Locking me in place with his tight, crippling grip, he slapped my pussy so fucking hard that my legs just spread open for him. I shut my eyes, not wanting to see what he was going to do next.

“Look at me!”

“No!”

“I said fucking look at me!”

“No!”

He didn’t waver, cupping his hand over my mouth and nose; I couldn’t breathe. Instinctively, I kicked my legs which only made him straddle my body. I thrashed around, at least I tried to, but I was losing air. My oxygen was depleting, and it didn’t help that I was wasting it pitifully trying to fight him off.

I was going to pass out, and at this point, I didn’t give a shit. It meant I didn’t have to look at him, hear him, want to kill him for however long I was out.

Everything started going dark.

Darker.

Black.

Complete and utter opaqueness. Until the only thing I could see was my life playing out for me like a tragic Shakespearian play. I saw it all, starting from when I was little. I went from being with my captor, with his hands around my neck, to being home.

Safe and sound.

Happy.

Loved.

At first, I thought I was dreaming. My head felt heavy, and my body even heavier; the room felt like it was spinning. I was lightheaded, and even though I had just woken up from fainting, I was tired, exhausted even. I slowly moved my head side-to-side, trying to wake up. Only then did I realize there was something on my eyes, keeping me from being able to see or open them.

I should’ve felt fear, but I was drained of any emotion. I allowed it to take over and passed out again. The next time I woke up, I was less hazed, recognizing instantly that my displacement had not changed. I was in the exact same position I was in before.

Except this time, there was what felt like a rope tied around my wrists and ankles, binding my arms to the headboard, and my legs were spread apart, knotted by rope to the bedposts. I couldn’t close them. I wanted to yell, but it came out as a muffled shriek. Nobody was going to rescue me but me, and I couldn’t even get out of the damn ropes or stay awake long enough to scream. Not that it mattered.

I remembered a psych class, where the professor did an entire lecture on fear and how it motivated people, how it was one of the only things that could create a perfect world, and I remembered hating that it made sense, that it sounded right. Not everything was fueled by adrenaline, fed by fear, and there was nothing I could do about the way I responded, even when I told myself to calm down, to think, to negotiate. I felt myself constantly defaulting , protecting myself.

I tried to move until my skin felt raw, fighting until my body couldn’t move anymore, and I was sweating profusely. I should have been crying, and I couldn’t tell if I was in shock because I didn’t feel anything.

I was numb.

It was only then that I felt the back of a hand touch the side of my face, and I froze, not moving one muscle. My mind went into overload…

“Is it you?” I asked, my voice trembling. Thinking it could be someone else—I was unsure of which would be better or worse. Him or someone new…

As if reading my mind, he countered, “Do you want it to be?”

I breathed out a sigh of relief. His hand was still on the side of my face and hadn’t moved. It was comforting and creepy all at the same time. My breathing was labored, and my heart was racing. More questions started to arise in my mind.

Before I could continue with my mindless thoughts, he asked, “Are you done with your temper tantrum?”

I swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“Good girl.”

Rat bastard and his demeaning praise.

“Can you please take the blindfold off?” I tried again, voice easy, all traces of the tremble gone.

“Seeing as you wouldn’t look me in the eyes before, I assumed you wanted to stay in your self-preservation of darkness.”

“I don’t want to anymore.”

“How convenient,” he snapped.

“Please. I won’t fight you again.”

“You’re tied to your bed, pet. You can’t do much of anything right now.”

I whimpered, wanting to see.

“You really do have a pretty pussy, Juliet,” he laughed at me, stripping away the last bit of my dignity. “It’s just the right shade of pink.”

I sucked in air from the fresh tears coming out of my eyes. I’d never in my life felt lower, more demeaned, embarrassed, afraid, and yet I responded; I physically responded like someone sick in the head.

“Pet … when someone pays you a compliment, you should say thank you. Where the fuck are your manners? I bathe you, I give you water, food, shelter, and now, I tell you that your cunt is pretty, and what do you say?” he taunted, hitting something hard against the soles of my feet.

Tags: M. Robinson, Rachel Van Dyken Dark
Source: readsnovelonline.net