my clenched teeth. I only struggled for a moment before I gave in and gulped the broth. My lips and jaw hurt, and I knew it could get worse if I fought harder. I didn’t want worse; I wanted complacency and escape.
I thought giving in would make it better. It didn’t.
As soon as I swallowed the last of the broth, I was over his shoulder again.
“Not the shower, you son of a—”
His hand landed on my ass with a thunderous crack. I squealed and squirmed.
He deposited me in the shower and turned on the water while I was still trying to rub out the sting.
“I just bathed, asshole.”
“And spilled soup all over yourself. Wash.”
“Fuck you.”
Too angry and with my ass stinging too much to think clearly, I moved to the far corner of the shower and sat with my arms wrapped around my knees. I didn’t care about the cold water beating down on me. I knew it would warm eventually. I only cared about not giving the grey douche canoe another inch. It helped that the tile cooled the sting on my butt cheek. I hadn’t been spanked like that since I was six and got into Mom’s shaving cream. I’d made a horrible mess on the carpet with it.
“Get up and wash, Hannah.”
I looked up, water hitting my face. Through the drips, I saw him glaring at me. I returned the favor.
“You hurt me. Fey don’t hit women.”
“I didn’t hit a woman. I spanked a child. Get up.”
I knew what would happen. He’d proven himself to me already. Yet, I couldn’t stop myself from slowly giving him the one-finger salute. I was done with him trying to control me.
His chest lifted in a large inhale, and I hoped that meant I was pissing him off as much as he was me. I rescinded that thought the moment he opened the door and stepped in. My butt couldn’t take another spanking.
He had me off the floor and my shirt front full of soap before I could blink. He wasn’t nice about the scrubbing, but he wasn’t being a creeper about it, either. His touch was efficiently brief. And I fought it the whole time, hands and elbows flailing. I caught him hard enough to elicit an “oof” from him at least once before I was pinned against the cold wall, his hand buried in my hair, holding me in place.
I panted heavily. As soon as I caught my breath, I’d give him round two.
He leaned in, his mouth close to my ear.
“Pathetic and weak, Hannah. That’s why you’ll never leave this room.”
Fire ignited in my soul. Forgetting about a break, I struggled in his hold. His chest pressed against my back, and I felt it vibrate with his mirth.
“Stay in your wet clothes or change. It’s up to you. They’re clean again.”
Just as swiftly as he’d entered, he was gone.
It took every ounce of willpower to stay upright. Fighting Merdon had drained me beyond what I’d thought was possible. My legs felt like jelly and almost gave out when I peeled myself from the wall.
As I shed my wet clothes, I wondered if my act of defiance had proven anything more than he truly did control me. Bitterly, I faced the mirror. My skin was pink. Whether from the manhandling or the hot water, I couldn’t be sure. What I’d hope to find was absent. Not a single bruising mark marred my skin. I couldn’t understand how when all of me ached.
Taking a towel, I repeated the process of drying my hair for the second time that day. Nothing was working. I couldn’t talk to Emily. I couldn’t prove I was fine. I’d be stuck in this room forever. Why? What was the point of all of this? If Emily cared, she wouldn’t have sicced her guard dog on me. There was no way she couldn’t hear what he was doing to me. That she was okay with all of it spoke volumes. It also meant I needed to think of another way out.
I just didn’t have the energy to come up with a single, useful thought. Even lifting my arms to scrunch my hair in the towel was too much. Letting the towel drop to the floor, I looked at my curls that were more frizz than spiraled. I remembered how much I’d hated frizz. It was an old emotion, one that didn’t matter anymore, like so many others.
Completely naked and uncaring, I gave the mirror my back