That first outfit was a doozy, if I do say so myself.

Just to get it over with, I had them bring a set of crotchless fishnets, a leather skirt just this side of a belt, four inch heels, and a roll of electrical tape. She just stared at me blankly for a moment when I dropped them on the bed next to her. And then she rolled over, as if she could ignore me.

It irritated me.

I appreciate a little defiance, but I didn't get much sleep and the idiots were being idiotic. I'd almost forgotten how goddamn stupid they can be over my stay at Arkham, but those fuckers sure were eager to remind me now that I am back. If I wasn't babysitting her, I'd have strangled one as stress relief. Hell, I think I might strangle one anyway for shits and giggles. The idiots were supposed to have picked up makeup with the outfit, but they were too fucking macho to be seen buying any and my crew does not run high to women.

I just can't imagine why.

I had plans for her lipstick-smeared mouth, and now they're going to have to wait because the idiots are afraid someone might think they weren't manly. It's this kind of thing that makes me briefly envy Ivy. At least when she tells her zombies to do something, they don't worry about whether or not the boys think they're a fucking fruit.

To be fair to myself, while I am a man of iron self-control, I am not made of stone. There's something about her that really gets to me—maybe I'm just tired, but sometimes I look at her and I need to see her cry. And I am not about to let her get away with thinking she can safely ignore me when I want her to do something.

The last time I spanked her, I made it more stinging than anything else—the point was really the humiliation of it, the audience and the fact that I could and would punish her in front of whomever happened to be around. The pain was more mental than physical, and I had more on my mind than just her, thanks to some of the changes in territory while I was a guest of the loony bin.

This time, I was annoyed. The result was less artistry than relief on my part. Really, I should have held back a little more.

But she did look absolutely delicious when I was done. The black eye was small enough, and the handprints on her ass were just sexy as they peeked out from under the edge of that skirt. The crisscrossed electrical tape over her nipples was also adorable, and while I ripped the fishnets getting them on her, it added to the look.

I rather like her bed head as well. I'll probably change her hair during this whole process but it's a nice, grippable length right now.

I think she's still in shock to some extent. After her first startled gasp, she curled up in a ball and simply let me do what I was doing. I had to apply a little force to uncurl her for the fishnets, and again to get to her nipples for the tape, but she sat up and crawled to the edge of the bed fast enough when I told her to.

I told her to go stand in the corner when I was done dressing her. She still looks a bit blank around the edges and her stomach is still complaining loudly, but it's as good a place as any to store her while I'm busy.

I need a nap, but I can't leave her unguarded and the paranoia will do her some good. I sent in one of my least aggressive sadists to keep her company. If he touches her, I'll peel him and dip him in the bay, so he'll probably be a good boy.

Probably.

Disbelief is a killer. I had trouble believing the dog chow, and I don't know why I didn't see the beating coming.

I was just so angry, so fucking tired of this grotesque fucking train of horrors. And once again, I just… couldn't believe he would do it. I mean, it's one thing to know that someone is violent and something else to realize that they're willing to be violent to you. I just keep remembering all those times he seemed happy to see me, and it makes no sense.

It felt like time slowed down for a moment, or maybe he paused at the beginning. He pounced on the bed and manhandled me over, and then there was this weird moment where we looked at each other. I don't know how to characterize that expression—I could tell he was irritated, but he was also really… gleeful. I could see the decision on his face. Not just him losing his temper, though I'm sure he has some serious anger issues. More… more of his calculated behavior, a conscious and deliberate decision to hurt me because I annoyed him.

In some ways, stupid as this sounds, it made what he did hurt worse. It was that he would decide to do this to me, that it was a thing he would think was acceptable to do to me.

I didn't think anyone would decide to do this to me. Disbelief again.

I can't decide if the feeling of him hitting me lasted forever or went by in a blur. The whole thing seemed to go in fits and starts, like someone was slowing and speeding up time. It's hard to remember anything but snap-shots of his raised fist, or a brief glimpse of the look on his face. I curled up to protect my midsection after he got me in the eye and he let me stay there for awhile but for the reflex to curl to the side with a rib shot.

The whole thing emptied my head, like someone took an ice cream scoop to my brain, leaving this buzzing, flashing emptiness. I just lay there until he pried my arms apart and dressed me, then got up and put those stupid, slutty shoes on and stood in the corner. My stomach was cramping, but the adrenaline made it seem distant. It buried some of the pain, as well—I could tell I was hurt and would be hurting, that it was cold and I wanted to throw up and shit myself, but it was like it was happening to someone else, far away.

He left and sent someone else in. I didn't look, just leaned against the wall with my forehead pressed to the cold concrete. Eventually, I'm going to have to use the bucket, but all I can really feel right now is that same disbelief, like the world has tilted under my feet and I'm suspended over this terrible abyss.

It's true.

Disbelief could kill me.