His Desire

Reminding herself daily of everything her captor couldn't take from her was something that helped Tina cope. For all his taunting that there was no one who loved her, she knew better than that. For all the hopelessness that infected her day in and day out, she still kept a little hope alive. It helped that she was no longer able to count the days. At first she'd tried to do it diligently but it wore her out to count beyond five consecutive days, the knowledge that it was only two days short of another week making her stop each time. Now she just let the days blur together. It was better to be mentally unaware of how much time was passing.

She could hear him in the bathroom running a bath even with the door being pushed to and her back to the door. Somehow she was now able to distance herself whenever he would force himself onto her, where she could respond to anything he said but was generally unaware of his touches. It was a good thing and it helped a lot but even so, she'd started crying nightly again, something she'd stopped doing when she was forced to sleep beside him back at the cottage. She wished she was strong enough to not have to cry so often, that she could endure everything with a sure head, but no matter how much she tried, it was impossible to do.

Tentatively she raised a hand and ran it over her cheek, a little pain flaring beneath her fingertips, her punishment for having turned her head when he decided to stop kissing her jaw and move to her lips. Her fingers moved down to her lips and she dragged her nails across the skin, the dry skin catching. She caught it between two nails and yanked the skin away, wincing at the sting before the blood began to run over her tongue. Moving her hand away, she stared at the blood that had covered her fingers as she tore the skin. It was real, she was still alive. Absentmindedly she wiped her fingers on the pillow before bringing her hand to rest across her breasts, casually tracing the bite mark that adorned her left breast. It was a few days old but the indentation could still be felt, another reminder of the times he forced himself on her. It was as if leaving her violated and sore wasn't enough anymore.

Tina slowly pulled her knees to her chest and she wiped her lip with her other hand. She still wondered how long she'd remain his captive, how long until he decided to kill her and get it over with. There had to be a limit at how enjoyable tormenting one person could be. The idea that she could remain here for years made her throat close and her heart pound. She'd been under his control for days, weeks and even months, and though she didn't know just how many months, a year would drive her insane, she was sure of it. A sliver of fear ran through her. If he did keep her captive for a year, would her father--? She couldn't think about that. It couldn't even be an option in her mind.

"Bath's ready," her captor called.

She responded to the command, slowly sitting up and holding in a wince as pain flared slightly across her ribs. The soreness between her legs had almost become a dull familiarity, and already she wished for her period to return, even if it ended up being as heavy and painful as it had been last time. She turned and swung her legs over the side of the bed before standing shakily, one hand wrapping around her ribs and the other dangling to cover herself, though she held it as casually as she could.

She stepped into the small room and her captor removed the chain and watched as she stepped into the bath. She sat down and wrapped her arms around her knees, waiting for the inevitable, but instead her captor remained standing. "Make sure you wash yourself thoroughly," he said, dropping a cloth into the water. She watched with wide eyes as he left the bathroom and then the room, locking the door behind him. It was the first time he had left her to bath herself.

Taking a deep breath, she sought out the cloth and pulled it out of the water, shifting it from hand to hand. No matter how many times he bathed her she never felt clean. His hands drifting over her skin made her feel dirty, even when they were covered in soap. She squeezed the cloth tightly and began to scrub her body. Her movements were quick and rough, the material of the cloth rubbing against her skin hard enough to turn it pink, and she went over each spot of her body more than one. It was beginning to hurt but it still wasn't enough. She was still dirty.

The more she scrubbed, the angrier she got, and the angrier she got, the harder she scrubbed. Her arms were bright red with some of the skin dotted red with blood, and she brought the cloth up to her face and began to claw at her chin and anywhere else his lips had trailed. Clean wasn't something she could ever feel again, not even if she ever managed to find a way out of this prison. She didn't know when it had happened but it felt as if each touch infected her beneath the skin, and no matter how hard she scrubbed with this cloth, there was no way she would be able to get that deep.

She let out a cry of anger as she moved the cloth between her legs. Each movement made her soreness flare up but she didn't stop; in fact, she scrubbed harder, with more aggression than she'd used for her arms. She was weak, far weaker than she'd ever imagined. She had been told to wash herself and despite having been left alone, she'd done exactly what he said. She was obedient. In a swift movement she threw the cloth on the floor and bit down on her palm, hard enough to draw blood. She kept telling herself that she was doing everything he said because she didn't want more pain, that she couldn't cope with the ways he enjoyed torturing her, but what she was really doing was letting him take more parts of her and stripping them away. Every time she was still and let him touch her, each time she obeyed his commands no matter how they disgusted her – it was her participation in letting him turn her into the weak, scared, obedient victim that he wanted her to be.

Tina raised her head and stared into the room that was her prison before letting her eyes drift to the water that had grown cold. She had never been alone in the bath and she knew that whatever had made him leave her must be important. He only ever left her to sit in the tub once the water had been let out, but now she was free from his watchful gaze and alone with the water, and she couldn't ignore it. Slowly, she slid down the bath and lowered her body until she could feel the water lap over her face. Her fingers dug into the sides of the bath and she counted to three before she let her hands fall beside her in the water; she then counted to five and submerged her head.

It was easy, at first, to hold her breath as the water swarmed over her nose and mouth. Her hands itched to push her back above the water, to allow her to breathe, but she remained below the surface, her head slowly growing warm. She counted to three, steeling herself to open her mouth, but when she reached three she found she couldn't do it. Her lips remained close, keeping her breath in and making her chest ache. Once more she counted to three, was unable to do it, and counted to three again. Each failed attempt made her head grow hotter and her chest grow tighter. All she had to do was open her mouth and keep her head beneath the water. That was all. So why couldn't she do it?

Her lips began to hurt and her fingers trembled, and she counted to three one more time. She willed herself to open her mouth, to let the water finally free her from her suffering, but she just couldn't do it. She flew out of the water and gasped heavily, clinging to the side of the bath and letting her head droop over the side, desperate gasps mixing with hopeless sobs. Why couldn't she do this one thing? Why couldn't she save herself from this horror?

She stayed hanging over the bath, angry that she was too weak to help herself and too weak to stop being his victim. All she wanted was to be free, away from the pain she endured daily, but even when given the means she couldn't do it. Tina knew that if her captor returned at that moment and decided to beat her to death, she wouldn't fight it. She could keep some hope alive but not enough to actively try and stop her inevitable fate; but somehow she wasn't able to inflict that fate herself. What would he do if she finally had the strength to end her suffering? He'd watched her for years, waiting for a time when he could take her without anyone knowing, so if she ended up dying, would he do the exact same thing again? She would never wish her pain on another...but if she could trade places, she would. If she was given the choice between her freedom in exchange for someone else taking her place, she wouldn't even have to think about it. He'd hurt her far too much, degraded and violated her far too often for her to sacrifice herself to save another from the same fate.

With numb fingers she pulled the plug, unsure whether he had expected her to stay in the tub until he returned, and stepped out of the bath. She walked past the towel that he had left, and ran her hands over her arms, rubbing the water droplets into her skin as she approached the drawers. It was past eight and normally she'd only be given underwear for the night, but her captor wasn't there. She reached for the top drawer and paused. Would she be punished for dressing? Her skin prickled and she thought back to her failed attempt at drowning herself, how weak that made her, and she pushed the thought of punishment out of her head as she opened the top drawer.

The clothes did nothing but give her a false sense of security as she stared at the bed and tried to prepare for another night on the place she was constantly violated. She had to do that each night; steel herself to lie on the bed and hope for sleep, hope for a brief escape from the life she was condemned to. She didn't dare risk sleeping in the bath again because sometimes her captor came in before she had willed herself to get up and she was scared that something as simple as that would enrage him.

The blood she had smeared onto the pillow caught her eye as she climbed onto the bed. She reached out and ran a finger over it before abruptly turning it over and gingerly lying on her side, her hair immediately soaking the pillow. "My dad loves me," she whispered, wrapping her arms around her ribs. "He cares." Tina reached down to pull to her chin the quilt that spent most of its time pushed to the end of the bed. "He'll save me."

She stayed staring at the wall for a while, keeping her breath steady. Her fingers moved from where they were tucked around her ribs and slowly prodded her cheek, wondering if it had bruised but knowing she couldn't bring herself to look in the mirror. She then moved her fingers to her throat, ghosting the tips over the points on her neck where his fingers were often pressed, before sliding down to her collarbone and past her breasts. She knew how her body used to feel, how she would be able to feel where her ribs were but not the individual ones; now, even through the dress, she could run her fingers over some of them. It wasn't as bad as it had been back when she was eleven, before puberty had hit and she'd finally been able to put weight on, but she knew she must have lost weight to be able to put her finger on her ribs and count them. The food she was given was healthy, she knew that, but the portions were always small and this seemed to be the result. A weak body and a weak mind. Could she blame her willingness to obey her captor on the lack of food?

"I am loved," she mumbled, closing her eyes as the tears began and tucking her hands back around her body. It took a while but eventually she was able to drift asleep, her head falling close to her chest.

The first thing Tina noticed when she woke with a start was that the light was on. She stared at the wall for a moment, trying to determine whether she had gone to sleep with it on before slowly looking over her shoulder. She flinched and scrambled to sit with her back pressed against the wall, her heart beating frantically at the sight of her captor sat on the chair next to the bed. How did she not hear him come in? How was he able to come into the room, move the chair from beside the door and sit down without her even realising? How many times had he come in while she had been asleep? She didn't even want to think about that possibility.

"I see you helped yourself," he said, leaning back in the chair and letting his eyes drift down to her chest. The dress suddenly felt as if it were suffocating her. "Though I'm sure that's not what you're supposed to be wearing."

She let her gaze flicker slightly to the right and saw that it was just past three in the morning. Did he come into the room every night? "I was cold," she said quietly, pulling at the sleeves.

“In the middle of July?”

She used every bit of restraint to stop from reacting to his words. It couldn't be July. The date he drugged her was still seared into her mind, a date she knew she would never forget, and if he was being truthful, if it really was July, that meant she had been his prisoner for almost half a year, a prospect she didn't even want to think about. How could she have been at his mercy for half a year?

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean–I was cold but I shouldn't–I'm sorry."

"Well, let's remedy that," he said.

The clothes felt heavy on her body, the weight of everything she had put on making her palms sweat. She hadn't thought he would come in, had thought she had the pathetic freedom of the night being her own, and now the stockings, the bra and the dress held the prospect of punishment. "I'm sorry."

"Take off your clothes."

She knew he could reach her from where he was sat and she knew if she didn't obey him then he'd use force, so she reached for the hem of the dress and moved slightly away from the wall to pull it over her head. His eyes didn't once stray away as she cautiously put the dress in front of her and moved to unhook the bra. The quilt still covered her legs and for a moment she debated about pretending she wasn't wearing stockings, but the idea that he might do more than just sit on the chair made her not want to risk it. After she put the bra on top of the dress, she slowly pushed the quilt off her legs.

"That cold, were you?" her captor said, sitting forward and picking up the bra. "Leave them on."

Instinctively she pulled her legs to her chest, pressing her knees against her breasts. "I-I didn't mean to make you mad."

"I'm not mad." He got up and she pressed harder against the wall as he sat on the bed. He reached for her left ankle and pulled her leg away from her chest. "Have I been fair to you?"

Tina wrapped her arms around her knee and dug her nails into the skin. Nothing about this was fair. It wasn't fair that she was a prisoner in this room, that she no longer had any basic freedom or that he thought this was acceptable. How was she supposed to answer that? She watched as he began to run his fingers up and down her calf. How easy would it be for him to break her ankle? She was sure that bone would be harder than her fingers were and would probably take more effort, but even so she didn't put it past him to decide to break it just because she didn't satisfy him. "In what way?" she asked hesitantly.

"Well, is there anything that you feel I've been unfair with? Anything that you don't already have that you would like?"

His words sounded nice on the surface but there had to be something beneath them. Why would he ask her something like that? She would like her freedom back, she would like to not be raped several times daily, and she would like to never have to see his face again. A small part of her wanted to vocalise that, to say everything she knew he didn't want to hear, because there was no doubt it would enrage him and perhaps he would do what she could not. But then his fingers put more pressure on her calf and that thought disappeared. "I don't-don't know."

"So there is something. Honestly, Tina, how am I supposed to fix it if you won't tell me?" he chided. He brought his fingers back down to her ankle and encircled it. "Tell me."

The warning was clear and she had to calm her breathing before she could even begin to think of something she could say that would satisfy him. "I just—it gets lonely when you're gone and there's nothing for me to do." She stumbled over her words, her desire to say what he wanted outweighing her disgust.

He let go of her foot and looked around the room. "I know how much you miss the cottage but allowing you that kind of privilege here just simply isn't feasible," he said, facing her. "But you have been good lately so there are other privileges you can earn."

“Like what?” she asked quietly.

"Don’t be impatient, I’m still thinking." He grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the wall. She let him lay her so that she was facing the wall and she squeezed her eyes shut when his body pressed against hers. "Maybe I’ll let you choose your own clothes each day." His arm came around her and his fingers brushed against her breast. "Or I’ll let you choose what you have for dinner. It’s difficult to pick the one you’ll appreciate the most. After all, there’s no point in giving you a privilege if you don’t appreciate it."

She kept her hands resting across her underwear and her eyes fixed on the wall. Privilege was beginning to feel like a foreign word to her. Each time he said it she understood it less and less, and it was beginning to get to the point where she found she couldn’t differentiate between gaining what her captor deemed a privilege and being subjected to a different form of torture.

"But I did want you to know something," her captor said, after a few minutes of silence. "It’s actually the reason why I disturbed you. But now that I’m here, I want you to guess. Let’s see how smart you actually are. What is today?"

"I don’t—I don’t know," she mumbled.

"It's actually very simple. What normally falls in July?"

The hint was enough to make Tina lose her breath. There was only one thing she could think of and she really didn't want to entertain that thought. Even if it was what she was thinking of, why did he feel the need to let her know? It would be yet another form of torture, something that would have never felt that way in her previous life. Could she feign stupidity? It might lead to her being hit but as she lied there with his fingers tainting her skin, there was no motivation for preserving her life. "I can't--I can't think," she said, breaking off as his fingers dug into her skin.

"Of course you can. It's not something you're likely to forget."

"I'm sorry-" She was cut off when his hand came to her face, gripped her cheeks and forced her head to the side so that she was now looking at him.

"Lie to me again," he said slowly, his face dangerously close to hers. "Now, what falls in July?"

She tried to turn her head away but only succeeded in making his grip tighten. "Please don't be mad."

"What falls in July?"

If she said it then it made it real, and even with his fingers digging into her face, she didn't want it to be real. The silence stretched on and when her captor realised she wasn't going to reply, she was rewarded with a slap across the face. As she attempted to nurse her cheek he rolled her onto her back and sat across her, effectively pinning her down. "Today is your birthday," her captor said calmly. "Please do tell me how you forgot about that."

"I was being difficult," she replied feebly.

"And what happens when you're difficult?" As he spoke he grabbed the arm that was cradling her face, letting her know that she was thinking of the right thing.

"No, please don't!" she begged, bringing her free hand up to try and get him to stop.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't."

Tina felt her desperation heighten. "I-I can't, I don't have a reason for being difficult, and--and I don't want to be difficult, I promise, but I just can't--can't control it."

He leaned in close and ran his other hand over her cheek. "Is that so?"

"I'm trying, I promise I am, but sometimes I just--I just can't--" Tina broke off as his hand came to a rest against her throat.

"Shh, it's okay, I believe you," he said, running his fingers over her neck. "But that presents us with another problem, doesn't it? Or maybe the problem is you just aren't trying hard enough."

"I am, I swear!" she cried. "I don't want to make you mad, I-I don't want to make you upset, please, I promise."

Her captor let go of her arm and brought his hand down so that it was resting on her breast, his fingers lightly caressing the bite mark. "Aren't you just so eager to please me," he murmured. "I suppose I can excuse you. It is your birthday after all. But next time this happens I'm going to have to do something to try and kerb this problem."

"I've always been difficult, I swear--I swear, Henry! I've never been able to control it."

"And I believe you, but bad habits can be broken. With a bit of force, naturally, as we both know how stubborn you can be."

She gave a feeble nod and tried not to show her fear when he bent his head down and kissed the bite mark. It didn't feel real that she was now twenty. If it was real then she'd have to accept that he had stolen her final months of being a teenager and the fact that even after all this time, no one was missing her. That thought stung the most and she tried to blink away tears as her captor looked at her once more.

He reached up and wiped away a tear that trailed down her cheek. "That's right, you only have me," he said softly before reaching over the side of the bed and picking up the shackle she'd left in the bathroom. "And I'm going nowhere."