A/N: As I said on my recent Mosaic post, I'm very, very sorry for the delayed update. I lost my internet on July 1st and only got it back up and running recently. ALL of my writing is on Google Docs. So. . . yeah. Not a lot of progress this last month. The King County library system is great, but my toddler does NOT like sitting still in his stroller while I write. I should be back to weekly-ish updates again now. Thanks for everyone who has sent me encouraging reviews!
Bella felt marginally better about slipping into character now that she could sense the boundaries of her own thoughts. She had a feeling that holding onto herself while allowing the Marie persona to lead her body was going to be a little like juggling - clumsy, at first, but more rhythmic and natural with practice. She knew it could be done. Masen did it every day.
The sun was just coming up, and she was already dressed for the gym. Bella was wearing a cobalt blue sports bra and matching shorts. The bra came down in a deep 'V' in the front, offering more of a view than actual support. The shorts had a one-inch inseam and were ruched on both sides to draw the fabric even higher on her hips. The combination gave her more coverage than her normal underwear, but only marginally so. However, after a week of seeing so much skin when she looked in the mirror, Bella was practically immune to feelings of shame or embarrassment.
Bella was startled when she saw Masen step out of the bedroom. It didn't surprise her that Marie's workout clothes were as inappropriate as the rest of her wardrobe. Masen, on the other hand. . . The way he was dressed was almost obscene. She had to look away. She had seen him naked a dozen times, so that didn't even make her blink anymore. There wasn't anything overtly sexual about nudity. Not with him, anyway. But the tight black and maroon t-shirt he was wearing now was intentionally designed to accentuate every rigid muscle from his neck down to his waist, and his spandex shorts clung to everything else. The clothes screamed blatant sensuality. It felt wrong to see Masen that way, so she busied herself retying her shoes as a distraction.
When she stood up, Masen swung a white towel over his shoulder and inclined his head toward the door with an encouraging smile. Bella was grateful that her cover required her to keep her eyes down. As they stepped out of the suite, those thoughts evaporated. Passing the threshold was like flipping a switch or stepping onto a stage. Masen evaporated in a single breath. In his place, Edward Cullen towered over her. His heels struck the floor angrily as he walked, and he hurried her down the hall to the elevator. He may be nice to look at, she thought, but everything else about his character repels me.
Two floors down, the elevator stopped to admit another couple. They were both in their forties and dressed for golf. Bella could have been invisible for all the looks she garnered. Instead, both pairs of eyes were drawn repeatedly to her partner.
She knew Masen was completely in tune with every look and breath of the bodies around him, but he gave no indication that he was even aware of their presence. He was tapping away on his phone with an intense look of frustration on his face. The woman was breathing shallowly through her mouth, her eyes slipping to the left every few seconds to linger on his physique. The husband's scowls swung back and forth between the younger man and his wife, until he finally jutted out his lower jaw and stared at the doors, waiting impatiently for them to open.
Despite her discomfort, Bella understood that Masen dressed Edward Cullen that way for a reason. The effect he had on the people around him was entirely intentional. He wanted all eyes on him. He wanted men to be intimidated and women to be aroused. He demanded their admiration, yet he despised them all for their submission. The double standard was too perverse to fully comprehend for anyone who didn't suffer from a personality disorder, but as a component of Masen's cover, it made a lot of sense.
They made their way to the fitness center where Edward Cullen directed her brusquely to a treadmill. With a quick glance to her left and right, Bella saw they were alone. She reached for the button to start a program, but he shoved her hand aside and punched in the speed and duration. The machine lurched to a start and quickly accelerated to the programmed speed. Bella took several stutter steps to find her stride but didn't voice any objection. Instead, she focused her thoughts inward, allowing the physical instincts of the slave girl to govern her body while she observed the scene from the sidelines.
Her captor mounted the treadmill directly behind her and began running. Psychologically, it was torture. She could not see him, but she could smell his sweat, hear the pounding of his feet and feel the hot exhalation of his breath on her bare back. He pursued her relentlessly, never drawing closer, but never slowing down. Occasionally, her steps faltered, and she had to grab for the handrails to steady herself.
One time she almost fell to her knees, only catching herself at the last second by flinging her arms over the handrails. The friction left stinging red marks on the insides of her upper arms. She was scrambling to recover her stride when a man around her own age entered the room. He hurried over to help, tapping the pause button to slow the treadmill down.
"Hey, are you okay? These things can be dangerous. Maybe you should slow down for a bit and recover."
Alarmed, Marie looked back at her owner. He was watching her with predatory eyes, daring her to sound the alarm and face the consequences. Completely cowed, she thanked the interloper and restarted the machine, pushing the speed back up to the original pace and redoubling her efforts to keep up.
"Okay. I get it. Just tryin' to help," he said, shooting a concerned look back at the only other person in the room.
Marie kept running. She still had five minutes left. The pace wasn't any faster than she was used to, but the feeling of pursuit, of being hunted, seemed to rob her lungs of oxygen. The harder she breathed, the tighter her chest felt, until she was almost hyperventilating, her breaths whistling with every labored stride.
The other hotel guest reappeared on her left side, genuine concern showing in his blue eyes. "Hey, I know it's not really my place, but you need to slow down. You're gonna pass out and get hurt."
Marie shook her head and kept running. She hoped desperately that he would take a hint and leave her alone. Her owner usually avoided public confrontations, but he had a very short fuse.
"I'm serious. No workout is worth risking a broken ankle."
Behind her, she could feel Mr. Cullen's rage growing like a storm. The air pressure in the room dropped precipitously. Suddenly, the treadmill behind her spooled down. Oh no.
"You're right, boy. It's not your place. Now fuck off."
"Dude. Chill out. I'm just trying to help," the other man replied, hands held out in a placating gesture.
"She doesn't need your help. She'll slow down when her time's up. Not a second sooner."
Mr. Cullen's head was at the same level as her own. She kept her eyes fixed on an invisible point in space. If she looked at him now, she knew her legs would freeze. She would fall and he would be angry. Especially if she got seriously injured. He was always livid if anyone damaged his property.
"What, are you her personal trainer? Cuz that's just dangerous," her unwelcome champion argued, hands resting on his narrow hips beneath his baggy t-shirt.
"Spoiled rich kid like you. . . you don't know what danger is any more than you understand self-discipline. Now fuck off and get out of my face. I won't say it again." There was hatred in his voice and violence in his stance.
Spurred on by panic, Marie ran harder. If she could finish her required workout without any other mishaps, the young man might leave them alone. She couldn't imagine what would happen if he persisted. It could get ugly very quickly.
"Asshole," the man finally muttered, but he retreated to the far corner of the room where he began lifting a pair of dumbbells.
The timer clicked down to the final seconds, and the treadmill began to spool down. Marie sagged in relief, jogging at first, then walking slower and slower until the belt came to a complete stop.
"Here," the one-word command came.
Marie stepped off the treadmill, lurching when her feet hit the static surface. She took her place on the rubber mat where he pointed, lowering herself into the push up position. Her master stood over her with his arms crossed and counted out the repetitions. Push ups first, then crunches, flutter kicks, planks and v-sits. She was desperately thirsty and sweating profusely, even in the air-conditioned room.
Bella observed the way her limbs shook. Her balance was off. Her muscles didn't function in concert when she was constantly fighting the urge to curl into the fetal position. She distanced herself from her body's discomfort. She knew that, beneath the domineering facade, Masen was still there, gauging her limits. He would push her until the very edge of failure before letting up.
It wasn't a bad deal when she thought about it. Her body had never been so fit or strong, and the display of control was making an impression on the guy in the corner.
Her muscles were trembling with fatigue by the time a few more people had trickled into the room to begin their workouts. Among them was a pair of made-up and perfumed women, probably in their early thirties, both dressed in coordinated spandex outfits. They began their sweat-free workout right next to Bella, their eyes tracking her partner in the mirror. When she collapsed on the mat with a whimper at the end of her final set, they tittered. Edward Cullen's response was a seductive smirk, although he didn't actually make eye contact with either one.
What was wrong with them? Where did their sense of superiority come from? She had never met them before, but she already disliked both of them. Bella felt that a certain amount of disdain was justified. Their condescension made her sick.
"Water. Go."
Marie scrambled to her feet and hurried over to the drinking fountain. She guzzled as much of the ice-cold water as she could, heedless of the sloppy image she presented. In the mirror, she watched Edward Cullen standing and talking to the two women. One of them was touching his arm and shoulder, feeling the way his muscles bulged in his spandex shirt. He turned her around and stood behind her, one hand on her right shoulder, and one hand on her left hip. She began curling the three-pound weight in her hand as he guided her movements and encouraged her.
Bella's lip twisted in disgust. The whole scene was so superficial. The sexual tension rolling off the three of them had caught the attention of everyone else in the room.
"Is he your boyfriend?" The soft voice beside her left shoulder made her jump.
"Oh, I. . . I guess so."
"Demetri," he introduced himself, holding out his hand to shake hers. "Sorry about putting you on the spot earlier. I didn't realize it would complicate things for you."
Bella was so alarmed that is was only natural to allow Marie's fear and confusion out. She glanced over at her owner, but he was absorbed with his flirtation, only glancing back at her occasionally. Bella took a good look at the man beside her. He was average height and build, maybe a bit leaner than some. He had friendly eyes and light brown hair that curled softly around the tops of his ears.
"It's okay. Thanks," she smiled tentatively, then looked back at Mr. Cullen.
He was watching them. His hands were still guiding the tall brunette through her simple exercises, but he had her in his sights. She shivered.
"Your boyfriend seems pretty controlling."
"Yeah. . . well. . . I better get going."
"Wait. He seems pretty happy playing personal trainer over there. Hang out with me for a bit. I only have a couple more sets. That's a fantastic necklace, by the way. A little fancy for the gym, though, don't you think?"
Her hand rose involuntarily to the symbol of her imprisonment. Marie's gaze darted back to her owner's. Even in the reflection, his power over her was undiluted.
"Yeah. I. . . I better not. Thanks, though, De. . . Dem. . . Demetri."
"Maybe another time. And don't think I didn't notice that you didn't tell me your name," he teased, his cheek dimpling as he smiled.
"Bye," Marie whispered, and hurried over to stand beside her master.
He smiled down at her. The evil leer promised a private retaliation for the scene she had caused. She clasped her hands to stop them from trembling, bowed her head submissively and waited.
A/N: I hate running on treadmills. Even more than running in general. With that said, I actually jogged 3/4 of a mile this morning without stopping. Yay, me!