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I try not to be ashamed, but I can't fight it. I tell the truth, "I have a few friends who got clean after going there." My gut flips. I add, "And I wish my mother would check into the facility."
Something passes in Riggs's eyes, making me think he understands how I feel about my mother. Then again, he's met her and knows her well. He softly replies, "That's a good choice, but don't get your hopes up. Addiction runs deep."
I stay quiet, turn away, and blink hard.
A few moments pass, then he orders, "Let's see how well you can follow the rules. Stand up, pet."
I swallow my pride and rise, tapping my fingers on my thighs.
"Strip," he commands.
Fire races to my cheeks. I stare at him.
"Do I need to repeat myself?" he questions.
I swallow hard, slowly unbutton his flannel, and slide it over my shoulders. It falls to the ground at my feet, baring my body.
He assesses me, slowly running his leering gaze over every inch of my skin for longer than necessary. He locks his blues on mine and twirls his finger in the air. "Spin."
I obey, turning so my backside is in front of him, with my heart thumping harder into my chest cavity.
He rises and steps behind me, close enough that I can feel his presence looming yet not touching me. Chills break out along my spine. I shiver as he orders, "Go to the window and kneel, pet."
I turn my head in objection, but he anticipates my reaction. He grabs my chin and provokes, "You will not look at me when I give you an order unless given permission. I'll take you over my knee the next time you defy me. Now, I said to go kneel."
I take a deep breath, attempt not to glare at him, and wonder why I agreed to this.
I have nowhere else to go.
That's a lie. I did it because it's Riggs.
I concede and kneel in front of the glass.
He follows me, crouches down, and instructs, "Hands folded on your lap unless otherwise instructed. Head bowed. Back straight with your butt resting on your calves."
I reposition my body and try to look at him with my peripheral vision.
"Don't do that. You'll get punished," he warns.
Frustrated, I stare at my hands, twisting my fingers.
"Stop fidgeting," he demands.
I freeze, wondering how long I'll have to stay in this position.
His shadow falls over me. He continues, "You will not speak unless spoken to, or I permit you. It includes when I touch you. Do you understand?"
I roll my eyes. "Yes."
"Yes, who?"
I sigh. "Yes, Sir."
He crouches in front of me again. "Do you think you're allowed to display an attitude toward me?"
"I'm not," I claim, turning toward him.
His eyes darken so much that it freaks me out. "Did I tell you to break your position?"
