“You're bored?” I surmise.
I can't exactly blame her there. We've watched crappy reality television and horror films, we've ordered takeout and skirted awkward conversation about the best snacks, and then Dex has come to discuss work with me. I'm not even entirely sure what she does during that time... I didn't want to come across as too intense, so I've given her a lot of space.
The truth is, I only meant for her to outlast the last one by a couple of days, maybe a few weeks. I'd entertained the idea of leaving her chained in the basement but lucid, but since she's been awake, I haven't wanted to do that.
Of course, part of that has to do with Dex. If he hadn't been there when she started to wake, if I hadn't shared my secret, would I have still helped her transition through the detox, or would I have just left her down there to get through it on her own and then used her the way she thought I would, like a slave for sex?
“It's nothing against you.” She says, almost apologetically. “It's just... I may as well be a cat. I sleep and eat and watch some TV. It's not exactly mentally stimulating. I mean, don't you read? You have no books anywhere in this house.”
“I... don't read.” I say slowly. It's not something I've spent a lot of time thinking about, but now that she's mentioned it, when was the last time I picked up a book? High school literature? I'm acutely aware of how unrefined I must seem to her now. “Is that what you liked to do? One of your hobbies?”
“One of them.” She takes a sip of her wine, finally, as if that will curtail the conversation. But I want to know what other hobbies she had... what else I can do to keep her from boredom.
“What are the others? Maybe I can get some stuff together for you and—”
“Sex was one of them.” She says without even missing a beat.
“I…” I laugh, not even sure how to respond to that.
“I'm not a whore or anything.” She rushes out. “I just... like to feel wanted.”
I don't give a damn who she's slept with or how many people. In fact, it's a point of pride for me that I am apparently the first man who's ever had the pleasure of making her come.
“You said you can't orgasm. But sex was still a hobby for you even without finishing every time?”
“I sound like a bit of a slut, don't I?” She shakes her head. “Sorry. It's just... well, my accuracy rate for getting men off is a hundred percent. There's a little bit of power to be found in that.”
“You like power?”
She considers the question for a minute. “Sometimes, yes.”
I get that. I crave power, control. It's the only thing that satisfies my dark side. But he doesn'talwayshave precedence. Sometimes I appreciate other people, namely Dex, doing the decision-making and just telling me where to show up.
There's a lull in our conversation where neither of us can seem to think of anything to say, and she drinks her wine like she's trying to chug it.
Her calling herself a slut reminds me of the scars on her thighs. I want to ask about them, but I can't think of how to do that.
Oh, speaking of sluts, why did you carve that word into your skin?
I'm sure that would go over well.
“Why haven't you tried to run?” I ask suddenly, the words falling right off my tongue without my permission.
I didn't even think of them before I said them, but now that I have, I'm curious to know the reason.
“From you?” She asks. “Because where would I go?” Her laugh is sad, but it's covered by sarcasm and indifference.
“Back.” I shrug. “To where you were before you were taken.”
“There's nothing for me back there. An empty apartment, a dead-end job that I probably don’t have anymore since my kidnappers didn’t exactly let me call in sick.” She laughs a little. “The only person I care to see again isn't there, so there's no point in moving backward, is there?”
It's a surprisingly well-adjusted sentiment. But it isn't lost on me that her reaction to me hasn't been normal. She protested me by refusing to talk for awhile, pretending she was asleep when she wasn't, but she hasn't so much as tried to go to the door... the door that she could easily walk out of if she wanted to. Of course, if she did, I'd have to chase her down and kill her before she could tell anyone about my newest hobby.
But still, the fact she hasn't even screamed for help... Is she trying to reverse Stockholm syndrome me? Because I think it may be working.
Or maybe you're just not as awful as you think you are.
It's my brother's voice in my head that tells me I'm not entirely the monster. It's my father's voice in my head that tells me I'm nothingbutthe monster.
