way. I'm sorry I had to do that to you."
I lay unwilling to engage him any longer. I stare with silently accusing eyes into his face. He's mad. He's totally loony. And for fuck's sake I think I'm in love with him. And he'll probably kill me sooner or later. How often has he done something insane to me? Too often since we've met. Tears stream silently out of my midnight blue eyes. I don't think we can ever go back. I'm a victim. I know I am. I can't escape. Despite my conflict, I soak in the comfort. Crying, terrified, I am appalled to find myself clinging back while I sob in mental despair against his chest.
Chapter 12: Alive
I don't resist at all when he picks me up and carries me back to his candlelit lair. I'm exhausted and on the edge mentally. I'm holding on with my last fingernail. Fraught, I watch flame induced shadows on the far wall. It smells mildly of cloves in here.
Vaguely claustrophobic I'm struggling with the panic that induces hyperventilation. I have to stay conscious. I wish my hair wasn't so cold and wet. I'm not sure if the shivering is from the fear quivering my stomach, or from the cold attacking my skin from being so damp.
I force myself to breathe when he starts peeling my wet jeans off after depositing me onto his bed. Staring at the ceiling sheathed in shadows; I'm still queasy from swallowing so much water. I am so far beyond terrified that I'm not sure I'm feeling any longer. Becoming engulfed in a disturbing numb resignation.
I'm experiencing mild relief that he doesn't seem intent on removing my black satin g-string. I'm trying to focus on something static. Something to help return calm. Anything to avoid looking into his eyes. I know he'll see how severely he's shattered my confidence if he looks into my eyes. I don't want him to know how petrified I am right now. Stupid girls end up with crazy men, alone in their dungeons. Did I learn nothing from Silence of the Lambs?
His head moves into my vision. My breathing becomes shallow with tension as I stare up into blue eyes. Flinching, I close my eyes when his head advances. Please don't say Clarise. Please don't peel my eyelids off. Please don't torture me.
A tight grip of hands on both sides of my face. Oh god he's going to hurt me now isn't he? My lips twist as tears escape in silent terror.
"No. Phoebe, come on. Come back."
I draw ragged breaths, fighting the reflex to quiver.
"Open your eyes."
Parting my eyelids I stare back obediently. My heart is thrashing wildly, betraying me. He looks so sane.
"I didn't want this. I didn't think you'd react this way."
Numb stare. I am unresponsive because I'm irrevocably broken. He's shattered me.
Warm lips flutter around my face. Hot breath follows them. Maybe this shit turns him on?
Gentle whisper, "Where's the fighter? Baby push back. Don't succumb like this."
Just leave me alone. Please .
The bed depresses when he lays next to me. I am instantly so tense you could iron on me. He's covering me with the silk linen, dyed anthracite black. Please don't bury me alive . I close my eyes against the hot breath washing over me followed with delicate kisses.
He clutches me tightly; automatically the tension strung through me reaches snapping point. His thumb is rubbing the hollow below my collarbone absently.
Hoarsely I ask, "You made me pass out didn't you?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"Pressure point ... here."
His thumb moves above my collar bone to the hollow there. I close my eyes again and swallow with difficulty.
"Don't give in like this Phoebe."
"Please don't hurt me any more."
I can't believe how different I sound. I don't even sound like me. Raw emotion subdues my voice, it sounds quavery and weak. Pleading doesn't work with crazy people, does it? That's why they do it, surely? He probably gets hard just hearing me verbalise that. I shouldn't have said anything.
He picks me up and cradles me, rocking me, one hand holding my head. He rests his forehead against mine.
And
I lay unwilling to engage him any longer. I stare with silently accusing eyes into his face. He's mad. He's totally loony. And for fuck's sake I think I'm in love with him. And he'll probably kill me sooner or later. How often has he done something insane to me? Too often since we've met. Tears stream silently out of my midnight blue eyes. I don't think we can ever go back. I'm a victim. I know I am. I can't escape. Despite my conflict, I soak in the comfort. Crying, terrified, I am appalled to find myself clinging back while I sob in mental despair against his chest.
Chapter 12: Alive
I don't resist at all when he picks me up and carries me back to his candlelit lair. I'm exhausted and on the edge mentally. I'm holding on with my last fingernail. Fraught, I watch flame induced shadows on the far wall. It smells mildly of cloves in here.
Vaguely claustrophobic I'm struggling with the panic that induces hyperventilation. I have to stay conscious. I wish my hair wasn't so cold and wet. I'm not sure if the shivering is from the fear quivering my stomach, or from the cold attacking my skin from being so damp.
I force myself to breathe when he starts peeling my wet jeans off after depositing me onto his bed. Staring at the ceiling sheathed in shadows; I'm still queasy from swallowing so much water. I am so far beyond terrified that I'm not sure I'm feeling any longer. Becoming engulfed in a disturbing numb resignation.
I'm experiencing mild relief that he doesn't seem intent on removing my black satin g-string. I'm trying to focus on something static. Something to help return calm. Anything to avoid looking into his eyes. I know he'll see how severely he's shattered my confidence if he looks into my eyes. I don't want him to know how petrified I am right now. Stupid girls end up with crazy men, alone in their dungeons. Did I learn nothing from Silence of the Lambs?
His head moves into my vision. My breathing becomes shallow with tension as I stare up into blue eyes. Flinching, I close my eyes when his head advances. Please don't say Clarise. Please don't peel my eyelids off. Please don't torture me.
A tight grip of hands on both sides of my face. Oh god he's going to hurt me now isn't he? My lips twist as tears escape in silent terror.
"No. Phoebe, come on. Come back."
I draw ragged breaths, fighting the reflex to quiver.
"Open your eyes."
Parting my eyelids I stare back obediently. My heart is thrashing wildly, betraying me. He looks so sane.
"I didn't want this. I didn't think you'd react this way."
Numb stare. I am unresponsive because I'm irrevocably broken. He's shattered me.
Warm lips flutter around my face. Hot breath follows them. Maybe this shit turns him on?
Gentle whisper, "Where's the fighter? Baby push back. Don't succumb like this."
Just leave me alone. Please .
The bed depresses when he lays next to me. I am instantly so tense you could iron on me. He's covering me with the silk linen, dyed anthracite black. Please don't bury me alive . I close my eyes against the hot breath washing over me followed with delicate kisses.
He clutches me tightly; automatically the tension strung through me reaches snapping point. His thumb is rubbing the hollow below my collarbone absently.
Hoarsely I ask, "You made me pass out didn't you?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"Pressure point ... here."
His thumb moves above my collar bone to the hollow there. I close my eyes again and swallow with difficulty.
"Don't give in like this Phoebe."
"Please don't hurt me any more."
I can't believe how different I sound. I don't even sound like me. Raw emotion subdues my voice, it sounds quavery and weak. Pleading doesn't work with crazy people, does it? That's why they do it, surely? He probably gets hard just hearing me verbalise that. I shouldn't have said anything.
He picks me up and cradles me, rocking me, one hand holding my head. He rests his forehead against mine.
And
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