My chest burns. I can do this. I can resist him.
“No,” I whisper.
He stands abruptly. My heart lurches to the bottom of my stomach.
Panic rises in my throat. “Dr. Ambrose?”
“Daddy,” he corrects in a curt tone.
My entire world drops, a razor blade slicing me open. Is he disappointed in me? Did I upset him?
Why do I care?
“I’ll even accept ‘Father.’” He sneers. “Perhaps you think I’m unworthy to be even that to you.”
Weakness floods my veins. “Daddy,” I say. “Daddy, I’ll be your freak?—”
“No, darling. You won’t be a freak. You are my freak. And until you accept that, I can’t waste my time on you.”
My vision blurs with tears. Before I can say another word, the cage is closed and locked.
I cry so hard, I hyperventilate. He killed my mother, and he’s my father. But the thought of being strapped inside of this cage waiting for my next interaction with him is unbearable.
I scream for him until my voice grows hoarse. I don’t want him to leave.
But I’m alone again.
Chapter 24
Dr. Ambrose
In my absence, the freak grows restless. With each passing day, the amount she talks to herself increases. Isolation will do that to a person, especially when the lack of contact is a consequence of their actions. The guilt becomes suffocating.
It is important to completely deprive her of human communication so she begins to relinquish her idea of the self.
It will also force her to completely rely on me.
On the third day of isolation, I watch the surveillance footage as Oliver inserts the funnel between the cage bars. Before it can enter her mouth, the freak turns her head. The plastic neck jabs her cheek.
Please, she shouts. Tell the doctor— She stops momentarily, clenching her teeth, then tries again. Tell Daddy to come back. I’ve learned my lesson. I’m his freak!
Oliver remains stoic and adjusts the funnel. He is under strict instructions to ignore her, and of course, he is completely obedient to me. In his mind, she’s nothing more than a lab rat to feed.
The funnel rests on her turned cheek. Oliver raises the pitcher. The freak grunts.
Listen, damn it! she yells. Please! Tell him?—
The nutritional shake slops through the funnel, dripping off of her face and onto the floor. The freak frantically angles so some of it gets in her mouth. She must understand this is the only chance to be fed.
Oliver hits the end of the pitcher; the last gloop plops into the funnel. The freak swallows it down, and Oliver leaves.
Damn it! the freak wails.
I chuckle to myself. She knows it’s pointless, and yet she is so desperate that she’s willing to try anything, even begging Oliver.
I adjust my cock in my pants. While I understand this distance is an important part of the process, my hunger for her grows each day.
Finally, after a full week has passed, I return to the freak’s room. I place a rolling stool next to her cage, then sit down and look at her: a doctor ready to examine his patient’s progress.
