Claimed

Seconds ticked by, turning into minutes. Why had he unlocked the door if he didn’t plan to let her out?

Finally, Kelsey sat up, wincing as her sore bottom brushed the hard closet floor. How long had he left her there this time? She was hungry, but then, she was always hungry. It had definitely been overnight, judging by the pressure in her bladder.

What the hell was taking James so long to open the fucking door? She really had to pee. Her bladder was aching, and the prospect of being let out made it that much worse as she imagined the relief she would feel when she sat on the toilet.

Hurry up, you bastard.

She thought she heard the sound of the front door clicking shut, and then the rumble of a car engine, which faded slowly away. What was going on?

“James?” she ventured finally.

Nothing.

She moved in the dark, feeling for the door, closing her hand over the knob. Did she dare?

She turned it slowly, her heart beating fast. Was he standing on the other side, waiting for just such impertinence? Was he watching the knob turn? Was this just another trap?

She dropped her hand, her courage momentarily failing her. What game was he playing?

Finally, her bladder spurring her on, she reached for the knob again, listening hard for the slightest sound. All she could hear was the beating of her own heart, an insistent boom, boom, boom in her chest.

Slowly, slowly, she pushed at the door, freezing for a moment as the hinges creaked, the sound sharp as a knife. “James?” she called softly.

Nothing.

She pushed the door wider, her ears pricked. She squinted against the sudden light that assailed her, blinking rapidly as her eyes adjusted to the glare. The sun was shining brightly through the bedroom window, its angle telling her it was late morning.

Where was James?

Her eyes swept the room. It was empty, everything packed. “James?” she called again, louder this time. If he was there, she’d just as soon face him, damn it. She crawled into the room and pushed herself slowly to her feet. He must have wanted her to come out of the closet, she reasoned, or why had he unlatched it? Again she pondered what game he was playing. How was she supposed to figure out the rules?

Her bladder directed her next moves, and she half-danced, half skipped toward the bathroom, clutching at herself the way a child might as she made her way to the toilet. She sighed with relief as she peed, voiding as quickly as she could, certain James would appear at any second.

She finished and wiped herself. Flushing, she jumped up from the toilet and went to the sink, avoiding her image as she always did as she splashed water on her face and reached for a towel. Then, though she knew she shouldn’t, she turned around and twisted back to see the damage from the spanking. Her bottom was mottled with dark red and purple bruises and she winced at the sight.

Don’t forget it, she told herself. Don’t float away again. Stay conscious. Stay focused. Fight!

Resolved, she turned away from the image and ventured back into the bedroom, still not sure how she would react when she saw him. Should she try to play his game? Should she drop to her knees, beg his forgiveness and promise to be a good girl?

I can’t. I can’t do it. Not again. I won’t.

Steeling herself, she entered the living room, girding herself to face her tormentor.

The room was empty.

She walked into the kitchen, her heart beating so fast she thought she might pass out.

He wasn’t there.

She opened a drawer, looking for something sharp to use as a weapon. James had kept the knives hidden ever since she’d slashed him all those months ago. But a fork would work too. She could stab it into his eye, and then make a run for it.

She grabbed a fork and returned to the living room. She peered through the front window. She couldn’t see his car, but that didn’t necessarily mean it wasn’t there.

She ran into the bedroom and yanked open a drawer, searching for something to wear. The drawers were empty. She went into the bathroom and rummaged in the linen closet, pulling down one of James’ old T-shirts that she used as a rag when cleaning. It was better than nothing, and she pulled it over her head. In the mudroom she found an old pair of flip flops, and she slid her feet into them. There was a jacket hanging on the peg, and she put this on as well. She would make her way to the main road and flag someone down.

Then she heard it—the sound of a car pulling up to the house. He was back. She had to get out! But how? There was only one door to the cabin, and he was right outside.