it was to disorient me, it was working. I never realized how the inability to account for time could wreak havoc on ones grasp of reality. It was easy to get lost in the endless dark and passing hours.

I thought a lot about home, about my mother and what she may or may not be going through.

Perhaps she was sorry for all the times she never told me she loved me. Perhaps she regretted never giving me those hugs I had needed so desperately. Now it was too late. I wondered if they had any idea where I might be or if the police had already told my mother hopes of finding me were gone. I counted the days by inspecting my meals. I had eaten six breakfasts so far. I wanted to go home.

The day, hours, whatever length of time had passed after that first beating had created a shift in the relationship between my captor and me. While I slept, he had made himself the master of my fate, and I could do nothing but allow it. I opened my eyes that next day and he was just coming into my room with the jar of cold cream he had used on me after my punishment. His face had been more serious. Devoid of the constant hint of his smile. I had known instantly not to test his patience.

I had slept on my stomach, exactly as he had left me, without the strength or desire to move.

My skin, from shoulder to ankle, and across my backside especially, felt painfully tight and itchy. Whenever I moved my head, my shoulders burned and ached. It was a pain that extended all the way down my legs.

He had stood above me next to the bed, breathing deeply and exhaling slowly. I wondered if he felt any shame over what he had done to me. “Can you get up?” he inquired. His voice sounded detached, unconcerned with my answer.

“I don’t think so,” I’d croaked, eyes stinging with tears. “But I hurt Master.” I’d kept my head down, hoping he understood how difficult it had just been for me to address him as he wished.

His voice had lowered, grown softer, “I bet it does, but look what it’s done for your manners.” I’d clenched my jaw, saying nothing.

Now, all these days later, I both dreaded and eagerly anticipated his company, if for no other reason than I loathed my solitude and the dark.

I slid out of bed and for the first time in a few days didn’t feel that horrible stinging pain. I stood up carefully, muscles contracting tightly and resisting. I winced, pain echoing through me.

The days, I don’t know exactly how many, perhaps three, following that first horrid encounter I’d spent lying on my stomach with Caleb at my side. He had helped me get up when I needed to use the restroom, denying me privacy under the guise of helpfulness. He’d bathed me, fed me, and placed each piece of food on my lips for me to take carefully from his hand. I felt like a doll at times. When I resisted or showed hesitation, his bare palm slapping against my raw backside became encouragement enough to obey. Surrendering my will, that was the price I paid.

Cold cream was applied to my skin at least twice a day and it always stirred the strangest emotions in me. He touched me while he rubbed the cream in. Though he tried to make it seem casual, to me it felt specific, calculated. He would start at my ankles, which usually made me bite my lip from the pure ecstasy of it. I’d never had anyone massage me before and I had never Captive in the Dark CJ Roberts known my ankles to need so much attention. When he touched me, he made things feel better that I wasn’t aware felt so bad. I lay perfectly still, trying as hard as I could, not to give him any indication that his ministrations made me heady. Then he would grab hold of my calves and knead his fingers into my flesh until I let out a long, low, sigh into my pillow. He always somehow managed to pry my legs ever so slightly apart, rubbing so close to my nether regions I struggled not to yell, ‘Stop!’ He did, however, speak to me whenever he massaged my buttocks. I think it thrilled him to absolutely no end to make me uncomfortable. One day it was made all the worse for his incessant questioning.

“So you’ve never been with a man.” This was more of a statement and less of a question, as if he were speaking of things he already knew. I wondered how I made the fact so obvious.