BPOV
When he picks up the knife, I panic.
Not a wild sort of panic, but rather a paralysis that seeps from my mind down through my body. I stop crying, and watch him with wary eyes. I know that the voice seems to be commanding the situation, but he has gone and gotten this knife on his own. Maybe he has been here longer than I have?
Was there someone here before me?
I feel a strange sense of hysteria. I feel detached from my body- like when Charlie would do the truly awful things to me. When he broke my wrist. Or when he would sit on my chest so I couldn't breathe…
He sits too close to me on the bed, but has lifted me before I can shift away. He pulls me into his lap, knife in hand. What a strange thing, to be touching another person so completely. We are entirely exposed, bare skin on bare skin. All of my conditioned fears climax at a painful point behind my eyes, and the floodgates open once more. No longer detached, I am quaking and sobbing. The knife glints impossibly sharp before me, with an edge that doesn't stop but rather tapers out of being.
He puts his arm around my neck, cupping his hand closed over my mouth. This quiets my sobs to some degree, and I know I am being a bad girl by not stopping, but I can't, it's just too much and I-
"How fucking much?"
I hate curse words. I hate hate hate them. "You fucking bitch! You fucking piece of worthless shit!" CRACK
I can't I
He's just so close and I
i don't like to be touched i can't i can't
I am slipping into a sea. A black and cold sea that languidly licks over my feet, and then my knees, and then my waist, and oh, how soothing to drown…
The cool blade makes itself a foreign part of me as it nestles into the top of my arm. His firm grip on me isn't firm enough, and my small struggle makes the blade slip deeper than he intended.
"FUCK. HOW FUCKING MUCH?"
His grip on me tightens until I feel he shall break my bones. The knife slithers out, and crimson gathers in the relatively shallow wound.
It feels as though my arm is on fire.
I look up into his eyes, and plead for forgiveness. "I'm so sorry. I'll be better. I'll be a good girl!" Within their emerald depths I can read sorrow, sorrow so profound it seems to encompass all that there is in his soul. He bites his lip, as though biting back the tears I can see gathering in the corners of his eyes. He cradles me still, tightly, but I feel almost swaddled in his lap like a baby, despite our exposure. I thought he was punishing me, but, dare I say it… he seems to also be receiving punishment of his own.
"What do you think, Edward? Have you taught her thoroughly how things will go?" The voice is a cascade of scarcely-masked glee.
"Yes." He grinds this response out, and I can feel (because I'm touching his skin!) his body sag in exhaustion. This man is weary. His body is hard and coiled to strike, but his mind is leaving him.
I am exhausted too, aren't I? The pain is slipping away from me. The whole world seems to be deserting me, in fact. Just
slipping away from where I can
feel it and I just
Darkness.
When I wake, the wall is up.
I take slow stock of myself, and open my eyes. The top of my arm bears a snowy bandage, a pad of gauze carefully taped down. I sit up, and my head swims. I wonder who has taken care of me?
It must have been him. I cannot discern any doors to leave the room we're in, though one could be flush with the glass and undiscoverable. Operated remotely, like the transparent wall. I look to see him.
He sits on the edge of the bed, with his hands in his hair and head bowed deeply towards the floor. The breadth of his shoulders still takes my breath away (this is a dangerous man) but my fear for him is lessened each passing moment in this hellish nightmare.
A teardrop falls from his downward turned face, and another. He is crying.
I have never seen a man cry.
I stand, on wobbly newborn calf legs that threaten to abandon this pursuit. I feel brittle, but I walk towards the wall that we share. In all of my time of pain, of suffering, of despair, I hoped for someone to share the burden of horror with. I sink down to my knees, and sit cross-legged, my knees pressed up to the wall.
He observes this with a slightly lifted head, and when I have settled, he sinks to his hands and knees and moves the short distance to the wall. He joins me, and places his forehead against the glass (when his head is bowed this way, it looks as though it is done almost in prayer).
I place my forehead against his, with about a half inch of glass separating us. Strangely, I feel no anxiety with this action.
He has been one of my torturers here. He probably will continue to be. But I knew when he showed me our common collar that he was a prisoner as I was, and a slave to the disembodied voice.
The wall begins to rise, which startles me. My gasp is quick, but I scoot under the rising wall and into his lap.
How strange to feel this touch and feel comforted.
His massive arms encircle me completely and cradle me to his chest. I don't cry, or even tremble- I am fearless in this moment. His sorrow dampens the top of my head.
I can trust this man.
EPOV
I can trust this girl.
She will survive this, I know for a fact. Her strength in initiating contact is evident. Even as a clear abuse victim, she has some sort of fire in her that will allow her to keep going.
Tanya nearly made it. In the end, she just had too much fire. She challenged the voice a lot in the beginning, and the multitude of shocks gave her some tremors and twitches that were heavily unsettling. But she seemed to learn after awhile… until the voice made the demand that they all refuse. Bile rises in my throat imagining another day, with this girl, that the demand will be made.
This voice belongs to a man who is seriously fucked up. A sexual sadist, he gets off on making me do these things to these girls. But it's all part of his delusion. In his mind, I know, he imagines that he is making my life perfect. Treating me to a wonderful kingdom with all that I desire. There is a disconnect in his brain that creates this fantasy.
But when the girls shatter the fantasy to refuse the demand…
I cannot warn them. He's always listening. I need to stay alive, because he could bring someone else in here who doesn't know how to make this the least horrible for them. He could bring someone in who might actually… enjoy this.
I never let the anger get the best of me purposely. But sometimes, I have hurt the girls. I look down and see this sweet bird's delicacy. Her weakness. I need to preserve her- it's an all-consuming sort of need that I hope will help me contain the anger if the time should ever come.
My thoughts are so scattered as I hold this girl. She feels sharp in my arms, something that terrifies me. There is no room for error in her body weight, and I worry in the time to come that he will play his eating games with her.
I know that there will be points of light with her.
We will laugh. I will learn about her past life. We will bond and become friends. I did these things with all of the other girls- I need to make their time here mean something.
I need to make sure they have someone to remember them.
But with this one, I need to understand her. I am compelled by her presence, feeling things I have not felt with the others. I need to shield this from him until I can understand the implications.
Perhaps, if he believes me to be in love with her, he will see his job as done.
I have been so lost in the wanderings of my musings that I have not noticed she has fallen deeply asleep. Her breathing is coming from an at-ease part of her, and it soothes me with a fresh and cool whisper.
I stand, lifting her with ease (she is such nothingness it pains me). She does not stir. I make my way over to my bed, since he has always graced me with soft white sheets and blankets. The girls tend to shiver the nights away when he keeps us separate. What a kindness he has done her tonight…
When I try to lay her down, she whimpers in her sleep and clutches tighter at my neck. It breaks my heart, her desperate need to trust me. She should be much more cautious, choosing me for security so early on. Of course, I will be here for her.
Once lying in the bed, she winds herself so close to me it feels like she's trying to leap inside of my skin. She shivers with delicacy (it's always so chilly in here) and I manage to maintain my composure when her erect nipples brush against me.
He will make me do those things later on, and I mustn't look forward to them at all.
I hum her a sweet lullaby to swing us both softly into sleep.