Do not tell him what I told you. Please.
In a blizzard so grand and devouring, I cannot say much. I am confused and bedridden. This is not a choice and not something I did consent to, rather something I was forced into with no forewarning.
I am not sick, I am not crazy.
The leather cuffs are soft but snug, tugging at my wrists and ankles as I lay in this bed, waiting for him to come back. There is a breeze coming in from the broken window in the top left corner of the far most wall. Every so often, the breeze will blow in a bittersweet fashion, allowing minute frozen glitters to break in and bring the temperature of this tundra a few degrees lower. In a way, I should be thankful that there is a crack from which I can still see the outside world; but then I think of the incident of how that fracture came to be, and how I lost my only light source given in a frail attempt to escape. And the grave punishment that followed.
I am scared.
As this endless day before me comes to a close, and night slowly descends on me, I am growing with fear. I have always been petrified of the dark. I was always afraid of the evil that was lurking in the shadows that I could not control. I was never much of a fighter, for the thought of violence is so unsettling. The thought that someone could inflict such horror to an innocent creature is equally disturbing. So, maybe… I am not innocent.
I am awoken by the echo of a door being slammed shut somewhere upstairs.
Oh gosh. It’s him.
The fear is revived and panic floods my veins into every system of my being.
Maybe he won’t come down here. Even if he does, he might not use me today.
The hunger and fatigue are forgotten as every sense is heighted, completely unaware and terrified at what might happen. I feel the contact of my bare skin lying flat on the mattress; my weakened limbs restrained to the bedposts with leather cuffs that seem to grow tighter and tighter; the odd, thick, black leather collar he forces me to wear for his enjoyment and my discomfort. He only comes down into this cell for three things: the rare times he allows me to eat, his way of taking out his anger in beating my flesh, or for using my meager body to pleasure himself.
Don’t think about it.
As the seconds that seem like hours pass, I feel a glimpse of hope that he might not come, and I won’t have to endure any more pain today. Almost as soon as the hope grows, I hear the familiar sound of furniture being moved. The sound stops, the keys are hurriedly placed into the lock, the knob turns.
I hear his heavy footsteps slowly make their way down the staircase, the wooden planks crying as the weight is placed and released. I feel my eyes widen, focusing intently on the door that houses all the marks that caused my frail fingers to bleed for days- the reason I have to be tied to this bed when he is not here. My breathing has stopped altogether. The steps sound closer, no doubt a few arms’ lengths from the door. The steps come to a halt. In this ominous silence, I can hear his hand being placed on the knob that will allow entrance into this room; the entrance that will allow him to inflict whatever harm he deems fit.
The knob turns. He slowly pushes the door open, allowing some light from the staircase to haunt the room before he turns off the switch, and leaves me in the dark again.
“Hello there, kitten. I come to bring you a treat.” He says in a raspy voice.
He only calls you “kitten” in one context. “Treats” benefit you at first, but ultimately only benefit him.
He grants himself permission to enter, closing the door with one hand with a large paper bag in the other. Slowly, he makes his way to the left side of the room and places the bag on a small, semi-broken stool. He turns to face me, eyes examining my nude body that lies before him. He enjoys seeing me like this: helpless, restrained, submissive. The only difference is that I was not willing, oh no, I did not want this. But after being injected with things to stop me from moving, and a long beating after I could feel again, I could not refuse him.
No, not that look.
He comes toward me and stops at the foot of the bed. He slowly reaches for my ankle, just above the leather cuff, and slowly feels up my leg until he reaches the top of my thigh.
“I have a special surprise for you, kitten.” He whispers, slowly leaning over me. He kisses my hip.
What is he doing?! He’s never done this!
“W-what is it, sir?” I say in a small voice. My fear is keeping me from managing anything louder. I am so incredibly confused. He reaches for the cuffs on my ankles.
“Well, you’ve been a good girl,” he starts, playing with the straps that lock my cuffs in place, “but I am in a very bad mood, and you know what that means,”- I know exactly what that means- “and since it may be a bit more intense than what you’re used to, I figured you should get a little treat to get you through it.” He finishes with a small, malicious grin.
Oh gosh, “more intense”?!
He lets go of the cuffs and goes back to the stool. He reaches inside the paper bag and pulls out a lunchbox and a fork. Placing them next to bag, he comes toward me again. He reaches for one of the cuffs.
“For you to enjoy this treat, I’m going to have to take these off.” He says with a warning, “I can trust you to handle that, right?” this time with an underlying threat wrapped in his words.
“Yes, sir,” I say, a little too excited. It has been days since I have been released for more than ten minutes- weeks, even. I’m not too sure. He finishes taking one off then reaches for the other. One strap undone, then the second, then the last. He pulls apart the leather. Grabbing both my ankles together so my feet are touching, him now kneeling on the bed, he pushes my ankles up so my knees are to my chest.
“But before I give you your treat,” –oh no- “I need to use you for a bit.”
He unzips his pants, pulling them down slightly. Lined up to my entrance, he forces himself into me.
This is all you’re good for.