His Desire

"You're doing it wrong," her captor said.

Tina tried to focus on what she was doing but was once more interrupted when he grabbed her wrist, stilling her movements. She kept her head bowed, not wanting to look at him.

"The instructions are right in front of you. How do you keep getting them wrong?" She remained silent so he yanked at her wrist and forced her to face him. "Answer me!"

"I don't know how to cook," she admitted quietly.

There was a moment of silence before he let go of her wrist and pushed her away, making her hug herself. She was expecting to be hit but instead he took her place, dealing with the food she had been trying to knead previously. Uncertainty engulfed her as she watched him cautiously. Being in the middle of nowhere really scared her. Her captor had become more volatile than he had ever been.

"You're so useless," he snapped and shot her a look. "It's a wonder your mother put up with you for as long as she did. What would you do if you didn't have me, huh?"

She knew better than to reply, but his words struck a nerve in her. She would rather have no one than have him. Being penniless and starving was what she wanted to go back to if she ever got the chance. Since being in this new place, there hadn't been any time to look out the windows and try to guess how far the fields went on for. There was no way she was going to let their location deter her, though. If there was a chance of escaping, she would take it. But it had to be timed right, especially as she was sure he would be faster than her.

Once he finished with the kneading, he put the dough on the tray before putting it in the oven. She tried not to flinch when he turned back to her. "Take off your dress," he said.

Dread washed through her and she took a step backwards. "I can do better," she protested.

Before she could step back again, he grabbed her and wrestled her over to the table, slamming her face first onto the top. "What have I told you about talking back to me?" he snapped, leaning close to her ear so that his torso was pinning her down. "It was such a simple request. Take off your clothes so that you can have a bath. Does that sound so hard?"

"No," she whispered.

"So what are you going to do when I let you up?"

"Take my clothes off."

He gently stroked her cheek. "That's a good girl," he praised, standing up straight. She waited until he had stepped away from her before she pushed herself off the table and slowly turned to look at him.

She didn't want to strip in front of him but the alternative was he would force the clothes off her roughly and might decide to not return any to her afterwards. With numb fingers, she slowly removed her dress, letting the thin material dangle from her fingertips. Only after a raised eyebrow did she drop the dress and unhook her bra, letting it slide down her arms and onto the floor. She kept her eyes diverted as she stood before him almost nude. He stepped forward and grabbed her wrist before guiding her out of the kitchen and towards the bathroom.

The house they were in was actually a cottage, a fact she had realised after the initial blind fear of being nowhere had worn off. The roof was high but inside had high ceilings, making everything on one level. Back in her room, she always had the seclusion and privacy whenever he would leave her locked in, but there was no such thing in this place. She had to be everywhere he was, including during the night. He'd lock their wrists together and hold her close, making her have to lay with her eyes closed to stop herself from breaking down in fear.

Her captor let go of her wrist once they were in the bathroom and bent down to free her ankle of the chain that kept her bound to the cottage. That was the only thing that would hinder any escape attempt by her, but as she hadn't had any time to herself, she also hadn't had any time to inspect the chain and test its sturdiness. Although it felt heavy around her ankle, it might not have been that strong. She could only but hope.

Though she was surprised that there was water already in the bath, she obediently removed her underwear and slowly stepped into the tub and sat down, drawing her knees to her chest in an attempt to cover herself. He must have filled the bath when he had gone to the bathroom before he'd tried to force her to cook, she thought. If she had to endure him washing her each time she bathed, she'd prefer to never bath again.

"The sooner you start listening to me straight away, the more gentle I will be," he said, kneeling down by the bath. "You force me to be violent. Every time you talk back to me or resist, I have to remind you that you're mine now."

She closed her eyes and kept in a shudder as she felt him run a sponge over her shoulders. "Do you think I want to keep hurting you? I very much want you to be good and listen to me. I want to be able to trust you, Tina, but how can I do that when you constantly ignore my simple requests. How hard was it to undress for your bath?"

Each time she tried to take herself away from this situation, he would speak to her and she'd be forced back into her reality unless she wanted to be hit for ignoring him. She just couldn't win. "It wasn't," she said quietly. "I was just being difficult."

He pulled back her shoulders and she squeezed her eyes tighter as her chest became exposed to him. "See," he said, running the sponge over her breasts. "What am I supposed to do when you decide to be difficult? I have to hit you otherwise you're not going to learn." She dug her fingers into her calves as he ran the sponge further down her stomach.

She attempted to convince herself that it was better when his touches were gentle, but ended up having to swallow the bile that had rose. His touch always made her feel dirty and used, no matter whether it was gentle or not. No twisted form of affection could ever mask the monster he was.

After the humiliating task of being cleaned by her captor was over, he drained the water from the bath before leaving her momentarily to grab the clothes he wanted to see her in. Once he had returned with the clothes, he gave them to her before picking up the chain and leaving the room with it, closing the door behind him. She knew he'd put it back on her the moment she was dressed but the short time she was free from the bonds was a welcomed respite.

Tina sat in the bath for a little while longer, trying to will herself out. They were on their third day in isolation and she felt herself lose hope as each day passed on by. She didn't know how long she had been his prisoner for in its entirety, but it had got to the point where she felt as if she were losing herself. Her captor kept trying to get her to act and be someone she wasn't, and to save herself beatings, she tried to comply the best she could, but whenever she had time to reflect on her situation the impact could be felt.

Knowing that she couldn't keep him waiting too long, she climbed out the bath and limply dried herself with the towel he had left. She then pulled on the underwear before sliding on the dress he had left. They were always the same: long sleeved, dark coloured and plain. Her legs and feet were always bare, probably another deliberate hindrance her captor had implemented to prevent her from trying to escape again. She'd take any chance to escape even if it meant losing a limb.

As she was about to turn towards the door, she caught her reflection in the mirror above the sink. She had been sure there would be a bruise across her cheek but as she stared at her reflection, she failed to see one. The only things she could see were the bags beneath her eyes and the fear that clouded them. But despite that instinct to remain away from her captor, she left the bathroom and slowly made her way into the kitchen. The doors creaked too much in this place for her to attempt to go in a different direction. Besides, she was probably being timed.

She found him sat at the table waiting for her. She watched as he gestured to the seat across from him and hesitantly obeyed. "Today you've earnt five questions," he said once she'd taken a seat. She found it difficult to look at him like he commanded. "Make them better than yesterday's lot or I'll choose them for you tomorrow."

How had asking whether Henry was his real name a bad question? She was dismayed to discover that his real name wasn't Henry Shrell, but a part of her had already known that there was no way he would have revealed his real name to her. That meant that he had created two fake identities to attempt to bind her to him more. She still had no idea how he had managed to convince the police that she was crazy and couldn't be listened to, but somehow she'd realised that asking that question wouldn't go down well.

"Do you have any family?" she asked quietly. Would he be angry if she asked something that he felt was too intrusive? Although he seemed confident that she would never escape from him, the fact that he didn't reveal his real name to her yesterday gave her a bit of hope. If he was truly so sure she would never be able to get away from him, he would have happily told her his real name because what reason would he have to hide it?

He looked at her intently for a moment before looking away, tapping the table rhythmically. "My mother's an old, frail little thing, holed up in a care home. Always fussed about me, but now I rarely see her so I don't have to listen to that drivel. My eldest sister moved to the States almost a decade ago, and I haven't heard from her in almost four years, and I hope my younger sister is dead."

"What about your father?" she asked without thinking, cowering back in her chair when his expression turned to an angered one.

"I would have included him if I wanted to talk about him," he snapped, stopping his tapping. "But, to answer your question - that's two now - he left when I was seven, decided to come back when I was fourteen and then left again. Perfect example of a deadbeat father, not that you would understand what that's like."

Tina couldn't help but wonder how old her captor was. She hadn't spared much thought about that but hearing that his mother was in a care home and his sister had moved over a decade ago, she was beginning to get a sinking feeling that he was older than he looked. Even though it turned her stomach, she would have put her captor in his early thirties, maybe even thirty-three, but could he be even older? Who was to say he was even telling her the truth, if she were being honest. Everything that he was telling her could be fake, designed to try and get her to see him more as a person and less as her abuser. That would never work, she told herself.

As it was, she tried to convince herself that he wasn't human. He couldn't be. He was a monster with no ounce of humanity, and that if she had to end up killing him to escape, she would be doing the world a favour. She hoped that it would never come down to that - she wouldn't be able to kill anyone, ever - but she was beginning to think that escaping wouldn't be possible while he was conscious or even able to pursue her.

"Do you have three more questions?" her captor asked, drawing her attention back to him.

"How did you pick me?" she blurted out, the one question she had been desperate for the answer to.

For a moment she was certain her captor was about to stand from his seat and beat her, but all he did was close his eyes for a few seconds and take a deep breath before looking back at her. "I did say I would answer any question, and I don't go back on my word," he said. "I didn't just clap eyes on you and decide that I wanted you. But I can distinctly remember you being out with your mother and crying over something, and hearing you cry just, well, intrigued me. I suppose it was you who enticed me, not that you would remember."

As her captor spoke, she began to regret her choice of question. She thought she'd want to hear his answer but his words were making her skin crawl and she just wanted to tell him to shut up. Hearing him talk about seeing her back when she was living at home just made her sick. Had he been stalking her? If so, how long for? He'd known about the circumstances behind her being kicked up, but just what else did he know? She couldn't recall going anywhere with her mother for the last two years she lived with her, so that meant he'd seen her before she had turned sixteen. Just that thought made her clamp her hands over her ears and shake her head.

"No, that's not true. You're lying!" she cried, rocking in her seat. "That's not true."

"Come now, Tina. I abhor lies," he chided.

She stood suddenly from her seat and looked at him in complete terror. "You're sick and twisted and-and crazy!" she screeched, backing away from the table. "Let me go, please. I won't tell anyone, I promise!"

Her captor just stayed sat at the table, his expression blank and unreadable. When Tina backed against the wall, she slid down to the floor and grabbed her hair in both hands, sobbing desperately. "Please let me go," she whispered.

"I think you're not fit for dinner," her captor said, making her pull at her hair harder. "I'm going to count to three and I want you to come over to me. One."

She shook her head and sobbed loudly. "Please don't."

"Two."

"Let me go!"

"Three." When she hadn't moved by that word, she watched him rise to his feet and approach her. Immediately she tried to scurry away but there was nowhere for her to go and he gripped her by the hair and threw her onto her back before sitting across her and holding her cheeks together tightly. "All I did was answer your question, Tina - not my question, but yours. Do you remember what I told you when you first called me crazy?" he said calmly.

She couldn't control her sobs to even attempt to form an answer, not that she could remember. She tried to forget each day that had passed by in an attempt at trying to rid herself from his torture, but it wasn't all that effective.

"I told you that I would cut out your tongue and make you eat it. Would you like me to do that?"

"No," she cried, her words muffled by his grip on her cheeks.

"So why did you call me it?"

This time he released her cheeks and instead moved his hand down to her neck, the lingering pressure a reminder that he could kill her in a second if he wanted. "I was being horrible," she said weakly. "I didn't mean it. I'm sorry!"

He leaned down close by her ear. "I accept your apology and understand that you were upset, but you still need to be punished," he said lowly before he sat up, shoved her left hand beneath his knee and grabbed her right hand. She knew what he was about to do and began to struggle but it didn't stop him. All she could do was scream when he broke two fingers. That made three broken fingers on her right hand. The pain had become a dull sensation for her with how long she's been forced to endure the broken bones. Why did he have to break two on her left hand to begin with and then change hand? She would have preferred having one maimed hand rather than struggling with them both.

Instead of getting off her, he just let her left hand up and moved down her before pushing up her dress. Her instincts told her to cradle her right hand for protection but she knew what he was about to do. As he pushed her dress up further, she began to struggle and lashed out with her left hand, desperately trying to stop him. She managed to scratch him across the face before he gripped her wrist tightly and pressed his torso against hers. "You'll soon learn to love this," he murmured.

Tina shook her head and tried to free her hand but he countered by letting go and grabbing her right hand tight, squeezing her newly broken fingers. That made her let out a cry and she tried to prise his fingers off them only for him to squeeze tighter. When he let go, she grabbed her hurting fingers and cradled them to her chest, heaving out heavy sobs. Her attempt at trying to stop him proved futile when she became aware of her underwear being pulled down.

She screamed through the entire thing.