“I like it, sir,” I said.
“It’s not simply pain thresholds, but degradation, humiliation, and emotional turmoil, that you must learn to endure. You are less likely to be physically beaten, so long as you follow my explicit instructions on that final day and are perfect in every movement. But as for degradation? That’s a given.”
He stepped closer, the soft crunch of his boots on the floor made my throat dry. I breathed in, taking in the piney scent of his aftershave.
“You’re a whore,” he said. He held my chin between his fingers. “My whore.”
My stomach clenched. “To protect my sister, sir,” I said.
“But it’s more than that, isn’t it? The tightening of your chest, that quick intake of breath when I state the simple truth of the matter. You’re my whore. My toy. I can use you, fuck you, leave you, and you’d do what I’d say.” He stepped back and walked to the side of the room, reaching for a cane. Those things hurt, but I always felt myself wiggling for more. “Tell yourself it’s to protect your precious sister, but we know the truth. You’d suck me off right here if I said so, because I wanted you to. And that would have nothing to do with your sister now, would it?”
I lowered my eyes. “No sir,” I said.
The thud of his boots echoed through the room as he drew closer. “Look at me, Heather,” he said.
My name. He rarely used it in this room.
He had taken off his gloves. No cane. No restraints. No locks.
Hurt me with those hands, I thought. Play me like a toy. Touch me, Zaid. Use me.
“What do you want?” he asked. “Your deepest desire, Heather. What do you want?”
You, Zaid. Your touch. Your lips.
But I needed to be strong. For Hazel.
“For my sister to be safe,” I said. His brow scrunched. That was the wrong answer, wasn’t it? I needed a better answer. “To know how my parents died. To know what happened—”
“I’m not talking about your family. I am asking what you desire. What do youwant?”
I bit my bottom lip. What was he talking about?
“What is your truest desire, Heather?” he asked, his voice quiet.
I gnawed on my tongue, trying to anticipate what he wanted. A gentle, but sardonic smile crossed his face.
“Relax. I’m not going to fuck you,” he said. “Think deeper. It’s not about Hazel, is it? It’s not about your parents. Think with your mind. Your heart. What do you want?”
He waited for a moment. I tried to think of what would be deeper than family. His hand twitched, itching for an instrument to discipline me with. I wanted to get so lost in his pain that I forgot where I was, that all I did was feel. An empty bank of sand. My body a rock broken down into a million little pieces over years and years. To feel nothing. To feel safe.
Deeper than family. Deeper than blood.
Home.
“I want to feel like I belong somewhere,” I said. Zaid studied me, his eyes unblinking. He listened for my answer. I straightened my posture. “Anywhere. I’ve never felt like I belonged anywhere.”
There were only inches between our faces. His breath landed on my bare shoulders, soft like a kiss. We exchanged something then, something soulful, sharing the air and seeing each other eye to eye for the first time.
He knew what that was like, didn’t he? To not know where he belonged.
“Home,” I said. “I want to feel at home.”
“You feel home when you’re outdoors,” he said.
And when we were in here, blinded by the darkness.
“You stare out the windows for hours,” he said. “The only time you feel tethered is when you’re outdoors, surrounded by the wilderness.”
