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I’m still confused about where we are and how I got here. More than just a little confused. It’s unsettling.
“Good morning. Where are we?”
“My apartment at Huntsman Lodge.”
I nod, trying to remember how I got here.
“How are you feeling?”
“A little achy. But otherwise okay.”
“That’s from being in bed for so long.”
“What time is it?”
“Seven thirty.”
He’s dressed in a suit, like he might be going to work.
“How long was I asleep?” I ask, somewhat guarded. The memory lapse is making me uneasy.
“About forty-eight hours.”
“What?” I gasp, sitting up. “There are huge gaps in my memory. Was I drugged?”
“Absolutely not. Tell me the last thing you remember.”
I sift through my memory, trying to piece the fragments together.I got in the truck. I remember the market and the pier. And a ship, and then Antonio coming into a room where I was shackled to a wall. He was so angry.
I examine his face for clues, but there are none. Although the wrinkles on his forehead grow deeper with my silence.
“I remember you being angry. Furious, as you dragged me off the ship. And I remember the shower, and everything else is fuzzy.” I touch a small round bandage in the crook of my arm.
“The doctor was here yesterday.”
“A doctor?”
“I couldn’t get you to stay awake long enough to take fluids. I was concerned that you were dehydrated. The doctor gave you an IV and did a little blood work.”
I remember the IV going in. A prick. I also remember the doctor saying he wouldn’t advise any more punishment.“Mind your own goddamn business,” Antonio replied.
Punishment.
“It’s not that I have no memory—not exactly. It’s that things are choppy and hazy. Just bits and pieces. I’m not sure what parts I dreamed and which are real.”
“Give yourself a little time. Eventually you’ll remember everything.”
“You punished me?” I ask as I remember the bite of the belt on my skin.
He nods. “I did.”
His words and his expression are devoid of emotion. I don’t know what to make of it.
We had sex. And there was a barrel. And begging. And an orgasm. What if it wasn’t a dream?Oh my God.
“Did we have—sex?” I ask, swallowing the embarrassment.
His expression is hard now—or maybe serious. “We did.”
