CHAPTER 4

Keep Your Chin Up

As soon as he walked through the door, I sat up on the bed, blanket wrapped around me, instantly alert. He had the same gray box in his hand as when he left. It must have been heavy because the table wobbled when he slammed it down. My eyes widened at his obvious anger and my heart started beating faster. He took his coat off and rolled up the sleeves on his flannel shirt. I was hyper focused on his every move—jumping at each loud sound he made.

He picked up the dead roses, dumping them in a garbage bag, and practically pounded the empty metal pitcher onto the shelf. His back was to me, but I could see him take in a large breath before turning around. He leaned against the table, arms crossed over his chest, veins popping out along his forearms. "Have you forgotten the rules?"

I gulped. Confusion and fear must have shown on my face. What was he talking about now?

In three strides, he was standing in front of me, so close he could hit me if he was inclined. His nostrils flared, but he was keeping his temper in check—barely. He held out his hand. "Give me the blanket."

My eyes went wide, and I shook my head back and forth quickly. "Please." My voice sounded weak to my ears. "It's so cold." I must have looked like a frightened child to him, but inside, I was seething with anger that he expected me to freeze while he remained fully clothed and warm.

His jaw clenched, grinding his back molars. "I don't like repeating myself." A defeated breath escaped through my lips and I let my shoulders droop forward, causing the blanket to fall around my waist. As soon as the cold air hit my bare skin, I started shivering with more urgency. He leaned down and whisked the blanket away, balling it in his hands. "If your good, I'll give it back when I leave, but if I have to tell you again to uncover yourself in my presence, I'll take it away permanently."

I licked my lips with my dry tongue and nodded, but he just stood there… waiting. "Yes," I quickly added, remembering he wanted verbal answers. Without any compassion for my discomfort, he pivoted on his heels and walked to the shelves, laying the blanket down and plugging in the hot plate. He simply went about his business, filling a large pot with water to boil. From the box, he removed a plastic cup and a familiar salon bag containing three bottles of hair products.

Damn. Any hope of someone noticing him at my apartment went out the nonexistent window.

The anticipation of wondering what he was doing was making my chest hurt, but my fear went into overdrive when he turned around and started walking toward me. Instead of giving into my desire to retreat, I used all my courage to remain seated on the edge of the bed, putting on a brave front. He gave me a small nod before leaning down to pick up the bucket of water he'd left me to wash with. After he emptied it in the sink, he turned over the steel tub in the corner and started filling it with the boiling water and tempering it with cold water. With every bucket of water he dumped into the tub, my heart beat a little faster. I was burning with rage. He'd lied to me. He said he wasn't going to bathe me—not if I did it myself. I had to bite the inside of my jaw to keep from lashing out at him and calling him a liar.

But what would that get me?

When the tub was full and he was satisfied with the temperature, he draped a towel on the edge of the sink. He held his hand out and motioned me over to the tub. I weighed my options. Comply and maybe I wouldn't be hurt or resist and surely pay a grave price. I didn't want any part of what he had planned, but since I was at his mercy, I had no choice but to obey. I slowly stood up and took a wobbly step, each more hesitant than the last, until the chain around my neck stopped me.

He closed the distance and took his keys out to unlock the collar and the cuffs on my wrists and ankles. I was free… finally. My chest fluttered in excitement and my eyes darted to the door, gauging how fast I could run, but the deadbolt needed a key and he had just put it back in the pocket of his jeans.

I rotated my wrists and neck, grimacing when my raw skin twisted. He reached for me again and I jerked away. The expression on his face was disappointment at first and then it turned hard with anger. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath to get me through whatever he had planned. This time, when I felt his hand on my shoulder, I didn't shrink away. The longer he kept it there, the harder it was to be still and endure. My body started shaking and I was about to lose it.

Sensing my panic, he ran his hand down my arm until he stuffed his fingers in between mine and gave my hand a tight squeeze, letting me know that I didn't have a choice in what happened next. "Get in," he said, pulling me toward the tub. I did the only thing I could, I placed my hands on the edge of the tub and stepped inside, sinking down into the blissfully warm water. For the first time in days, I stopped shivering.

I raised my knees to my chest, resting my chin on the top of the water and tried not to draw away in fear when his hand slipped down beside me, scooping water into the plastic cup to pour over my head. The room was a silent tomb as he washed and rinsed my hair, but internally, I was screaming and raging and plotting his death.

My mind was racing with thoughts of what to do. I knew that washing my hair was just the beginning. He was going to try to wash the rest of me, but I couldn't let that happen. I had to find a way to do it myself. Before he could reach for the washcloth draped over the edge of the tub, I grabbed it up and swished it around in the water, wetting it. He didn't say anything, just simply motioned for me to hold the cloth out while he squeezed body wash onto it. He set the bottle aside and before I knew what was happening, he grabbed the cloth from me. "I can do it," I insisted as I tried to grab it back from him, my heart beating triple time.

He continued as if I hadn't spoken. Tears blurred my vison as he turned my face toward him, gently rubbing the cloth over my cheeks, nose, and lips. He was using his continuous gaze and tender caresses to forge a connection with me and to make this violation seem like a loving act. I closed my eyes, breaking whatever link he was trying to create, and taking back what little power I had.

His slow, deep breath let me know he was disappointed with my rejection, and I expected him to get rough, taking his frustration out on me, but he simply picked up my arm, dragging the cloth from my shoulder down to my hand. I couldn't help the hiss that escaped as the soapy cloth grazed over the wound on my wrist. He moved to the other arm, this time moving up my arm until he got to my shoulder and then across the top of my chest. For a second, I was frozen, and then I grabbed the cloth from him, scooting as close to the other side of the tub as I could go. Those few inches felt like a mile. "Please, let me do it?" I begged and started scrubbing hard at my chest and arms.

"Stop it!" I jumped at his raised voice and lifted my eyes to see his face while keeping the rest of my body hunched over into as small of an area as possible. "Look what you're doing to your skin." He shook his head in admonishment and then his voice turned soothing as he pried the soapy cloth from my hand and forced me to sit back. "Just relax and let me take care of you." He pressed me back against the tub as he moved the cloth down my chest at a leisurely pace, stopping when he got to the swell of my breasts. My eyes flooded with tears, but I fought against letting them fall. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me breaking down into a pile of pity.

Against my will, my nipples pebbled into tight buds and he silently stared at them before gently caressing each one. "Interesting," he remarked, eyes lighting up in wonder, as if he'd never touched a breast before. My eyes closed tight, and I turned away, causing his hand to slip off my breast. I braced myself, expecting him to force me back around, and things to escalate, but when I heard him getting to his feet, I opened my eyes just enough to see him retrieve the towel from the edge of the sink. "Stand up," he said, standing over me, holding the towel open, no expression on his face.

Relieved that bath time was over, I slowly straightened, making sure my vulnerable areas were covered as I stood. I couldn't help but shiver as the cold air hit my wet body. I caught my reflection in the mirror above the sink. It was so close. I could reach out and touch it if I wanted. But then I noticed the distortion and realized it was made of plastic… not glass. A swift pain hit my chest. Any hope I had of using it as a weapon dissolved, just like every other plan I'd come up with so far.

I reached for the towel, to cover my body, but he shook his head and began patting it against my dripping hair, soaking up the moisture. When he was done, he tossed it into the sink and I started to panic, thinking about all the things he was going to do to me now. As if he could read my mind, his arm snaked around my waist, holding me firmly in his steely embrace, my back against his chest. I choked on a scream as his hand began moving down my stomach, past my belly button. "Behave, or I'll have to punish you." His mouth was against my ear, breathing roughly but with a note of finality. "Trust me. You don't want that."

I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to give into hysteria. For a second, I thought about elbowing him in the face. Instead, I curved my back forward and pushed back hard, causing him to stumble. He let me go as soon as he started floundering. He tried to recover by taking a couple steps back, but he forgot about the bucket behind him and tripped and fell on his ass. While he was down, I took off for the door. I spent precious seconds, futilely clawing at the metal, desperately trying to slip my fingers around the edges and find purchase to pry it open. Somewhere behind me, he growled low in his throat. Sounds of his boots slapping against the concrete had me doubling my efforts. And then I felt his hot breath on the back of my neck as he laughed at my pathetic attempts to free myself.

My head snapped back, and I shrieked when he grabbed a handful of my hair, yanking. I tried to keep my fingertips wedged in the sliver of space between the door and jamb, but he yanked harder. Flames shot up my fingers and I lost the ability to breathe as my nails broke off jagged and to the quick. I fought like a wild beast, twisting and thrashing to loosen his hold. I was losing this battle and he was barely exerting any effort as he dragged me across the rough concrete, tearing the skin on my back and buttocks with each step.

I scrambled to find purchase, grabbing onto his forearms as my feet danced to keep my body off the concrete. In one quick motion, he had my back against the pole in the center of the room and my wrists shackled on the other side. The hard metal rubbed over my raw wrists, igniting a blaze so sharp I almost lost consciousness. My head dropped forward, chin resting on my chest, my body and mind shutting down.

"You shouldn't have done that." He was nearly foaming at the mouth. I lifted my chin and met his eyes, ignoring the wrenching pain in my shoulders as tears flowed down my face. I was a sobbing mess with snot running from my nose and unable to catch my breath. In this position, with my breasts rising and falling rapidly, I was more vulnerable than ever. We were in a standoff, of sorts. Him staring at me—nostril's flaring—chest heaving. Me staring at him—nostril's flaring—chest heaving. When he turned away, my whole body would have dissolved into the floor had I not been chained to the pole.

He grabbed the other set of shackles from the floor and reattached them to my ankles before picking up the bucket and walking over to the tub. By the time he dipped the bucket into the warm soapy water and brought it over to me, sitting it at my feet, he was as calm as you please. He cocked an eyebrow and barely above a whisper, he said, "You never do a good job bathing. You're always too busy singing and playing in the bubbles."

His moods were giving me whiplash. He was insane—there was no doubt about it—and there was no way to reason with him. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut so I couldn't see what he was about to do. That didn't sit well with him. His hand squeezed around the wet cloth, causing water to splash into the bucket below, splattering my legs. "Open your eyes." He growled.

I flinched at his harshness and did as he demanded. My back was pasted to the pole, leaving no space to shrink away. I had to stand there and endure his touch. He started at my belly button, running the cloth around it in a teasing way and then downward. My stomach muscles clenched. I knew where he was headed. "Please," I begged as more tears flooded my eyes. "I'll do a good job. I promise. Just let me do it myself."

He tilted his head, eyes moving over my face, searching for something, but I had no idea what. His hand moved lower again, past my belly button. His attention alternated between watching my reaction and watching where his hand was going. When he grazed the flesh above my pubic bone, I tensed and locked my ankles together in a death grip. My whole body shook—from cold—from fear—from disgust. And then he did what I'd feared from the start. He pushed his cloth covered fingers into my slit, inching his way between my folds, invading and retreating.

I turned my head away as a sob ripped through me. I went up on my toes to eject his fingers, but those inches offered no escape, his hand simply followed. I couldn't be still and let him do this to me. I twisted by torso and my legs back and forth with the limited amount of movement I was capable of. He let me struggle for a few minutes and then he released an angry breath through his nose, wedged his booted foot between my ankles, kicking them apart. My right foot slid along the concrete, causing the metal cuffs to dig in. The pain was so intense, everything turned black.

I was frozen for what seemed like forever. I couldn't breathe or see or think. Finally, my lungs demanded air—great amounts of air. As if I'd been shocked back to life with electrical paddles over my heart, I gasped and started gulping. My chest heaved in and out and tears streamed down my face. This wasn't happening, I tried to convince myself. If I thought it enough times, it would be true. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to think of a happy place, but there wasn't one.

I don't know how long I existed in the fog, but finally, his voice registered. "Are you going to behave or am I going to have to leave you chained to this pole?"

Sniffling, I nodded my head even though he'd made it clear he expected verbal answers when he asked me a question. By doing so, I was directly violating one of his 'rules.' It didn't take a brain surgeon to understand that by threatening me with horrible acts of physical punishment and withholding food from me, he was training me to behave in a way that pleased him. Knowing that fact didn't change a damn thing. Even though complying with his demand was the last thing I wanted to do, I had to show him that I was willing to cooperate. From somewhere deep inside, I mustered up enough force to push sound through my lips. "B… behave," I said and then fell silent, waiting to see what he was going to do next.

He quirked an eyebrow, scrutinizing my trembling body, making me anxious. When he dropped to his knees, my heart fell to the floor with him, but all he did was gather the bucket and washcloth and move behind me, tugging on my arms until they were free. I breathed a sigh of relief as I brought them around to the front, careful of the pain in my shoulder and shook them to get the blood circulating again. The chain hung from my left arm, allowing the empty shackle to dangle on the floor. My mind was feeling sluggish and while I entertained thoughts of slinging it at him, hitting him in the eyes, maybe even blinding him with it as I hit him over and over, he quickly snatched it up and had it reattached to my other wrist in seconds. I wanted to kick myself for not acting quicker.

He paid me no mind as he moved the heater closer to the bed and retrieved a hairbrush from the box of supplies. I was still standing with my back against the pole, afraid to move. He finally looked up at me as he sat down on the bed, patting the area beside him. "Come here." I didn't want to go to him, but I was afraid not to obey. He was becoming more dangerous by the second and I was starting to doubt if I would survive what he had planned.

I took a hesitant step. When I got within reach, he pulled me down beside him, and pressed my head onto his lap. "Your curls were the first thing I noticed about you." He spoke quietly while running the brush through my wet hair. I've always had a love hate relationship with my hair, but I never hated these damn curls more than I did right now. The way he toyed with them, stretching the strands out and letting them spring back, made my stomach turn. If there was anything in it, I would have vomited.

"What do you want from me?" I asked quietly.

He paused midway through a stroke. "Isn't it obvious—?" When I didn't respond, he started humming softly as he continued to brush my hair. "Emmie said you are 'The One' and that I need to be patient with you so that you will come to love me back. I'm going to show you how well I can take care of you—and then you'll fall in love with me… Emmie says so."

"Love is freely given," I stammered and tried to push away from him, but he pressed on my shoulder, keeping me down. I let out a defeated sigh. "How can I love you when you've taken all my choices away?"

He released the pressure on my shoulder, letting me sit up on the bed beside him. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. "Show me that you can love me." Sitting this close, I could see his strong jaw lined with at least a day's worth of stubble. As he leaned closer, puckering his lips mere centimeters from mine, I hesitated, unsure if I could fake a kiss to literally save my life. Mistaking my hesitation for invitation, he closed the gap. As soon as his lips touched mine, I reared back, heart pounding, afraid of where this could lead. "Why did you pull away?" His eyes clouded with confusion. "Was I doing it wrong?"

Wrong! Everything about this was wrong.

Wait… was he telling me he'd never kissed a woman before?

He watched me, expectantly. I had to say something. Something that would make him stop and yet wouldn't anger him. But what? I looked down, studying my bare feet and said, "It's too soon. I don't really know you."

He gave a quick nod of acceptance and kissed the top of my head before he got to his feet. While I sat in front of the heater letting my hair dry, he busied himself pouring the water from the tub down the sink and putting all the bathing things away. When he was done, he turned to me. "You must be hungry." He took a large paper bag and the small cooler out of the gray box he'd brought and sat them on the table. "How does hotdogs sound?" When I didn't respond, he pointed to the bag. "Go ahead."

I desperately wanted to dig into that bag, but I was afraid it was a trick—just another way to punish me. I kept my eyes on him—judging—assessing—as I slowly walked to the table and stuck my hand inside. I was relieved to find he'd been telling the truth. Being careful of my sore fingertips, I pulled out two packages of hotdog buns, a can of chili with a pop top, packets of mustard and ketchup, and a package of wieners. If he wanted me to cook, he was out of luck, but this… this I could manage.

He pulled his chair close and sat down as if he was watching the Food Network and I was Paula Deen. "Plug the hotplate into the generator—And use the griddle. I like grill marks on my hotdogs." I did as he said, trying to avoid using my injured fingertips as I spread the wieners out evenly on the griddle and emptied the chili in a saucepan to have ready when the wieners were done. I kept glancing up at him, gauging his reactions while I surreptitiously cataloged everything in sight. The griddle could do a lot of damage if I hit him just right and throwing hot chili in his face could blind him. My heart pounded. Could I do it? Would it work?

There was just no way I could get the key from him and open all the locks on the door in time. If I failed—he'd really hurt me. No, I needed to be smart—wait for the right moment, when my chances of success were better—then I'd make my move.

The wieners started to sizzle, and I removed the griddle, replacing it with the saucepan of chili. It didn't take long before it was bubbling. "There are paper plates and plastic utensils in the box," he said. "Go ahead and set the table."

I thought about the damage I could do with a plastic fork—probably not much. A better use would be to somehow hide it from him and later use it to pick my locks. If I couldn't get the locks open with it, I could always poke his eye out. I focused back on my task. "Um… how many hotdogs do you want?"

He gave it some thought. "I think I'll take four. What about you? Hotdogs are your favorite."

I haven't cared for hotdogs since I worked at Dave's Hotdog Stand that summer in high school. Polishing off the leftovers each night made me sick of them—literally.

I looked at the package and quickly calculated. There were ten wieners. If he ate four, that would leave six for me, if I dared ask for that many. I weighed my options, giving consideration to when my next meal would come. Probably at his next visit which would be the next day. "I think I'll take six." I watched his reaction, relieved to see an amused smile.

"You think you can put away six hotdogs and dessert?" He quirked an eyebrow, smiling playfully and then shook his head. "I bet you can't do it."

I wasn't sure how to respond so I smiled and went with playful as well. "If we're making a wager, shouldn't I get something if I win?"

He thought about it for a minute, delighted that I was playing along. "What do you want?"

It needed to be something small, but helpful. "I'd like you to leave an extra bottle of water this time."

He fought to keep from grinning. "You have a deal, but I'll be watching you since you like to cheat." I had no clue what he was talking about. I'd never competed with him before.

The smell of food was making my stomach growl. I added chili to each bun and unplugged the hotplate. He pulled the table out a little more and arranged our chairs. He smirked as he took his first bite. He didn't think I could win our wager, but for as much as he pretended to know me—he didn't.

My first bite was delightfully satisfying—maybe even the best thing I'd ever eaten. I finished off one hotdog and was feeling stronger than I had since I woke up down here. By the end of the second one, I was starting to slow down, but there was no way I'd leave even a bite on my plate.

He finished before me and sat watching intently. Finally, I took my last bite and looked down to see a rogue chili bean that had fallen onto my plate. I grabbed it and hurriedly put it in my mouth. He sat back in his chair clapping. "Well done," he laughed. "I have to admit; I didn't think you could do it. That was almost as fun as the time the pizza delivery guy brought us the wrong pizza. Do you remember how angry Mommy was?"

My eyes widened with new understanding. He truly was confusing me with his sister. It wasn't that I simply reminded him of her… he thought I actually was her. This took crazy to a whole new level. It also meant I was going to have to change how I dealt with him. While my brain was occupied trying to make sense of his mental state, he was rattling on about his childhood. "You hate mushrooms as much as I do, but you dared me anyway. You should have seen your face when you stuck that squishy thing in your mouth." He laughed and shook his head at my perceived stubbornness. "Never could win a dare with you, could I?" He didn't wait for me to respond. I was glad because, right then, I was at a loss as to how to proceed. "But maybe I haven't lost after all," he said as he opened the cooler and pulled out two pints of what he referred to as 'our' ice cream. "You still have dessert to eat." He leaned forward, smiling mischievously.

I took my time eating the ice cream, thinking and analyzing my situation. It was clear that he wanted me to be dependent on him for food and basic survival. I was his prisoner and my life literally rested in his hands. Not only that, but he was trying to manipulate my emotions in order to make a connection with me. I could see it plain as day. Having someone at your mercy for their very survival was the perfect way to force them to develop an attachment to you. Yesterday's sob story about his sister's death and his parent's abandonment during the aftermath was designed to evoke pity from me. Maybe he was doing it intentionally and maybe he wasn't, but my Spidey sense told me it came naturally to him and that scared the hell out of me. It might have worked with someone else. Most people have an innate need to find the good in others, but that hasn't been my experience. I've seen what the bottom of the barrel of humanity has to offer and it's sad to admit, but nothing surprises me anymore. If Hunter Durant thinks he can turn me into his obedient mate by twisting my emotions into thinking he's a good person then, he's going to be sorely disappointed.

I kept stuffing my mouth with ice cream, knowing that I had to do whatever it took to get that extra bottle of water. Just as he dipped his spoon into his carton for another bite, he looked up at me from under hooded lashes and smiled, making me think he was in a good mood, so I decided to try a new approach. "Have you seen the new Star Wars movie?" I asked.

His eyes widened, surprised that I initiated conversation, and his spoon paused mid-way to his mouth. "No." He shook his head. "I haven't been to a movie in years."

"I haven't either." I continued eating as if it were normal to be sitting in a cellar eating ice cream naked. "We should go." I suggested casually.

He titled his head, studying me. "That's a good idea, but I have a better one. I can bring my handheld DVD player and we can watch whatever you want."

That wasn't what I was going for. I wanted to give him a reason to take me out of here, so I could find an opportunity to escape. "DVD's are good, but there's nothing like the big screen."

His palm came down on the table, slapping it with a loud smack. I jumped in my chair, dropping a dollop of ice cream off my spoon onto the table. "Do you think I'm stupid?" he screamed. I swallowed hard and gave my head a quick shake, my breathing accelerating exponentially as I kept my eyes on the table, watching the ice cream melt. Just as quickly as his anger erupted, it was gone, and he was smiling openly again. "This is my last bite," he said as he scraped the bottom of the carton. "What about you?"

I nodded to let him know that this was also my last bite which meant that I was going to win our bet. It was no small feat, but I was relieved I'd finished everything. When I looked up, he was giving me the smile of an evil genius. It made me uneasy. Had I fallen for some trick?

"You didn't eat it all," he taunted, looking at the melting bite that had fallen off my spoon when he smacked the table. Not willing to lose on a technicality, I took my fingers with their jagged nails broken off into the quick and scraped the ice cream off the table, sticking them in my mouth. Low laughter filled the room. "Alright. Looks like you win."

I felt relief down to my toes.

He motioned to the sink. "Wash the pans and put all the garbage in that bag." He watched me like a hawk as I worked, giving me no opportunity to slip the plastic fork away and there was nowhere to put it even if I could. When I finished, he grabbed the blanket from the shelf and led me over to the bed where he reattached the chain to my collar. His hand lingered on my jaw, caressing, and then he handed me the bottle of water I'd won as if I should be grateful for the gift he was bestowing on me. "I have to go now," he smiled. "But I'll be back tomorrow. Be a good girl while I'm gone."

"Can't you leave me some food?" I asked as he started to walk away. "What if you get delayed or something? I won't have anything to eat?"

He turned back, giving me a look that I've seen Valerie give my nieces when they are pestering her to stay up past bedtime. "Nothing will keep me away. I promise."

My hopes sank as he went behind the curtained area. While he was back there, I heard low whispers but couldn't make out anything distinctive. I was so focused on listening that when he quickly emerged, my eyes widened, and I gasped. "Wh… What's back there?"

He tilted his head to the side, weighing his thoughts, face devoid of any emotion. "I don't think you're ready for that… yet."

A chill went through me when I noticed how empty his eyes were.

He grabbed up the gray box and garbage bag without another word and walked to the door, pausing to take out his key. When I heard the clicking sounds on the other side, I knew he was locking me inside.