BPOV- past
Humming cautiously, more to fill an oppressive silence than to form a tune, I move around the kitchen. With the oven and stovetop going I need to be completely present, and not dozing off uselessly as I am so prone to do. Charlie would likely be home just in time for his dinner as I have his routine down cold. Coming home to a lukewarm dinner would not do, and would only serve to prove my thoughtlessness.
My nose wrinkles as I chop red onion, tossing cilantro into the skillet obscene looking cut meat. I have a certain issue with red meat, as the tissue and fat and tenderness just turns my stomach. Charlie expects certain things of me, however, and I do well to keep my nausea to myself.
Reaching for a hot pad to the left of the stove, a delicate motion catches the corner of my eye. It's not so much a movement as a disturbance of the quiet kitchen, quiet save for my humming having ceased and my work sizzling in the heat. My stomach plummets to the very roots of my feet and I am frozen to the kitchen tile. He is home and he is creeping about. He makes his presence known when he wants it known, and my terror has betrayed my intrusion of his privacy. I know better, I know to ignore him until he comes to find me but
he came in so quietly somehow and I
am not done with his dinner and I
a flush of displaced air raises the hairs on the back of my neck and he is behind me at once. Breathing. I can smell the pressed clothes that march stiffly along his skin. I can almost hear the wink of his badge in the late-lingering afternoon sunshine.
"Hello Isabella. Respond."
"Hello father."
"Is my dinner finished, Isabella? Respond."
"No, sir, but-
His baton snaps the backs of my knees to attention, and I sink to the floor of the kitchen before the oven. I bite back tears, but a wounded gasp fled my lips before I could hold it. I feel my bladder let go a little and clamp my legs tighter together. He has surprised me, true, but I can still mollify him and escape true punishment if I keep my wits about me. The hit from the baton, like a love-tap, compared to what I am due if I continue to be such a bad girl. Explanations fall in vain on Charlie's ears, and we would finish our interaction more quickly if I could own my own guilt. Peace, Bella, and think.
"Do you think I worked all day long today, making money to feed your sorry fucking ass, so that I could come home and wait for a dinner?"
A trick. I remain silent. Heat blazes under my cheekbones and I refuse to turn around and invite further anger.
"Do you think I keep you here to loaf around all fucking day, day dreaming and twiddling your fingers?"
I think of the fresh sheets waiting for him upstairs, stare down at the painstakingly scrubbed tile, call to mind the shelves dusted and the fixtures shining and… no. I am sure I timed dinner incorrectly and I deserve this. Charlie is harsh with me but I have been a bad girl today. He must be hungry and it's just a simple task really…
(but Bella you do so much for him Bella you are hungry how long since you ate Bella)
…no, Charlie feeds me when I follow instructions and contribute to our way of life. I am ungrateful and thus prone to mistakes such as these. Right? Yes…
His hand is in my hair and the roots of it burn, my skull is pulled sharply backwards and through the tops of my eyelashes I can see him at last. We are a poignant sight to see, him standing crisp and tall and strong behind me, baton in hand, tower of authority, and me, bent backwards and loose in submission. From somewhere deeper within my mind, a wanton hiss 'you quite literally bend over backwards for this bad man Bella, he is the bad man, and you are nothing if not the good girl'.
He smiles a Cheshire cat grin.
EPOV- present
Things have gone easier for Bella over the past few days.
There are occasional periods of inactivity for the voice, which I have always taken to mean he is engaged in a day job, or perhaps has even left for a trip of some kind. We have no way of judging time here. The lights are always on, save for when he has chosen to play a game in the darkness. However, even without the aid of the sun or a clock, one's body makes its own rhythms that create days and nights. Bella initially had no rhythm at all, battered as she was. I have not been able to get any information from her about who she was on the outside, but it was not a good place for her. She initially slept almost non-stop. This exhaustion was not helped by the first few times that the voice played with us. He was rougher than usual with this new girl, something that ripped at my heart since she was already so broken down.
Broken down is not quite the right word however. She is so strong, I can already tell. Things terrify her, and frequently- I would never mention it, but she has very physical reactions to the voice I don't think she's aware of. She had a few accidents when shocked over the earliest period after her arrival, speaking perhaps to other long-term abuse. I only wish she would let me in so I could better understand what she was put through. I tend to get worked up and sweat when the voice plays with me, but a near constant shaking plagues Bella. It puts me in mind of Tanya's horrible ticks she developed but I think it's more a fear thing. She lives like a prey animal, constantly anxious for her next meal.
On that front, we have been fortunate.
She came in so small that even the voice must have known she would simply die from lack of nutrition. The other girls begged or threw tantrums, sometimes directing their anger at me, which was immensely entertaining for him. I cannot manage my own anger well and… I never meant to hurt any of them. But being here did something to you.
Bella does not lie on the bed so much as she is gingerly curled upon it. She picked up a disturbing habit of sleeping on the floor previously that I take to be a result of the shock of being here. The worst part of being under the voice's control is being degraded, and he especially delights in treating the girls like animals. I want her on the bed, and once I expressed that she never once strayed back. The wall is down now, and has been for several periods of waking-time for us. I cannot sleep when the voice is away for a length of time. It seems to distort time, drawing everything out, and I live in constant anticipation of the collar humming to life. It is harder to be at peace without his occasional intervention, if this can be believed.
Her side rises and falls, skin crudely stretched over the cut of her pelvic bone. It looks almost painful, but certainly is less pronounced than when she first arrived. She has gained maybe five pounds. Her relatively quick weight gain leads me to believe she could be at a healthy weight if we make it out of this…
But there is unlikely to be a we.
I fear she will not survive his favorite game. He has spared her thus far, perhaps as part of his effort to make her well. Spared her in a certain sense… she has two cuts on her arms, and three on her stomach. I tried to make those as clean as possible to save her bad scarring if she makes it. But, he has spared her the worst game of all.
The wall, still for so many sleeps, rises.
Its motion startles me, despite how used to it I have become. This time I almost did not expect him to return. But as surely as the world outside has gone on without us, the wall will rise and the voice will join us once more.
"Edward, wake her, or I will do it for you."
I burst from my lounge on the bed, racing towards Bella. I don't make it however, as I knew I wouldn't (another favorite game) and she contorts in a spasm of pain. She is awake so suddenly that her eyes seem to burst from her head, and the scream that comes from her is shocking. I hear her make only the slightest sounds unless completely against her will. She sounds like a whipped dog. The scream dissolves into sobs that she works to hush. Clutching her knees to her chest, she rocks in a child's attempt to self-soothe.
I reach her bed but I have drastically slowed (startling her results in embarrassing reactions for both of us). I sit on the edge, wanting for the world of me to reach out and hold her but knowing better.
"Edward, fuck her."
Her head swivels towards me, skin like china and eyes swimming with tears.