Lips at the shell of my ear as I lie bent over the glass, the edge cutting into my belly, gasping for breath, near tears: “To whom do you belong, X?” Each word is enunciated carefully, precisely.
“I belong to you, Caleb.” It is the raw truth, however I may feel about it.
“Whose body is this?” A slap to my backside, sharp but not precisely painful.
“Yours,” I murmur, just above a whisper.
I am pulled upright, a broad, hard palm cupping the back of my neck. Eyes bore down on me, pierce me, dark and still furious, but now fraught with glints and fractions of other unknowable emotions. Fingers delve between my legs. Swipe, smear, gather still-hot, just-spilled seed. Touch it to my tongue. I taste it, musk, tang, saltiness, my own female essence woven around the masculine. “That’s me, inside you. You taste us?”
I nod. I cannot speak.
Fingers pinch my nipple, hard. “Your sexuality belongs tome, X. No one else may even so much as fuckingsmellyou, do you understand me? You. Are.Mine.” The pinch does not subside, the pain a sharp ache making me tremble, making some part of me twist and writhe and need. I hate, hate,hatemy body for reacting thus. “Do youunderstand, X?”
“Yes.”
The pinch goes harder yet, hard enough to make me whimper. “Yes,what?”
“Yes, Caleb!” I gasp.
Fingers release my nipple, and my knees buckle with relief. I cannot stop myself from falling. Arms catch me, lift me easily. Carry me into my bedroom, settle me with exquisite gentility. Too gently. The tenderness hurts and confuses worse than the pain, worse than the demands of ownership, distress me more than the sexual dominion.
“Sleep.” It is a command.
And I . . . ?
I obey.
I wake abruptly, disoriented. My blinds are open, letting in the moonlight and the scintillating shine of countless windows from the skyline. I reach to my bedside table for the remote that lowers the blackout shade.
The remote is gone. My noise machine is gone.
My heart sinks.
I rise, still naked, and move to the window. Look up. The blackout shade is still there, installed above the window. But without the remote, there is no way to lower it.
Tears prick my eyes. This is my punishment, then. Without the curtains and the noise, how will I sleep?
I won’t, or not well.
I fight the weakness. Lie down, cover myself with the blanket, pull it over my head, attempt to sleep. But after only a few moments I feel like I’m suffocating, choking on my own hot, recycled breaths. I toss the blanket away. Stare at the ceiling.
I am awake now.
Frustrated and angry, I kick the blanket away, roll off the bed, stalk into my en suite bathroom. Turn on the shower, hot as it will go. Step in, hiss at the scalding heat. I do not lower the temperature, though. I scrub. Mercilessly, I scrub. Until my skin is red and almost bloody, I scrub. Every inch of me, as if I could scour away not just the feel of those harsh, brutal, yet sometimes tender hands, but also to scour away whatever sickness inside me causes me to react to it, to need that touch, whatever venom has poisoned me into needing that sexual domination.
If I could bleed it out, I would.
In a moment of insanity, I take the disposable razor I use to shave my legs and elsewhere. Place the blade on my upper forearm. Drag the razor sideways, and feel the sting as it slices my skin apart. Shocked by the sudden pain, I drop the razor and watch as blood wells crimson on my arm, sluices away, washed down the drain by the shower. I am fascinated by the spill of my own blood, watch it run.
But I do not attempt to cut myself again. I do not have the courage to seek that way out. I am too much a coward. I still wish to live.
And then, without warning, I am slumped on the floor of the shower and sobbing, shower water beating warm down on me,and I am racked by sobs, sobs, sobs. My fists beat at my skull. My fingers claw at my eyes, my hair.
“Fuck.” It comes out from clenched teeth.“FUCK!”I shriek it, finally, but the word emerges as a wordless wail, and even that is muffled by the sound of the shower.
It feels good to curse, though.
I find enough strength to stand, to shut off the shower, dry off, and dress in a T-shirt and panties.
