“Never expected you to be next,” Richards teases, flinging his hand out to do that stupid, macho, high-five handshake.
Doctor Rayne stiffens against me, his body rigid and awkward as he returns the shake. It’s like he’s just as rusty with human interaction as I am. That or they’re not as good of friends as they both try to imply. It makes my stomach roil as he congratulates my jailor over something I can’t even comprehend.
“Jeremy, you can’t be serio -.”
The look Richards gives her is dark and deadly, glittering with unspoken retribution. I can’t let my sister suffer because of me. As broken as I am, I still have a sliver of pride. Enough to know that this is wrong and all my fault. Everything is my fault. I shouldn’t have inserted myself in between them. I am desperate, but not enough to ruin her happiness. He takes a step towards her, and I fling into action, not thinking, not caring.
“You lay one hand on her, you monster, and they’ll never find your body.”
Everyone stops and stares at me, Melody’s eyes widening so big I’m surprised they don’t roll out of their skull. I yank away from Doctor Rayne as he reaches out for me again and put myself in between Richards and Melody, snaking my hand out behind me to latch onto her. My bravado is waning, and just having her to hold onto renews it.
Ignoring me, Richards stalks over, hand reaching out. I don’t even think to examine what he’s doing. I just see movement, and I act. My hand flies up on its own accord, striking him hard across the face. Shock fills me the moment I make contact. I never intended to strike him. I only wanted to put my hand up in between us to stop him from coming closer.
Bells ring in my ears, nearly drowning out the gasp of alarm from behind me. Pushing past, Melody grabs my arm and brings my hand back down to my side before putting me behind her, taking my place as protector.
“Please, Master. She doesn’t understand. She’s just trying to protect me.”
Her words are foreign to my ears. I understand each word as they leave her mouth, but the meaning is muddled. She’s willingly calling him master? What the hell have they done to her? Before I can respond, no doubt making even more trouble for Melody and myself, Doctor Rayne pulls me away and slides a familiar arm around my shoulder, anchoring my body to his.
“In light of everything I told you, I would hope you do not seek retribution from her. Her mind is not in a state that she can handle everything. I will see to her discipline if that is agreeable.”
Richards nods, the tick in his jaw beating widely.
“Please don’t hurt her,” I whisper.
The dark intent softens in his eyes, just a touch, enough that humanity creeps back in. He slides his hand over Melody’s hair, pulling her in to touch his lips to the crown of her head.
“I will never harm her. You can trust that.”
Nodding, he urges Melody out the door, allowing her to turn and look over her shoulder, longing shining in her eyes.
“Be a good girl,” Doctor Rayne murmurs against my ear, his warm breath fluttering my hair, “and I’ll let you see her again. How you behaved just now was completely unacceptable. I didn’t want to have to do this so soon after getting you into my care, but I’m going to have to punish you.”
Fear racks my body as he attempts to soothe me with light shushes and patronizing clicks of his tongue. How can anyone be calm in the face of punishment? His fingers thread through my hair and rub against my scalp as if he’s lulling me into accepting this from him.
“I didn’t do anything wrong.” Looking back on it, should I have hit Melody’s fiancé? Probably not. But did he deserve it? Hell yes. I will die on that hill. Anyone that threatens my sister threatens me.
“Do you really want me to spell out your wrongdoings? I promise you won’t like it.”
Wrapping his hand around my arm, he takes me out of the sitting room and back into the hall. Where’s the maid I saw earlier? If I scream, will she hear and come running? I open my mouth, letting all the terror and rage fly out of my mouth. Surely even a neighbor would hear that and come running to my aid. Nothing. No one comes. No alarms are raised. And then, it hits me. No one is going to save me. I’ve traded in one monster for another.
I would have fallen to the floor if not for the firm grip on my arm. For a moment, I half expected Doctor Rayne to respond in some violent fashion, but just like with all the other times, nothing. Only a raised eyebrow conveys his displeasure with me.
“Are you done with these theatrics?”
Theatrics? He calls my very real fear theatrics? Before I can formulate words, he drags me forward, past the room I was in earlier, and my heart plummets into my gut. Yes, the room was scary and big, but now he’s taking me to another unknown. Perhaps to kill me? Was that the plan all along?
“I don’t know what you’re concocting in that brain of yours, but stop it this instant. I’ll not have you hyperventilating and fainting on me. What are you thinking that has you in such a frantic state?”
“That you’re going to kill me?”
The laugh that bursts from his mouth sounds hoarse and rusty, as if humor isn’t a normal part of his life. For a brief second, I have the longing to make him laugh more, make him smile. No one should live their life without laughter. As soon as the idiotic thought crosses my brain, I shove it out. I’m starting to act like those people who care for their captors...what's the phrase. It’s on the tip of my tongue. Stockholm Syndrome. That’s it. It’s far too early for me to succumb. I have to be stronger than this. I’ve lasted about three years as a sex doll; I refuse to crack in just a day.
The room he leads me into is just as big and opulent as the other room, but instead of softer, more feminine colors, this one is all man. Deep, rich reds, blacks, and mahoganies decorate the room. Even the furniture is masculine - all hard planes and angles. The only curves in sight are chair backs and pillows.
The bed is about the same size as mine but slightly higher, with bars around the underside. It’s like a cage underneath the top part of the bed. The posts stand tall, almost meeting the ceiling, with rings going up and down the columns and across the posts lining the top in neat, exact rows. Just looking at the rings dangling down from the top puts a lump in my throat. There’s only one purpose they could have, and the thoughts it conjures are not ones I want to dwell on.
“This is going to be your new bed from now on.”
Until I look back at him, I assume he meant the part where the mattress is. Instead, I follow his extended finger until I get to the cage. It’s then I notice the pillows and blankets shoved into the back corner. As I stare, my eyes become accustomed to the myriad of lines, and I’m able to separate them out to reveal a set that runs vertically down the middle of the bed, dividing the space in half. My tongue becomes thick and heavy as I try to swallow. He’s going to cage me up like a dog? The fabrics look rich and plump, the same colors as in the room. Despite the small area, it looks like it could be comfortable.
“Is this my punishment?”
His smile is both soft and sinister all at the same time, and I can’t understand how that’s even possible. “No. You were frightened by the size of the other bed. This is to give you a safe place to sleep. No one, not even me, will accost you while in this space. As for your punishment, I’m very limited at the moment. Typically, I like my punishments to be sexual in nature. Perhaps getting you to the edge of orgasm and then denying you, over and over again. Then again, once we progress to that point, you might beg me to deny you. I have no problem wresting so many orgasms from your body that you no longer think straight. I can’t wait until you beg me to stop, and I take you there one more time.”
I shiver at his words and the dark promise in them. For a moment, I actually wonder what that would feel like. The last orgasm I remember willingly having was with Billy, and while good, I didn’t crave it. The release was nice, but if stopped in the middle of things, I wouldn’t cry or beg or anything like that. The entire concept is just foreign to me. Do people really do that?
“Since I can’t do that, I’ll just have to get creative. I did promise to not insert myself into you until you asked me, and I always keep my word. Turn around.”
His words have such a finality to them. Such command. Despite my misgivings, my stomach flips at his words. I want to resist, to fight him, but I’m worried that will make it all the worse for me. I still have no clue what he has planned, but I don’t want to add to anything.
I wait there in the silence, staring at the white wall at the head of the bed. A small design flows across the surface, like delicate, purposeful cracks. However, in the dim lighting, I can’t be sure if that’s what I’m really seeing or if it's my eyes playing tricks on me. His breath is loud in the silent room - almost as loud as my heart.
We wait there, he and I, doing nothing, saying nothing. I force my brain to latch onto the pattern, follow it, see where it goes, anything to take my mind off of unnerving silence. Why doesn’t he say something, do something? But then, isn’t him doing nothing precisely what I want? Should I be grateful that he’s standing there behind me, breathing on me, instead of doing something worse?
The silence stretches out forever; at least, that’s how it feels in my brain. Everything becomes mush to me. Time, structure, nothing makes sense. I force myself to shut my brain off, to concentrate on what I can feel - the plush carpet under my shoes, the sensation of his breath swirling against my bare neck. As I lull myself into a state of not caring, he jumps into action. His fingers skim my arms, just barely giving me more sensation.
They encircle my wrists as he lifts them high up into the air. I can’t quite reach the top of the bed, but that doesn’t seem to bother him.
“Don’t move,” he growls into my ear, setting my nerves on fire.