Ghosts
Day 2
At least they brought me food while I was asleep. A piece of toast with eggs. Breakfast. One breakfast, another day. I attack the food, finding it surprisingly delicious. Maybe it's from the starvation, maybe from the genuine flavor. Why do they handle me with care? I think back to the way the guard picked me up gently. Why gentle? Why to the slave?
After finishing the breakfast, I use the sharp tip of the fork to leave two scratches on the impeccable surface of the wallpaper. Just a little force on the tip and there-day 2.
I study the fork, wondering if I could use it as a weapon.
.
.
.
I fall asleep.
.
.
.
I wake up. There is food. Lunch.
.
.
.
I fall asleep.
.
.
.
I wake up. Dinner.
I realize the pattern as I munch on the piece of meat. I am not to have a company. Is there a camera in this room? Do they watch me? Wait until I fall asleep?
I try staying up, but I fail. Feels like drug is running my system. Has he drugged me again?
I try pretending to fall asleep. Nobody comes until I tire myself out and pass out. Is this a punishment? If so, it won't work.
.
.
.
Day 3
I miss my Sebastian.
.
.
.
Day 4
Loneliness is a sad companion.
.
.
.
Day 5
Darkness.
Darkness and silence is all I have.
.
.
.
Day 10
Nine days. The bastard left me alone for nine fucking days. I rock myself back and forth, looking at the fork marks on the wall. Memories. Memories of silence. Memories of silencedarknessloneliness. My miserable childhood. I think of the old days. No, don't think of the old days. Master made sure those were put behind.
But the sensation is familiar. The overwhelming acknowledgement of my presence filling up the room. The room is full of me-nothing else. And I crave for touch.
I. Crave. For. Touch.
The coldness on my skin reminds me of the screams of mine in the past.
And I do.
I scream.
.
.
.
Day 12
Sebastian appears. In my half-asleep state, he punishes me for being deprived of love. Deprived of love of the enemy.
Twelve scratches. Twelve scratches on the wall. The scratches I leave in the morning are the only thing keeping me aware of the time. The room has no window. I am in constant darkness. I cannot tell day from night except for the breakfast they keep bringing me. Then lunch. Then dinner. Three meals a day. Three meals a scratch.
Why leave the scratches? Why wait for them, beg for them? Master taunts me.
"Master... please..." I weep. Tears. First tear I've ever shed in this cell. Not from beatings, not from humiliation.
That's right. I am your master, and your only master. You shall never call others that. Never beg them.
.
.
.
Day 13
The room has morphed into a monster. The room from my childhood. The room of loneliness. Every second is unbearable.
I am beginning to see things.
I AM SEEING THINGS.
They must have poisoned me. Through food? Fuck every one of them.
.
.
.
Days 14-15
I stop eating.
They take full plates, only to replace them with another full meal.
.
.
.
Day 16
They stop bringing me food.
Instead of a warm plate of breakfast, I find another ragged scratch on the wall. Longer and deeper than others, as if to flaunt the marker's strength-the 16th scratch.
.
.
.
Day 17
Starvation, the howling depth of the darkness, and the haziness the loneliness all leads me to a state where I'm half awake and half asleep. Occasional cups of water are all I've been delivered with.
I hear footsteps and instantly bang and kick on the door, lunatic. I wail for food, for company. There is no answer but a pause in the steps.
"…please."
The footsteps start fading.
.
.
.
Day 18
Food. It's there when I wake. Breakfast. Egg sandwiches. I finish them in mere seconds, still left with hunger. There is a fork on the plate, and I know the reason. They will let me keep track of time. I stagger to the wall with scratches, studying them. 15 scratches by me. 2 by another. I leave another mark-weak, but steady.
Then I throw up, unable to reach the attached bathroom. And I collapse right on it, passing out on my own mess of vomit.
.
.
.
I wake up to warmth. I see a needle attached to my wrist, panic at first, but find my legs and arms free-at least from the lethargy.
"Saying please," a voice calls out from above. "was your second lesson."
"You left me all by myself…" I murmur, not knowing who I am addressing it to.
"But I am here now. And I won't leave until you tell me to."
I give no answer.
"So what's it going to be?"
I turn around in my bed to look into my captor's golden eyes.
"Stay?" he cocks his head. "Or leave?"
Leave.
"Stay," my voice hangs from a cliff.
"Please."
"Please," I begin to weep, and he wraps a blanket around me.
"Good girl," he whispers, his breath brushing against my ear.
I lift my arm for a contact, but drop it as realization kicks in. This is the man who killed Sebastian. This is the man who took me away from him.
But oh, the way his breath caresses my face! I need him to touch me. Maybe just even a quick innocent touch-like an accidental brush of our hands.
The need to taste him is growing too strong, and a tear slips from the corner of my eye. His breath nears to the skin on my cheek, to my lips… The unbearable pain breaks me into a thousand pieces.
Crash.
I open my eyes to find him dazed with shreds of glass on the floor. I have smashed his jaw with a vase. I scream for my foolishness, and scramble backwards in panic, but he only laughs before he grabs my ankle and swiftly pulls me back in place.
"So you like to play it rough," he growls with his smoldering golden eyes.
I shake my head to deny it.
"Yes you do. You like to be hurt," he says, climbing on top of me. "And as a matter of fact, I like to hurt. So let's see how this goes."
He gathers my wrists together and pin them on the space over my head, sweeping his tongue across his bottom lip as he looks down on me.
"What do you think, slave? How far are you willing to let this go?"
I cry out, trying to free my wrists.
"Stop fighting, or I'll have to hurt you bad. Actually though, here's a secret." he whispers. "I absolutely adore it when you fight back."
I whimper, losing control of my body once he traces my collarbones with his lips. Then before I can stop him, he bites down on my skin, making me cry out. I can feel blood running down my neck as I gasp for breath.
"You sick bastard!" I wince from the pain as he laughs.
"And what about your old lover? Was he not a sick bastard?" His voice suddenly drops. "And what about you? Don't you like it sick and twisted also?"
The moment he finishes the sentence, he bucks his hips against mine, and a moan escapes from my mouth.
"It's fine, you have the permission to feel good, slave."
"Not. Your. Slave," I gasp.
"But your body knows the truth," his hand suddenly slides over my underwear, and I groan weakly from the shock of pleasure and humiliation. "See? Your body is wet for me. It belongs to me. I control your body, and never forget that."
Tears run down my cheeks and my vision blurs as he wipes them away gently with his thumb.
"Relax. I am not here to rape you. I'm here to make you let me."
I remember Sebastian promising me, promising me that I will never happen to be with any other men. And I promised back, that I will always be his only. I need to keep that promise.
"It's never going to happen," I whisper. "It's never going to happen."
"Give me a week," he smirks down at me. "I promise you."