-Jaselynn-

I was blinded by a soft, corrosive light that filtered in through overly cheery pastel yellow curtains covering way to big windows with very little to light as I opened my eyes. I was sprawled out on a large bed with my wrists and ankles chained to the bed posts, a position I was all too familiar with. There was no cloth on my body, not even the sheer lace switch I’d been allowed to wear when the men in suits stalled into my room to grab me for my auction. The air in the room was chilly and dense, I couldn’t hear a sound outside of the shallow hull of my own breathing. Every part of me ached though, the fight I’d put up had sure pissed off a lot of people. Maybe this was my punishment, maybe this was the place I was going to be beaten into allegiance, made to understand, this was where my ruinment was going to take place. I laid there looking around the room, taking it in slowly. The ceiling was high and white, the walls were tall and white, the carpet was sleek and white, the bed posts were glossy and white. The entire room was a white abyss, there was no furniture besides the four poster bed I was tied too. The door, a tall metal door that didn’t fit in with the original décor of the room, glistened in the light coming from the gable windows. It was locked by a key pad, clever. But even if I could get free of the chains I could not get to it. I was too weak.

Just as I was pondering the chances of my demise to the starvation gnawing at my frame the door swung open and a girl in a cornflower blue, starchy dress and pressed white apron with a coil of golden hair sashayed in with a tray in her hands. Behind her followed a tall man in a black suit and tie, he had black hair and thick eyebrows and dark, serious, brown eyes. His chin was dotted in stubble and he had a phone pressed to his ear, the hand holding that phone had a rose tattoo on it. He mumbled something into the black phone and hung up, a slight smirk coming onto his features. “I see our house guest has awoken.” He said to the maid as she stood back, still holding the covered tray.

“Yes, sir.” She nodded.

He turned to me, approaching the bed where I lie. His fingertips reached out and touched my cheek, pausing for only a moment before sliding down the side of my neck to my collarbone. I shut my eyes tightly when I heard the all too familiar sound of a zipper coming undone and tensed from the base of my spine out. The mattress sagged as he joined me on the bed; pressure slowly applied itself to my thighs. And with a soft grunt that was almost inaudible he thrust himself into me, forcing himself so deep into my body that I could feel the zipper of his pants grind into me. Over and over again he pumped into me, cut me with his zipper, took me against my will with the strength in coiled muscles that pinned my thrashing legs down. The bed ceaselessly creaked and shuddered under the weight of his continued thrusts, the sound rocking me into the lulling verbatim world of sleep. I was too tired and too weak to fight any longer, I was too worn down to try to argue with the world I’d been forced into. Shuddering and screaming only got me hurt worse. So I laid there and zoned out, thinking back to my home. To the rose bushes I worked on so tediously and the late summer nights spent drinking in their perfume. Warm hot chocolate and my fluffy couch, the sound of the ocean crashing into shore just feet from my back yard, warm bread that I ran to the bakery for every Sunday, all the things I missed so much. And before I knew it I was crying.

“SHUT UP!” He roared and cracked his hand across my face, shaking me back into my terse reality. “Jesus Christ!” He got up and smacked me again, putting himself back in his slacks. “That little show you put on in the Hall was one thing, but crying when your master is touching you? Do you truly know nothing at all?”
I squeaked and laid there staring up at him. He paced a little, his hands clasped behind his back. “Estelle, leave us.” He said gruffly.

The maid nodded her head and scurried out of the room, the door shutting behind her. The man walked back to the bed and stared down at me, his nose wrinkling in disgust. “You had piercings.” His fingertips stroked the two dots in my left hip.

“Industrial bars sir,” I mumbled.

He nodded and unlocked my wrists from their cuffs. “Sit up.” When I complied he picked the tray up off the
shelf the girl left it on and carried it over to me. “Eat,” he commanded, removing the lid.

I stared in distaste at the sandwich, feeling the bile rise in my stomach. When all I did was sit there, hell I don’t even know how long I sat there staring at it, he got angry again. Before I knew it the sandwich was strewn all over the bed and I was cowering on my side, getting beaten. His belt cut into my skin and the buckle cracked against my flesh. Blood was sliding down my stomach and the outside of my thigh, leaking onto the bed. I sobbed and struggled against the ankle restraints, trying to get off the bed. I tried to soften his blows my covering my more sensitive spots with my hands but that only made him hit harder with the belt buckle itself. I lay there sobbing, my whole body aching. And when he was done he chained me back to the bed and struck me one last time. He walked out without a word.

---

Time was suspended in a moment of blistering pain and irrevocable heartbreak. The light had long since faded in the windows of the white room; the air was thick with silence. My sobs had long since diminished to little whimpers whenever I breathed too deeply, the raw cuts on my skin burning. Estelle had danced in and out of the room several times to check on my condition I suppose; but she hadn’t said a word to me or around me. Her nose wrinkled with distaste very casually though when she stared down at my body. I disgusted her. But let her be disgusted, let her see the monster who employed her. Eventually she came into the room and shut the door behind her, pulling a key out of the pocket of her apron. As she unlocked the cuffs around my ankles I began to ponder the possibility of kicking her, knocking her flat out and taking off. But that notion was quickly blasted away. She had concealed a handgun in the pocket of her apron, a little revolver probably. Something she could shoot quickly and effectively.

“What are you doing?” I demanded in a voice harsh and cold and raspy even to me.

“Mr. Gaskarth would like you to bathe,” she said in that crisp, persnickety tone that told me she looked down on the whole foundation of her service to me.

“I don’t care.” I said breezily, kneeing her in the side. She staggered back, holding her rib cage, her eyes wide. I had never been weak, in fact I’d been a runner and a kick boxer for a long time before I as kidnapped, however long ago that was, hell, I’d even put up a fight when they took me. I knew I probably bruised a few of her ribs, causing her enough crippling pain to back off of me for the time being. I jumped out of bed and ran for the door, stark naked and weak, stumbling more than actually running until I collided with the door. It was locked. I stood there feeling broken and pounded on the metal door, sobbing and screaming. My hand began to hurt and swell. In the background Estelle stood up and began to curse at me. Screaming, I hit the door harder.

The two of us stood in the incredibly small space for an immeasurable amount of time doing something so odd to me I almost choked on it. Estelle stood there and stared at my back, my screams echoing through the chamber. I screamed until my throat was raw. I screamed until the tears were leaking from my eyes. And then I stopped screaming. I collapsed against the door when I was drained and looked up at her, lost.

“I know.” She said finally and pulled me to my feet, shackling my wrists. “I know.”

Notes

So, I have been writing this and wondering what exactly is becoming of my sanity. But I hope its enjoyed.
-xoxo DR