monsters.”
Her lip trembled as she stared at him. Not complete monsters? Who let the crazies out of the asylum to create that platitude?
After he secured her and slipped the key into his pocket, he got up to leave. “Someone will be with you in just a moment. Try to relax.”
As if relaxing was an option in her life at this point.
“Anton?”
He shook his head. “No.” The door clicked softly behind him and she was left with her self-recriminations.
How fucking stupid. Why did I go back? For a few cheap thrills? It was all fine and good that she was suddenly willing to explore her darker side, the secret needs and desires she’d pushed below the surface of her sterile, Stepford existence for the past several years. But couldn’t she have left Michael and made those explorations in a safer environment? With someone who wasn’t a deranged criminal?
There were kinky clubs with rules and safeties in place. She could have asked around, found someone safe to play with.
She tried to think back to earlier in the day when she’d looked in the mirror and decided she was finished playing the victim and the whore. And now? She was going to actually be the victim and the whore. No more playing.
“Michael, I’m so sorry,” she whispered to the empty room.
He’d return, and she’d be gone. Then what? Would he ever give up searching for her? Would he make the connection? She dropped her head in her hands thinking about the journal she’d filled then burned. The only clue to her whereabouts, and she’d destroyed it.
Although the fantasy of being rescued by Michael was nice for a moment, she couldn’t imagine the shame of him finding her here. Even if it was only partly her fault. Even if she hadn’t asked for most of it. Maybe it was best the journal was ash, to save her from one more indignity.
She got off the bed and tested the length of the chain. The bathroom had a simple shower and tub combo, a toilet, and sink. There was nothing special or extra, nothing she could use as a weapon. Though with a chain locked around her wrist, fighting seemed pointless and only likely to make the situation worse.
Vivian returned to the room and sat on the bed, scooting against the wall. She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs as she anxiously watched the door, afraid of who might come in, and what he might do with her.
She didn’t have to wait long. A few minutes passed before the door creaked open to reveal a blonde wearing a black silk robe and a delicate leather collar with a silver ring protruding from it.
“Janette?”
Don’t worry about Janette. Janette thinks what she’s told to think.
The woman shook her head. “No, sweetie. I’m her twin, Annette.” Her mouth drew up in an annoyed fashion as if waiting for judgment to fall for having a rhyming name with her sister. Such a small identity difference when they already looked so much alike.
“Oh.” Vivian wasn’t sure what else to say. She was at least mildly comforted by the presence of another female. The woman appeared relatively healthy and not in any way traumatized.
Annette sat on the bed beside her. “I’m here to explain things and to answer any questions you may have.” She stroked her fingers through Vivian’s hair. Vivian flinched, then, realizing there was nothing sexual in the touch, she relaxed and let the other woman continue her ministrations.
The blonde took a deep breath and started a speech she’d probably given a hundred times at least. “You are here to be trained and sold as a piece of sexual property.”
Blunt. Jaded. No bedside manner.
“No!” was the only thing Vivian could think to say. It was the correct thing to say. But she wasn’t acting merely from what seemed proper. The sold part of the equation started a new sense of dread and unease, one more intense than she’d felt since her world had gone sideways.
“Shhhh.” Annette brushed a strand of hair out of Vivian’s eyes.
Her lip trembled as she stared at him. Not complete monsters? Who let the crazies out of the asylum to create that platitude?
After he secured her and slipped the key into his pocket, he got up to leave. “Someone will be with you in just a moment. Try to relax.”
As if relaxing was an option in her life at this point.
“Anton?”
He shook his head. “No.” The door clicked softly behind him and she was left with her self-recriminations.
How fucking stupid. Why did I go back? For a few cheap thrills? It was all fine and good that she was suddenly willing to explore her darker side, the secret needs and desires she’d pushed below the surface of her sterile, Stepford existence for the past several years. But couldn’t she have left Michael and made those explorations in a safer environment? With someone who wasn’t a deranged criminal?
There were kinky clubs with rules and safeties in place. She could have asked around, found someone safe to play with.
She tried to think back to earlier in the day when she’d looked in the mirror and decided she was finished playing the victim and the whore. And now? She was going to actually be the victim and the whore. No more playing.
“Michael, I’m so sorry,” she whispered to the empty room.
He’d return, and she’d be gone. Then what? Would he ever give up searching for her? Would he make the connection? She dropped her head in her hands thinking about the journal she’d filled then burned. The only clue to her whereabouts, and she’d destroyed it.
Although the fantasy of being rescued by Michael was nice for a moment, she couldn’t imagine the shame of him finding her here. Even if it was only partly her fault. Even if she hadn’t asked for most of it. Maybe it was best the journal was ash, to save her from one more indignity.
She got off the bed and tested the length of the chain. The bathroom had a simple shower and tub combo, a toilet, and sink. There was nothing special or extra, nothing she could use as a weapon. Though with a chain locked around her wrist, fighting seemed pointless and only likely to make the situation worse.
Vivian returned to the room and sat on the bed, scooting against the wall. She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs as she anxiously watched the door, afraid of who might come in, and what he might do with her.
She didn’t have to wait long. A few minutes passed before the door creaked open to reveal a blonde wearing a black silk robe and a delicate leather collar with a silver ring protruding from it.
“Janette?”
Don’t worry about Janette. Janette thinks what she’s told to think.
The woman shook her head. “No, sweetie. I’m her twin, Annette.” Her mouth drew up in an annoyed fashion as if waiting for judgment to fall for having a rhyming name with her sister. Such a small identity difference when they already looked so much alike.
“Oh.” Vivian wasn’t sure what else to say. She was at least mildly comforted by the presence of another female. The woman appeared relatively healthy and not in any way traumatized.
Annette sat on the bed beside her. “I’m here to explain things and to answer any questions you may have.” She stroked her fingers through Vivian’s hair. Vivian flinched, then, realizing there was nothing sexual in the touch, she relaxed and let the other woman continue her ministrations.
The blonde took a deep breath and started a speech she’d probably given a hundred times at least. “You are here to be trained and sold as a piece of sexual property.”
Blunt. Jaded. No bedside manner.
“No!” was the only thing Vivian could think to say. It was the correct thing to say. But she wasn’t acting merely from what seemed proper. The sold part of the equation started a new sense of dread and unease, one more intense than she’d felt since her world had gone sideways.
“Shhhh.” Annette brushed a strand of hair out of Vivian’s eyes.
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