car. He still isn’t here. He isn’t waiting behind me to punish me. I wonder which of the two types he’ll be. I hope it’s the second type. They’re easier to survive.
My heart slows, and my head yearns to fall against my chest. My body craves rest. But I resist. Until he comes back and gives me an order, I won’t do anything that will give him a reason to punish me.
As my heavy eyelids slowly close, I hear the door open. I lift my head to attention, my eyes staring fixedly at the floor. I can feel his eyes on me. I know he’s looking at me, maybe deciding what to do with me. But I stay still and wait for his orders.
“I need you to lie down.” I quickly obey, and fall to my side. My wrists immediately feel the comfort of the position. The heavy weight of the shackles is relieved as my body sags into the seat. The shackles don’t irritate me as much as they used to. I’ve grown used to them. But I still look forward to the relief when I’m given it. I see a movement in my periphery and I almost react. But instead I only tense slightly for the blow I’m sure is coming.
The soft fabric lays on my body in a gentle wave. I expect it to cover my head, but instead he tucks it under my chin, covering the collar. I close my eyes as it moves against my neck. The collar digs into the cut, but I don’t say anything. I don’t react. I’m not sure if he’s aware, but it doesn’t matter. I can’t do anything that would anger him.
I won’t put myself in a position to be punished. I don’t know this man, but I’d rather stay obedient than risk his irritation. I tuck up my legs, knowing he’s going to shut the door, but beyond that I make no other movements. After a moment, he stands at the door, watching me. Waiting for something; I don’t know what.
But after that long moment, he shuts the door and I finally let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. And then the driver’s side door opens and the car roars to life. I don’t know where he’s taking me and I don’t ask.
But I know they’ll be back for me. And I’ll be ready for them.
I won’t break until I’ve had my revenge.
I wake up, pinned against a rock hard chest. My eyes pop open and my breathing stalls. But I don’t move. I stay still and pretend to be asleep. I can hear his steady heartbeat and his shoes crunching on gravel. I inhale his scent and resist the urge to bury myself into his shirt. A masculine woodsy pine fills my lungs. His strong arms are wrapped around my back and under my legs. I peek past him and see nothing but a field. A flat field.
I rock in his arms as we climb up a step, one and then another, and then a door opens with a creak. We’re on a porch. There’s even a porch swing out here in the middle of fucking nowhere. He turns his body and to the left I make out what appear to be endless woods before he carries me into the house.
“I tried not to wake you.” His deep voice jolts my body slightly. I don’t know how to respond. I’m quick to answer with an apology. Apologies have never stopped the beatings in the past, but I know I have to respond. Being quiet is much, much worse than saying the wrong thing.
“I’m sorry.” I speak clearly. I know I must. When I started to pretend, when I decided submitting was the best way to survive until I had the opportunity to escape, I learned that whispers and mumbles are often accompanied by blows to the face. I’d like to avoid that as best as I can. If I can. I’m still not sure which type this man is.
He sets me down on the sofa and I’m not certain if I should lie down or sit. When I switch owners it’s the worst in the beginning. Their expectations always change. He walks across the foyer and hallway to an open living room. It adjoins a large kitchen and dining room. Modern and clean. This place is dark. It looks like it hasn’t been used in years. I settle down on my side, facing the