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When they throw me on the bed, I try to put some words to my dread. “Wait,” I gasp. “I can’t—”
They manhandle me until my head hangs upside down at the foot of the bed. My world tilts, watching Sam’s legs move around the room. I feel Lik grabbing something from under the mattress while he holds one of my hands.
“Sam,” I panic. My wrist is now cuffed, with something akin to leather. I pull at it and do my best to keep my other arm close. Sam is already grabbing it and putting my other wrist in another cuff.
“Don’t. I can’t…” The tremor in my voice tells them everything. I’m not ready. I’m scared, and I have no trust in either of them.
“Do you know why I never touched you, Rose?”
My arms are pulled to the two extremities of the bed, my head is hanging upside down, and all I can see is Sam’s legs up to his crotch. His black jeans are right in my face, the same kind he always wears.
“Answer me.” He slaps my cheek. It’s not hard, not violent, something you’d do to someone who’s fainting and you’re trying to bring them back.
“No, I don’t know.” I can barely hear my own voice, feeling like I’m not really in my body. I squeeze my eyes and open them again, wishing all this was just a dream.
Why did I do this? Bringing Simon here, using him to make myself feel better and hoping they’d catch me. Was it worth it? His life? My sanity?
“Because I didn’t want to hurt you. And I wanted you to love me.”
“What?” I shake my head slowly from one side to the other, confused.
“I like pain, Rose. Like him. Like Bianco. I want to hurt your pretty little body until you’re writhing and begging me to stop. Then, I want you to like it and beg me for more. I want to mark you. I want to make you bleed. I want to bruise you with my own hands, with toys, with my teeth. And I want you to thank me for it.Just. Like. Him.”
I shake my head more harshly, trying to drive away the images of Bianco hurting me.
“Stop,” I plead. “You’re not him.”
“No.” He lowers himself so I can finally see his face. “I’m worse.”
Tears spring to my eyes. I can’t honestly explain why. I’m not in pain,not yet. But the childhood image I had of my Sam, of my savior, is being shattered to pieces, and eight-year-old me isn’t ready to accept it. “That’s not true,” I fight back. “That’s not…” A sob clogs my throat. “You wouldn’t hurt me.”
I sound childish, desperate. A kid who can’t accept the truth that someone is waving right in front of their eyes. Just like I hadn’t accepted the first time Bianco hurt me.
“I will.” A tinge of guilt stains the strength in his voice. Remorse for something he can’t control. “Because I am done letting you off the hook. That was the last time you pushed me. The last time I let you think I’m the stupid, lovesick boy who will let you wrap him around your finger and make his life miserable. I hope you enjoyed his dick, because that was the last time I let you stray. From now on, it’s me. Me and whoeverIallow to touch you. That’s all. I am your only focus. I am who you aim to please. I am who you exist through.Me. No one else.”
“You’ve lost it,” I breathe out, my voice a murmur trying to reach his crazy mind.
“Yeah,” he nods. “You’ve finally done it. I’ve fucking lost my mind.”
I pull at my wrists. Blood is rushing to my head and I feel a bit dizzy. Everything is a blur through the tears I haven’t shed. I’m stuck, terrified, and the truth slips past my lips.
“You’re scaring me,” I admit in the hopes he will find pity in me and let me go.
“Don’t worry, baby,” he tells me. A hand comes to rest on my upside-down cheek.
He’s never called me baby before; I love it and hate it, all the same.
“Look at Lik. He’s been through what you’re going through.” My eyes dart to Lik. In the short time I’ve known him, I’ve not seen him so serious for so long. I wish I could see a smile on his face, even half of one. A small dimple on his cheek, anything that would show me this is not the end of me. “And he’s doing just fine. Never been so obedient in his life.”
A single tear breaches my eyelid, overflowing the barriers of my eyelashes. It slowly rolls to the corner of my eye and down my forehead until it gets stuck in my hairline.
“I don’t want to do this,” I sniffle, trying to gather my words. “I’m not ready.”
He traces the track of my tear with his thumb, looking deeply into my eyes, grabbing a piece of my soul and twisting it for his own pleasure. “Lik,” he says, looking right at me. “What do we say about begging?”
There is not an ounce of hesitation when he replies, “Keep it for when you can’t take it anymore.”
Sam stands up as I twist some more, practically dislodging my shoulders in a desperate attempt to get free.
