Chapter 1
Grace
I’ve never suffered from night terrors, not even after my parents punished me for letting Terry Matthews take my virginity, but I must be having one now, because how else would I be wide awake, because I’m awake and yet cannot move, see, hear, or understand what’s happening
I can’t open my eyes. It feels like something is wrapped tightly over them, but that must be part of the nightmare.
I can’t move a single inch. Am I dead? I’d pinch myself if I could. Was I in an accident? Am I in a coma in a hospital while my parents weep at my bedside?
I force my sluggish mind to banish that image. My parents would never cry. They’d scold me for laziness and missing classes, then blame me for whatever happened to me. What didhappen to me, anyway? I remember walking back to my dorm after evening class, then nothing. Was I hit by a car or struck by an aneurysm, condemned to a lifetime of paralysis?
But I’m not paralyzed. I feel my muscles contract when I try to move, I simply have no room to move.
I swallow hard and realize my throat is completely dry. Something holds my mouth open. A tube, not the paramedic kind but a crude one wedged between my teeth and held by straps digging into my mouth and cheeks.
I wriggle desperately, but it’s useless. I can’t even move my fingers. They’re clenched and folded in something plastic. My entire body is wrapped in a plastic sheet, so tightly I can barely breathe. As my mind clears, the sweaty stickiness on my skin reads familiar.
Shrink wrap. Someone’s wrapped me in it, like I’m a sandwich.
Is this a prank? I’ve avoided campus social life since moving in—no cafeteria chatter, no coffee dates, no parties—so who would target me? Maybe a frat kid mistook me for someone else. That would be… Well, it wouldn’t be good, and my parents would surely punish me for “participating” in such activities, but it would be better than the alternatives. What are the alternatives, anyway?
As I take stock of my body, I realize I’m completely naked under the layers of the shrink wrap. Heat of indignation floods my face. This is a step too far even for a prank, right? Undressing someone? I’m not one to tattle, but whoever did this should definitely be punished.
The plastic covers my head as well. My nose, eyes, and ears are covered too, and so is my mouth around that tube, which I now realize is the only reason I haven’t suffocated yet. Panic settles in my stomach, cold and immobilizing, but I refuse to give in. Whoever did this to me is going to realize their mistake soon and let me go, and then I— Thenmy parentswill make them pay.After making me pay. They’ll never allow me to stay on campus after this. They said moving there would spoil me, distract me from my studies. Well, I’m certainly effing distracted right now! And now I almost cursed. I wince as I imagine my mother’s hand landing on my cheek.Ladies don’t curse.But what about when someone undresses them and ties them up? Are they allowed to curse then?
My breathing quickens, and from experience I know if I don’t calm down, I’ll hyperventilate and faint. Maybe passing out would be easier, but the thought of waking to something worse forces me to stay conscious. Remembering my mother telling me to “stop acting out”, I slow my breathing, counting each inhale and exhale. They sound strange, and I realize something soft presses on my ears. Headphones? Yes, it feels like those large noise-cancelling headphones. When I concentrate on it, I can feel the headband pressing against the sides of my head.
Desperate to distract myself from the rising panic, I focus on my body instead. My nipples ache, as though something’s pinching them. I picture clothespins, and for a moment, embarrassment outweighs fear. This is really taking things too far. Whoever did this should go to frigging jail, not just get kicked out of school. This is, like, sexual assault, isn’t it?
After I slept with Terry Matthews, my parents isolated me from the world, so I know little, but I’m fairly sure touching someone without consent isn’t allowed. Unless, of course, it’s a parent punishing their child or a husband touching his wife. Anything is allowed then. That rule is wrong—I know it—but I can’t let myself believe it, because if my parents ever found out I’m doubting their teachings, I don’t want to imagine the consequences.
I never wanted college, that was their dream. But if it keeps me out here instead of locked up at home, I’ll take it. Except that after this, they will never let me out again. Fuck. Fuck, I saidfuck! I didn’t say it out loud, though, so it doesn’t count, does it? The more important question is, why am I worrying about my parents’ reaction right now when I should be truly worried about my safety? What if this is not a prank?
My blood freezes when I realize there isn’t just something sticking to the outside of my body. There’s something in my pussy and—oh my god!—in my ass as well. It doesn’t hurt, but the stretch makes me feel exposed and violated.
Even as sheltered as I am, I’m not clueless. I know people touch their partners’ assholes. That they have sexthere. But knowing that some filthy, disgusting sinners, as my mother would say, do it, and having it done to me are two very different things. I failed at keeping myself pure for the husband my parents chose for me, but Mason Dickens was willing to overlook it. Will he overlook that someone put something in my ass as well? And if he won’t, will my parents pick someone even worse for me?
I could run away. The thought isn’t new, but now it feels stronger. Before, memories of painful, humiliating punishments made me chase the thought away, but now my situation puts things into perspective. There are shelters for people like me. My parents control my internet use, but I’ve seen flyers at the college office. I’m an adult. I could say no. I could leave. Except none of that will happen because I’m tied up here, naked with unknown objects stuffed into my orifices, and I will probably be raped and murdered because this is definitely not a college prank. Worrying about my parents’ reaction is idiotic, yet it’s such an automated reaction I can’t help it.
“Please pay attention,” a robotic voice says in my ear. I’d jump if I weren’t wrapped like a mummy and strapped to the surface beneath me. “Please pay attention,” the voice repeats. Not a human voice. It sounds like a computer reading a text outloud, without inflection or emotion. Somehow, it would be much scarier if an actual person were whispering threats in my ear.
The stupid thing keeps repeating “pay attention”. Ladies don’t yell and curse, but I’d yell and curse it in a heartbeat had I been able to talk. I am paying attention, dammit!
“Welcome to the orientation,” the voice finally continues after what feels like an eternity.
Orientation. Okay. I draw a strained breath through the tube between my teeth. Orientation is good. I mean, it’s terrifying, but at least it sounds like I’ll get information. Information I’ll need to escape, because right now, I’m in the dark. Both figuratively and literally.
“Your previous life is over. From this moment on, you are a Doll. A luxurious, obedient companion, owned by the rich and powerful. Your body is theirs to command, to use however they please. Congratulations, and welcome to your new existence.”
Chapter 2
Grace
Izone out, barely processing the voice telling me I have five minutes to accept my new reality. Panic takes over, and I try to thrash and scream. I’m bound too tight to move and, despite shrink wrap normally being quite elastic, the thick layer wrapped around me doesn’t give me even a fraction of an inch. My fight-or-flight instinct screams at me to run, but all I manage is sweating under the shrink wrap. I can’t even hear my hoarse sobs and whimpers.
My jaws ache as I bite down on the tube in my mouth, but it doesn’t even creak. It tastes like plastic, and I will probably choke to death on the pieces if I manage to bite through it, but I need to do something, anything, to take control of at least a tiny part of this situation. But there’s nothing I can control. The wayI’m bound leaves me helpless, like meat laid out on a counter. The computer said that my body is theirs to command. But who are “they”? I’ve never heard of anything like this happening to anyone. Then again, I’ve been so sheltered I know little about the world, and anyone who did go through this probably didn’t live to tell the tale.
Sex trafficking. I know it exists, of course, but it has always been just a vague thing in the newspapers. Something happening to other people. Not me. Never me. I’m a good girl. Well, my parents would disagree, but it’s not my fault I keep making mistakes. I try, but there are too many rules, and my stupid mind always forgets some. But Iama good girl. I’m supposed to become a lawyer and marry Mason Dickens and be a good wife. It’s not a life I would have chosen for myself, but it’s the life I live. I’m not…a Doll? What is that, even?
