Chapter 16
Over the next few months, my life on the island falls into a routine of sorts. When Lisa is there, my world revolves around her. Her moods, her needs and desires, rule my days and nights.
She's an unpredictable lover—gentle one day, cruel the next. And sometimes she's a mix of both, a combination that I find particularly devastating. I understand what she's doing to me, but understanding doesn't make it any less effective. She's training me to associate pain with pleasure, to enjoy whatever she does to me, no matter how shocking and perverted it is. And always afterwards, there's that unsettling tenderness. She turns me inside out, takes me apart, and puts me back together—all in the span of one night.
And her training is working. I go into her arms willingly now, craving that high I often get from a particularly brutal session. Lisa tells me that I'm a natural submissive with latent masochistic tendencies. I don't know if I believe her—I know that I certainly don't want to believe her—but I can't deny that her peculiar brand of lovemaking resonates with me on some level. Toys, whips, canes—she's used them all, and I have invariably found pleasure in some part of what she was doing.
Of course, she's not always sadistic. Sometimes she's almost sweet, massaging me all over, kissing me until I melt, and then making love to me when I'm nearly out of my mind with need. On days like that, I don't want to leave the island. All I want is for Lisa to keep holding me, caressing me . . . loving me, in whichever way she can.
Perhaps that is the most disturbing part of it all—the fact that I now crave my captor's love. I don't even know if she's capable of that emotion, but I can't help needing it from her. She wants me, I know that, but it's not enough. Somewhere along the way, I've lost my hatred for her, and I don't even know how or when it happened. I still resent my captivity, but those feelings are now separate from the way I feel about Lisa.
Instead of dreading her visits to the island, I now eagerly await them. Her business keeps her away more than I like, and I begin to understand how pets feel, waiting for their owner to come home from work.
"Why can't you conduct more of your business from here?" I ask her one day, after we wake up together in the morning. She always sleeps with me now. She likes holding me during the night; it helps her with her nightmares.
"I do as much remotely as I can. Why, do you want me here, my pet?" Her gaze is coolly mocking as she turns her head to look at me. She doesn't like it when I question her about her business. It's a part of her life that she seems to want to keep separate. In general, I get the sense that she's sheltering me and Sorn from some of the uglier parts of her world. Sorn is fully aware of what Lisa does, of course, but I don't know if she knows much more about arms dealing than I do.
"Yes," I tell her honestly. "I want you here." It's pointless to pretend otherwise; Lisa knows exactly how I feel. She's very good at reading me—and manipulating me. I have no doubt that she's enjoying my growing attachment to her and likely doing her best to facilitate it.
Sure enough, at my admission, her lips curve in a sensual smile. "All right, baby," she says softly, "I'll try to be here more." And reaching for me, she brings me toward her for a kiss that makes me dissolve in her embrace.
With each day that passes, my old life seems further and further away, fading into that nebulous time known as the past. When Lisa is gone, I occupy myself by reading, swimming, hiking all around the island, and the occasional fishing expeditions with Sorn. Lisa brought us a large-screen TV with a DVD player and hundreds of movies, so Sorn and I have something to do during rainy weather, too.
We're still not exactly friends, Sorn and I, but we've definitely grown closer. Partially, I think she likes the fact that I no longer try to escape. After my one failed attempt to bash her over the head—and the horrible incident with Hanbin that followed—I've been a model prisoner.
Of course, it would be foolish to be anything else. Even during Lisa's visits, when her plane is here, it's locked inside the hangar I found on the other side of the island. I'm pretty sure Lisa keeps the keys to the hangar in her office, where only she can access them. And even if I somehow got my hands on the keys, I sincerely doubt there would be an operating manual conveniently stored inside the plane, teaching me how to fly it.
No, my captor knew exactly what she was doing when she brought me to this island. It's as secure a prison as any I could imagine.
As days turn into weeks and then into months, I try to find more activities to fill up my free time—and to prevent myself from pining after Lisa when she's not there.
The first thing I do is start running again.
I begin with short distances at first, to make sure I don't strain my knee, and then I slowly increase both speed and distance. I run either in the mornings or at night, when it's cooler, and it's not long before I am in as good of a shape as I'd been during my days on the track team. I can do a three-mile run in under seventeen minutes—an accomplishment that makes me ridiculously happy.
I also take up painting. Not because I remember Lisa saying that Ruby was good at drawing, but because I find it both entertaining and relaxing. I had enjoyed art classes in school, but I was always too busy with friends and other activities to give painting a serious attempt. Now, however, I have plenty of time on my hands, so I start learning how to properly draw and paint. Lisa brings me a ton of art supplies and several instructional videos, and I soon find myself absorbed in trying to capture the beauty of the island on canvas.
"You know, you're very good at this," Sorn says thoughtfully one day, coming up to me on the porch as I'm finishing a painting of the sunset over the ocean. "You've got the colors down exactly—that glowing orange shaded with the deep pink."
I turn and give her a big smile. "You really think so?"
"I do," Sorn says seriously. "You're doing well, Jennie."
I get the sense that she's talking about more than just the painting. "Thanks," I say dryly. Should I add that to my list of achievements—the fact that I'm able to thrive in captivity?
She grins in response, and for the first time, I feel like we truly understand each other. "You're welcome."
Walking over to the outdoor couch, she curls up on it, pulling out her book. I watch her for a few seconds, then go back to painting, trying to replicate the multidimensional shimmer of the water—and thinking about the puzzle that is Sorn.
She still hasn't told me much about her past, but I get the sense that for her, this island is a retreat of sorts, a sanctuary. She sees Lisa as her rescuer, and the outside world as an unpleasant and hostile place. "Don't you miss going to the mall?" I asked her once. "Having dinner with your friends? Going dancing? You're not a prisoner here; you could leave at any time. Why don't you have Lisa take you with her on one of her trips? Do something fun before you come back here again?"
Her response was to laugh at me. "Dancing? Fun? Letting men put their hands all over my body—that's supposed to be fun?" Her voice turned mocking. "Should I also shop for sexy clothes and make-up, so I look all pretty for them? And what about pollution, drive-by shootings, and muggings—should I miss those, too?" Laughing again, she shook her head. "No, thanks. I'm perfectly happy right here."
And that's as much as she would say on that topic.
I don't know what happened to make her so bitter, but I strongly suspect Sorn hasn't had an easy life. When we were watching Pretty Woman, she kept making snide comments about how real prostitution is nothing like the fairy tale they were showing. I didn't ask her about it then, but I've been curious ever since. Could she have been a prostitute in the past?
Putting down my brush, I turn and look at Sorn. "Can I paint you?"
She looks up from her book, startled. "You want to paint me?"
"Yes, I do." It would be a nice change of pace from all those landscapes I've been focusing on lately—and it might also give me a chance to get to know her better.
She stares at me for a few seconds, then shrugs. "All right. I guess."
She seems uncertain about this, so I give her an encouraging smile. "You don't have to do anything—just sit there like that, with your book. It makes for a nice visual."
And it's true. The rays of the setting sun turn her blood curls into a blazing flame, and with her legs tucked under, she looks young and vulnerable. Much more approachable than usual.
I set aside the painting I was working on and put up a blank canvas. Then I begin to sketch, trying to capture the symmetric angles of her face, the lean lines and curves of her body. It's an absorbing task, and I don't stop until it gets too dark for me to see anything.
"Are you done for today?" Sorn asks, and I realize that she's been sitting in the same position for the past hour.
"Oh, yeah, sure," I say. "Thanks for being such a good model."
"No problem." She gives me a genuine smile as she gets up. "Ready for dinner?"
For the next three days, I work on Sorn's portrait. She patiently models for me, and I find myself so busy that I hardly think about Lisa at all. It's only at night that I have a chance to miss her—to feel the cold emptiness of my king-sized bed as I lie there aching for her embrace. She's gotten me so addicted that a week without her feels like a cruel punishment—one that I find infinitely worse than any sexual torture my captor has doled out thus far.
"Did Lisa say when she's going to be back?" I ask Sorn as I'm putting the final touches on the painting. "She's already been gone for seven days."
She shakes her head. "No, but she'll be here as soon as she can manage. She can't stay away from you, Jennie, you know that."
"Really? Has she said something to you?" I can hear the eagerness in my voice, and I mentally kick myself. How pathetic can one get? I might as well put a stamp on my forehead: another stupid girl who fell for her kidnapper. Of course, I doubt many kidnappers have Lisa's lethal charm, so maybe I should cut myself some slack.
Thankfully, Sorn doesn't tease me about my obvious infatuation. "She doesn't need to say it," she says instead. "It's perfectly obvious."
I put down my brush for a second. "Obvious how?" This conversation is fulfilling a need I didn't even know I had—that for a real girl-to-girl gossip session about men and their inexplicable emotions.
"Oh, please." Sorn is starting to sound exasperated. "You know Lisa is fucking crazy about you. Whenever I talk to her, it's Jennie this, Jennie that . . . Does Jennie need anything? Has Jennie been eating well?" She lowers her voice comically, mimicking Lisa's tones.
I grin at her. "Really? I didn't know this." And I didn't. I mean, I knew that Lisa is crazy about fucking me—and she definitely admitted to a certain obsession with me because of my resemblance to Ruby—but I didn't know I was this much on her mind outside of the bedroom.
Sorn rolls her eyes. "Yeah, right. You're not nearly as naive as you pretend to be. I've seen you batting those long lashes at her over dinner, trying to wrap her around your little finger."
I give her my best wide-eyed-innocent look. "What? No!"
"Uh-huh." Sorn doesn't seem fooled in the least.
She's right, of course; I do flirt with Lisa. Now that I'm no longer quite so afraid of my captor, I am again doing my best to get into her good graces. Somewhere in the back of my mind, there is a persistent hope that if she trusts me enough—if she cares for me enough—she might take me off the island.
When this plan had first occurred to me—in those terrifying first few days of my captivity—I had been playacting. As soon as I found myself off the island, I would've done my best to escape, regardless of any promises I might've made. Now, however, I don't even know what I would do if Lisa took me with her. Would I try to leave her? Do I even want to leave her? I honestly have no idea.
"Have you ever been in love?" I ask Sorn, picking up my brush again.
To my surprise, a dark shadow passes over her face. "No," she says curtly. "Never."
"But you have loved . . . someone, right?" I don't know what makes me ask that, but I've apparently touched a nerve, because Sorn's entire body tightens, like I just struck her a blow.
To my surprise, however, instead of snapping at me, she just nods. "Yes," she says quietly. "Yes, Jennie, I have loved." Her eyes are unnaturally bright, as though glittering with unspilled moisture.
And I realize then that she's suffering—that whatever happened to her had left deep, indelible scars on her psyche. Her thorny exterior is just a mask, a way to protect herself from further hurt. And right now, for whatever reason, that mask has slipped, exposing the real woman underneath.
"What happened to this person?" I ask, my voice soft and gentle. "What happened to the one you loved?"
"She died." Sorn's tone is expressionless, but I can sense the bottomless well of agony in that simple statement. "My daughter died when she was two."
I inhale sharply. "I'm sorry, Sorn. Oh God, I'm so sorry . . ." Setting down my brush again, I walk over to Sorn's couch and sit down, putting my arms around her.
At first, she's stiff and rigid, as though not used to human contact, but she doesn't push me away. She needs this right now; I know better than anyone how soothing a warm embrace can be when your emotions are all over the place. Lisa delights in making me fall apart, so she can then be the one to mend me and put me back together.
"I am sorry," I repeat softly, rubbing her back in a slow circular motion. "I am so sorry."
Gradually, some of the tension drains out of Sorn's body. She lets herself be soothed by my touch. After a while, she seems to regain her equilibrium, and I let her go, not wanting her to feel awkward about the hug.
Scooting back a bit, she gives me a small, embarrassed smile. "I'm sorry, Jennie. I didn't mean to—"
"No, it's all right," I interrupt. "I'm sorry I was prying. I didn't know—"
And then we both look at each other, realizing that we could apologize until the end of time and it wouldn't change anything.
Sorn closes her eyes for a second, and when she opens them, her mask is firmly back in place. She's my jailer again, as independent and self-contained as ever.
"Dinner?" she asks, getting up.
"Some of this morning's catch would be great," I say casually, walking over to put away my art supplies.
And we continue on, as though nothing had happened.