A/N: So yeah, not sure how - since I'm a wimp about posting anything - but this sorta happened. This was my entry for the Control. Possess. Seduce. Contest. A different take on taking/ losing control, something a little uncomfortable or downright creepy at times, but hopefully a bit steamy too. I'm deeply thankful for everyone who read, reviewed and (perhaps) voted for this story, as well for the wonderful hosts for letting me take part of this exciting ride. There's a reference to the movie Her from director Spike Jonze (2013), and I may or may not have stolen a line or two from it. Because of the O/S length I'll be splitting this into 5 chapters. Hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: The author does not own any publicly recognizable characters herein. No copyright infringement is intended.
THE ROOM
Day 1
The morning sun slanted through the windshield, its incessant and bright rays pointed like sharp knives, turning what could've been a wonderful day into an unsettling sense of judgment in the pit of her stomach. Bella's eyes flickered against its brilliance, her face contorted in a mixture of discomfort and concentration, trying to handle the steering wheel and glance at a small piece of paper at the same time. Discarding the scribbled address on her lap, she ducked her head slightly to avoid the unpleasant glare of the sun, finally spotting an empty space on the far left side in the parking lot.
Once parked, she wouldn't spend much time stalling the inevitable with a quick touch up on the bare minimum make-up she wore for this, or even linger with a new round of doubts and self-assurances. She quickly pushed herself off the car, rounded it in busy steps and pulled out from the passenger seat a brown-leather duffel bag, its luster long ago faded away in its twenty-something years of usage through two generations. Her face bore the expression of one who was moments away from taking a major final test or just about to get its results, where a deceptive blankness tries to deliver a sense of conviction, masking what she couldn't quite fool if someone were to now listen the way her heart hammered in her chest, or how subtly she had to rub away the sweat from her hands against her black jeans.
There's one tiny moment where Bella allowed herself to stop and sigh her hesitation; something that from an outward perspective could've been perceived as her trying to get her bearings on this strange place, as her eyes moved aimlessly around the lot until fixating on a specific building behind her. But the history on her laptop could've easily told anyone just how long she had been playing around on Google Maps, studying every possible route she could've taken to get from her apartment to this nondescript warehouse, a place she knew she would be expected at 8:30 AM on this particular Sunday morning.
With still no glimpse of a second thought she pushed herself forward, high boots clicking on the concrete sidewalk that led her way to a set of sliding doors; her head miles away on the starting point of this event, when an almost overlooked letter fell from her mailbox and into her hands three weeks ago. One she almost had thrown away with the advertising leaflets, were it not for her written name done in perfect cursive and a clear stamp from Washington State University.
A beautiful blonde met her on the other side of those glass doors in what could've passed as any doctor's office reception area, her shiny short bob almost angel-like due to the fake bright lights that shone upon her. Bella made her way to her desk, introduced herself and promptly waited for the other woman's recognition. She would describe in a later moment how this all felt surreal, like an out of body experience. How everything in the receptionist's demeanor and looks seemed to reek of something overly polished, from her perfect set of white teeth down to her manners, and how even the sweetness of her words alluded to an annoying sense of comfortable belonging to this place and this particular role she was given. She was clearly in her element, but this glowing aura of effortless deportment only grated more on Bella's already frayed nerves, so in consequence she made herself shut down and listlessly followed on the blonde's orientations.
Papers were handed back and forth, words she should've read thoroughly but were passed through diagonally instead. The attention wasn't neglected by the receptionist though, and with a small smile and apologetic, "I'm sorry. It's the standard procedure," her duffel bag and its contents were examined with the fastidiousness of a TSA security officer. She was shown next to a small locker room where she was instructed to leave all the forbidden objects behind, and that with no small amount of trepidation, Bella saw herself handing her last possible connection with the outside world.
An immediate feeling of bareness seemed to fall upon her when her smartphone found its metal prison, but as she retreated her steps back to the waiting area and was politely instructed to take a seat and wait for further instructions, she couldn't deny the sense of liberation that kept growing on her with the prospect of being finally, at once, in complete and total silence. But as her eyes turned and fixed themselves into a sturdy looking white door she hadn't yet gone through, she finally acknowledged the daunting impression of unpreparedness she felt for what was about to take place.
Not even in her wildest dreams would she have guessed the contents of that letter, but a particularly wearying day at work at the end of an even more tiring week made Bella that much more susceptible to read through the formal invitation of one Dr. Banner, some kind of Principal Investigator for the University's Psychology Department, and unthinkably accept his offer. And because this was no vacation and she certainly wasn't checking into some kind of weird hotel, she, Isabella Marie Swan, was now about to be submitted to a week-long trial inside a closed bedroom. If the outside world wasn't a fucked up enough place for judging its people... No way, because she so happened to be the current subject for an even more excruciating analysis on every single move she would make for the coming days, and under the constant, unseeable, judging eye of some academic twat who thought she'd be ideal for this.
If that thought wasn't preposterous or depressing enough, the shrill ring of the front desk's phone and the short conversation which followed, made Bella that much more aware of how much she was now truly dreading the simple fact of being stuck in that room, dependent on someone she wouldn't even get to see, and being scrutinized for everything she'd do. But when she met the receptionist's regarding eyes, Bella's nerves didn't betray her and her blank mask was still in place. With polished words that somehow still irked her, she accepted her fate and took hold of her duffel bag, finally walking those few steps towards the white door.
Her hand on the golden-leafed doorknob and a lead weight tumbling in her stomach, she faintly heard the blonde's last words before stepping inside the room.
"Dr. E will get to you in a moment, Miss Swan. Have a wonderful time."
Bella couldn't help the sarcastic snigger which followed the blonde's sickeningly sweet words, as she walked forward and found herself inside what immediately felt like a typical hotel bedroom – a room which felt almost twice as big as her cozy first apartment out of college. Her eyes swept around it, taking stock in what would now be, for all intents and purposes, her own house. But the soft pop of the swaying door as it shut, followed by the deafening and unmistakable sound of an automated lock being activated, made her straighten her back in one fell swoop. A long breath expelled from her lips afterwards. Only she didn't know yet if it was in relief or resignation.
- TR -
A wall of machines and monitors came to life as the motion detectors sensed the first stirrings of movement inside the room. Rocking his ergonomic office chair from side to side in a leisurely rhythm, Dr. Edward Cullen watched with a sense of almost eagerness in his eyes as his new subject came on the screen in full view, with sure footsteps that were immediately betrayed by those big brown eyes that couldn't quite conceal the apprehension which grew inside her.
He was certain her bravery was nothing but a façade now; her stubborn streak which refused to allow others to see her vulnerable side. But he also knew that soon those walls would be crumbling down like a wobbly stack of cards displayed in a pyramid, exposing every single detail, every little flaw, every minuscule thought she was now fighting so hard to keep guarded. For him, this was nothing but a waiting game. And as he saw her startle with the closing door, yes, Edward couldn't deny the thrill which ran through his veins like static electricity.
Squashing down the part of him screaming out his present unethical conduct, for a moment Edward let his thoughts run wild and carelessly with a feeling of wicked accomplishment, at seeing his prey so fully exposed in front of him. It certainly didn't hurt having Dr. Banner so far removed from this specific trial, as the old fart had been spending most of his days schmoozing, wining and dining his research donors. Lit only by the big screen he faced, Edward pushed himself forward and scrolled through the dials, zooming in on her as she stood still and shy by the front door, her eyes indecisive as they roamed around the bedroom.
He knew he should be jotting down the first impressions of her initial reactions upon her entrance, but something kept him rooted to that chair, glued to that screen. Previous experience taught Edward no one's reaction was the same. Where some went straight for the obvious and tried to spot every camera inside the room and learn their nonexistent blindspots, and others felt immediately compelled to check the bed for its firmness or the bathroom for its cleanliness; there were others who, faced with the daunting knowledge of being watched, kept grounded to the very same spot for long periods of time, too afraid to give away even the smallest of flinches. But that wasn't the case with Isabella Swan.
It wasn't by chance they had aptly named this part of the trial Adaptation Phase. Her facial expressions might be showing some sort of hesitation, but it wasn't born out of a basic instinct like fear. No, she didn't trust her environment yet. She was too wary of its multiple eyes and staged decor to allow herself some sense of comfortable display. Isabella might've been a novice to this kind of setting, but she wouldn't be letting go of her defenses that easily. Of that, Edward was positive.
With bright fascination in his hungry green eyes, he watched as she thawed out of her statue-like position and started to move, her duffel bag sliding off her shoulder and discarded in a haphazard gesture to the carpeted floor. She walked ever so slowly to his wall, right in front a set of drawers and a wide vanity mirror. But he wasn't that fazed by her sudden, unknown proximity to him, and instead of changing his screen view to the appropriate camera, Edward kicked his legs back and stood up from his chair, moving with greedy, predatory steps toward the one-way mirror.
Folding his arms across his chest, his eyes narrowed as he took her in. Her petite form, the delicate features of her doll-shaped face and the small smattering of freckles across the bridge of her small nose all seemed to highlight her waifish looks. She's a beauty for sure, he thought. Edward saw her own brown eyes squinting with suspicion as she faced the mirror, probably already deducing its double intention; whether it was from one too many detective shows watched or rather from being a police officer's daughter, he didn't know. But he couldn't help the crooked smile which formed on his obscured features.
Ready to start the show, he stepped back and took hold of his wireless headphones, sliding them over his head and adjusting the attached microphone closer to his mouth. Taking a seat on his chair again, he changed the camera view, just in time to watch as her hand raised to touch the mirror.
"Oh, my little lamb," he whispered with an affectionate smile.
Unfortunately, Isabella Swan would never know how detrimental he had been for her current situation, because Edward might've once watched her from afar, too chicken shit to make his move. But now here, in his domain, she'd finally be his – and only his – to play with.
- TR -
"Good morning, Isabella."
A startled yelp broke through the room, with Bella instinctively jumping backwards and landing clumsily on her ass on the bed, her wild eyes scanning her surroundings.
"Fuck! Where–"
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you," the male voice cut through before she could register that no one was really physically inside the room with her. "I'm Dr.E, Dr. Banner's associate in the Psychology Lab. I'll be running this trial with you for the next few days."
"It's okay," she mumbled, feeling her cheeks hot with embarrassment.
Although her brain couldn't have disagreed more because it's most certainly not okay to scare someone like this. Not even if you had a voice as smooth and rich as sin itself. A voice which sounded much younger than she'd been expecting. But he kept on with no further introductions and only following with business-like words, all steel and blunt and no place for comic relief. It annoyed her, but she swallowed down the bitterness he'd inspired and heard what he had to say.
"As I'm now also your only means of communication with the outside, I'll ask you to direct any form of verbal speech to me. If for any reason you're not feeling well or just wish to pose a pertinent question – I repeat, direct it to me. For your own safety and care, don't try to hide your concerns. Am I clear, Isabella?"
She's not sure if he heard the small waver on her mousy little "yes," for he certainly didn't want to waste time with other words from her.
"Great. First, let me start by thanking you for your collaboration. I've been reading through your file, and it seems it will be the first time you're doing something like this. Please don't let that fact overwhelm you. I assure you this will be conducted with the utmost professionalism and confidentiality.
"As you know by now, this clinical trial aims to find patterns in individual behavior within the four walls of a bedroom. For more accurate results, this room was modified to resemble the average bedroom of an American single female, full-time worker within the age group of 25-34. Also, the room benefits from all the usual features you'll find in a standard home, which will guarantee your own comfort and safety for the duration of this experience. Such amenities include a completely furnished ensuite with a queen size bed and bedside table, a chest of drawers and cupboard area, including a mini fridge and a small pantry with your afore chosen snacks and beverages, as well as a sitting area with an upholstered armchair and an LCD. Facing the bed, there's a small but functional bathroom, equipped with lavatory, toilet and private shower stall. Along with all the necessary light fixtures allowed for this trial, this room is properly climatized and will be at all times ventilated… but if deemed to reason, and for experimental purposes, your environment can and will be manipulated without your previous knowledge. Are you following me, Isabella?"
Feeling strangely chastened by his brusque and apathetic demeanor, she merely nodded.
"Alright then. I'll abridge the following rules, as you've already gone through most of them in your contract as well as with Kate, our receptionist. So, let's see... You're not allowed to use any device of communication or entertainment but for those at your current disposal. You cannot smoke, drink alcohol or use any kind of recreational drugs. You are not allowed to endanger or harm yourself, and if perceived as intentional, it can be viewed as a direct violation of the rules, therefore providing enough reason to immediately terminate your contract without any form of previously agreed upon gratification…"
As he kept citing the rules, his voice steady but still demanding, Isabella wondered, and not for the first time since the initial decision, if she could claim some sort of temporary insanity as the reason she now found herself here in this weird place, about to be submitted to God knows what and under the watchful attention of a totally unknown person.
She could enumerate every single point in her long and thorough list of pros and cons, all of them written down on a notebook that sat right beside her bed along with two pens, black and red respectively. She knew which one she'd still find lidless if she'd been stepping now in her room, the slanted red plastic ironically aimed to a nervous, single bubble drawn around the ultimate and more urgent reason. Her mind still faintly echoed the steel of those words when they finally had fortified a resolution, becoming stronger as Isabella sped her way out of her front door this morning, and gripped by a single, capital-lettered affirmation: YOU NEED A BREAK!
But now she wondered: A break from what? From who? From where? How could enclosing yourself within four concrete walls for seven days straight, possibly be considered a sound and sane decision? This wasn't a break but the complete opposite of it, because if one needs a break, one goes on vacation! Somewhere remote, secluded, a place devoid of any human interaction or simply a godforsaken pit in distant Timbuktu. But no, she wanted a total break from her life and obligations so now she needed to just learn to deal with it. Besides, Bella knew just how thorough she was with this disappearing act, one so cleverly planned not even family nor friends were aware of her current whereabouts.
If she wasn't so consumed with anxious thoughts, she'd be laughing at how easy it was misleading everyone; how her usual mild and subdued demeanor led everyone to believe in the small crumbs she fed them. Why doubt her urgency to go on a retreat, a peaceful place away from everything and everyone? She needn't even elaborate on her perfect lie, only fed them the line and people were all too eager to fill in the blanks.
Case in point, a middle-aged coworker had approached during a coffee break with exaggerated, worried wrinkles and patted her arm. "I've heard about those quarter life crises. I'm telling you, 24/7 electronics dependency will drive everyone to the dumps one of these days. I'm so proud that you're facing this problem head on, Bella."
One alcohol fueled lunch last weekend and even her best friend went puny in her devious little hands, where a much too intoxicated Alice had babbled in a raging speech. "Fuck that asshole Mike! He was the most ungrateful, lousiest piece of shit you could've had for a boyfriend! Yes, Bella. You go to that retreat and scrub away all his shit from your pores, then come back and make him see what he lost for good. Oh, you should try those mud masks! They do wonders for your skin."
Nothing deterred Bella's scheme. Not even the prohibitive, accumulated number of vacation days she had thrown at her boss so suddenly; much less her father's nonchalant, two-syllable "okay," or her mother's esoteric beliefs and her passionate incentives. "Go sweetie. Go find your inner goddess. And may the love and light of Buddha shine on you." Nothing. And now that she stood inside this room, a voice of God naming the laws and clarity finally dawning on her, she couldn't fathom why she needed an alibi for all of this when it became blatantly clear that she'd acted like a total lunatic.
The unsettled nerves tumbling inside her stomach pinched their way through a new aggressive round, while a wave of shame started to make its way up Isabella's skin, ascending finally to her burning cheeks. Deflated shoulders and long caramel hair tried to hide what her mind couldn't stop screaming at her; what her guilty conscience repeated - that if things were to end badly, only she and a faceless voice would know.
Said voice broke the pandemonium of her wayward thoughts with a clipped, "Did you hear me Isabella?"
She shook her head of the fog and blew away her internal frustrations with an aggravated, "What?!"
Her eyes didn't know where to aim her annoyance, going around the room until they instinctively settled on the vanity mirror. But she could only see herself, a pathetic 26 year old woman with flushed cheeks, clenched teeth and eyes brimming with water. For a moment, she couldn't understand that expression on her face and why she was lashing out at this stranger. It certainly wasn't his fault that she ended up in this fucked up situation. She had been, from the moment she sent the RSVP letter back with the signed consent, a willing participant in this trial.
The fizzing air surrounding Bella seemed to suddenly discharge its angry volts, unclenching fists from white-bone to pink and pursing the lips which now felt compelled to offer an apology. Those brown eyes that refused to shed shameful tears fell swiftly to sand-colored carpet, but while still struggling to assemble the appropriate words, it was his voice that finally ended their tense silence.
"I can hear fear in your voice, Isabella. You don't need to hide it."
To her, he sounded almost whispery and understanding all of a sudden, but the smallest of inflections and a sure undertone made her look up and stare again at the mirror with suspicion.
"I understand this situation might be overwhelming for you now, but I guarantee that once you adjust to your current environment, it will become easier to let go of your lingering doubts. You'd be amazed at how easily your brain can adjust to novelty. If I could wager, I'd say you'll do great through this week."
Despite it all, a small smile quivered her lips at the sound of his assuring voice, an ephemeral moment whisked away when the doctor's tone changed to serious and matter-of-fact once again. "But let me remind you. You can desist at any given moment. Just say the words or push the red button on your bedside table. You're not a prisoner, Isabella, although that door will be locked for the duration of this trial. Just be honest, and all will run smoothly."
As his words found her, her eyes turned wide when realization finally settled on the magnitude of this situation. She'd be trapped for all intents and purposes. Not a prisoner, but for as long as her willpower prevailed in seeing this test to its end, still under lock and key. She quickly stood from the bed with something like fretfulness circulating her veins, and walked the few steps to face the curtained window – her possible saving grace for these unforeseeable days that stood ahead. But as her hand drew away the gauzy fabric, a shocked gasp burst through her mouth.
A live scenery depicted a late morning skyline of a nondescript city, made more real by the muffled traffic noises coming from strategically placed, yet unseen, speakers. So twisted in its impossible, bright accuracy that only its pixelated surface could expose what truly stood in front of her: a fake, a deranged spoof to mess even more with her mind.
Her breaths came out short and growing frantic as she retreated and stopped in front of the vanity, hands bracing her sudden misstep against the chest of drawers. Squeezing her eyes shut, she mentally reviewed her reasonings while trying to match her breathing with her silent, calming thoughts. But his words still managed to infiltrate, putting the final nail in the proverbial coffin.
"There's only one exit door, but there will be six cameras and several microphones around the room working nonstop – not only for the benefit of this experience but also for your own safety. I'll be conducting daily evaluations at 8 PM where I hope you give truthful and honest answers. I repeat my previous statement. You may speak – and should speak with me whenever you wish to do so. But in the interest of not compromising our study, I reserve the right to not answer certain questions you may have. Nor will I be participating in casual conversations with you, the subject, apart from our daily appointed meeting. This trial will start in one minute. Do you agree, Isabella?"
With a final gush of air leaving her lips, Bella pushed off from her slumped position. Her previous blank expression – a contradiction in itself given her last struggling moments – prefacing the cold reverberation left behind when she squared her shoulders and spoke the words aloud.
"Yes, Dr.E."