His Desire

It was difficult to keep her fingers wrapped around the scrubbing brush, but Tina knew she couldn't let go. Her captor wasn't in the room with her but she could hear him in the bedroom so he could definitely hear if she suddenly stopped scrubbing the floor. If she stopped, he would return to the room and she didn't want that. This brief respite didn't happen often, not since being in this cottage.

The stain that she was struggling to clean from the floorboards had come from their dinner two nights ago. Her captor had lost his temper and thrown the plate at her but thankfully it'd missed and hit the floor, shattering the plate and leaving the sauce to seep onto the boards. She had gone to clean it up, as she knew she would be made to, but he'd stopped her and taken the rest of his anger out on her. He hadn't let her clean it up yesterday and she wasn't going to ask about it and risk being hit. She was consciously trying to think about everything she said or did in order to prevent being beaten, but with how volatile he was, she wasn't being all that successful.

"Tina!" her captor called.

She stared at the stain for a moment before dropping the brush and rising to her feet, grimacing as her knees creaked in pain. She knew she'd been scrubbing for a long time but evidently it had been longer than she'd thought. Taking a deep breath, she made her way to the bedroom and stopped in the doorway. He was sat on the side of the bed facing the door, so when he saw her, he motioned for her to move in front of him against the wall. She obeyed, thankful that she wasn't being made to sit next to him, but when he picked up a camera and held it to his eyes, she felt sick.

"Smile," he said, but she could only give him a pitiful one. That appeared to be good enough, though, and he pressed the capture button, temporarily blinding her with the flash. Spots appeared before her eyes and she blinked rapidly to clear them as her captor rose from the bed and went over to the chest of drawers that were in the room, opening the top one and placing the camera in it.

He turned to face her. "Did you clean up the mess?"

"I'm having some trouble with the stain," she mumbled, casting her eyes down. The less she looked at him, the better she felt.

"Then go finish it."

Tina hurried from the room and back to the kitchen, sinking onto her knees and picking up the brush. Part of her wanted to take a long time with the stain just so that she didn't have to be near him or have him touch her, but another part of her wanted to do it as quick as she could in case he grew angry at how long she was taking.

She found herself thinking about her mother as she scrubbed at the floor hard. The more time she was with her captor, the more she found herself missing her mother. If she could turn back time and change what had happened between them, she would. She'd conceal her sexuality and keep their relationship civil by doing whatever she could, just so that she wouldn't be kicked out. She'd even have gone to university like her mother had wanted. At least then she would have never been kidnapped. A life in denial was far better than one in captivity.

Footsteps passed her and she heard the sound of a chair being pulled out before her captor took a seat, presumably to watch what she was doing. He did that often. It unnerved her but she attempted to ignore him most of the time, not wanting to acknowledge his lingering eyes.

The chain on her ankle was still there, a constant reminder that she was a prisoner to the cottage itself. It was connected to the radiator that was in the bedroom and the chain was long enough for her to go into the bathroom, to the kitchen and into the small sitting room area, but when she'd attempted to step closer to the window that was on the far wall of the sitting room, the chain had stopped her. She knew that he kept the key on him whenever they were awake but she had no idea where he put it when they went to bed. Last night he hadn't locked their wrists together but she still didn't move from the bed, knowing that even with that freedom, she was still trapped. She was sure that he hid it somewhere but wasn't sure where, and it wasn't as if she could root around the room while he slept because he would probably wake up and that wouldn't be good.

Finally, the stain was starting to fade in the middle so Tina shot a quick glance towards her captor, grateful that he was bent over the table doing something rather than watching her. She bowed her head and took a deep breath before speaking. "Can I use the toilet please?"

There was a moment of silence but she didn't look up nor did she stop her movement. She didn't want to look as if she was expecting to stop doing what he had told her to do otherwise he'd be more than likely to say no. "If you're quick," her captor said briskly.

Dropping the brush, she rose to her feet once again and walked to the bathroom, making sure that she didn't look too eager. She closed the door fully and used the toilet quickly before turning on the tap, glancing at the door briefly, and slowly opening the cabinet that sat beneath the sink. She felt along the roof of it, running her fingers against the small crevice that existed between the top and the side before her fingers touched something smooth and she breathed a sigh of relief. It was still there. Each time he went to the bathroom, she was scared he was going to discover the knife that she'd smuggled in her clothes and hidden in the small gap of the cabinet. She'd only discovered it by exploring the unit each time she used the toilet, and as it wasn't at all noticeable from the outside, had deduced that it was a place he wouldn't be aware of. So far he also hadn't noticed the missing knife from the cutlery.

She closed the cabinet, wet her hands and turned the tap off, drying the tips of her fingers on her dress before leaving the bathroom and heading back to the kitchen. She had just knelt back on the floor when her captor spoke once more. "When's your period due?" he asked, making her look towards him.

How long had she been his prisoner? A month? Longer? Shorter? "My last one was in December," she said quietly.

He frowned and looked at the item he had in front of him. "Are you sure?"

"They're not regular," she blurted out, "I never have them each month, there's normally a three month gap between them. There's nothing wrong with me, though; it's never been nothing to worry about, just hormones, and it's really common." She couldn't stop herself from rambling, to try and explain why she only got them occasionally so he didn't think there was anything wrong with her. He'd already once spoke about cutting his losses and she was still determined to survive. She would not be his victim.

Her captor wrote something down on the item before him. "So you'll need some soon," he mused.

Was it March already? That'd mean that it had definitely been over a month since she'd been stupid enough to get in his car, depending on how far into the month it was. Three months since her last period would be the end of March - was it already the end of March? "My last one started on the nineteenth," she added, trying to bait him.

He nodded. "It's a priority then. Don't want you bleeding everywhere."

She ducked her head again and picked up the brush. It was the end of March? Or was he tormenting her? Had it really been that long? The days did seem to be endless to her, but she couldn't handle the knowledge that she might have been with him for well over a month, verging on the second. That wasn't possible.

Her captor fell silent so she began to scrub harshly at the floor, taking her anger out on the stain. She was useless. Her only attempt at escaping had led to her being handed right back to her captor because they thought she was crazy. She knew she hadn't made much sense when she rushed into the police station, but she should have done more. If she ever got the chance again, she wouldn't head to the police. Instead she'd find out where she was and then try and make her way to where her father lived. Then once she was with him she'd go to the police. That way she couldn't be called crazy. The police she'd gone to must have known her captor, she concluded, otherwise why else would they be so willing to ignore everything she was saying?

When the stain had disappeared completely from the floor she froze for a moment, unsure what to do next. Did she want to finish? If she finished he might call her over to him and that would probably lead to more pain than just aching knees and hands. Just as she was about to dip it into the water she had, footsteps approached her. "It's four," her captor said.

She pulled her hand back. "I'm not done," she mumbled, placing the brush over the spot the stain had been. Four meant that it was time to make dinner and she really didn't want to be forced to be taught to cook by him.

A foot shot out and landed on her hand, pushing her fingers off the brush and flattening them to the floor. She cried out as he pressed harder. "I'm sorry!"

"For?" he prompted, applying more pressure to her already broken fingers.

"For being difficult!" Almost instantly did he step off her hand, allowing her to draw it close to her chest and cradle it gently. She wasn't allowed too much time to let the pain pass before she was made to put the brush in the small washing-up bowl she'd had for the water and stand up. If she didn't ask any question he thought were stupid or made any mistakes, she might be able to get through this without getting hit.

She often thought about trying to maim him while being forced to make the food but it was really difficult to concentrate when he was constantly berating her and grabbing her, so if she missed or messed it up somehow, she'd have to reap the consequences which would undoubtedly be severe. Failure couldn't be an option.

Every action she did was dictated by him, and whenever she would do something wrong he'd reprimand her, but thankfully she only got hit twice this time. And as she hadn't angered him too much while doing it, he allowed her a slightly bigger portion of food than normal. She was still confined to two small meals a day, barely enough to placate her hunger, so the small reward of extra food was welcomed.

She had to remain with her hands on her lap while he finished eating before taking both their plates to the sink and washing them up. She couldn't leave a smidgen of dirt on any of the items because he would check them when they were dry and punish her for not doing it properly. Doing anything wrong in his eyes always warranted a hit, no matter how small it was. Sometimes she found herself wondering whether he'd kidnapped her just to be his slave, but then his actions of faux kindness didn't make sense. Not that they did in the first place, but if he'd taken her freedom just to have a slave, he wouldn't give her the so-called luxury of clothes or baths. She still had no clear idea why he chose her - or what he exactly wanted her for - but the worst scenarios often kept her company.

Once that was done, she had to sit in the bathroom while he had a bath - something which made her feel sick about each night - before he took her into the bedroom, stripped her and violated her. She still hadn't been able to teach herself to detach from her body while that happened so she cried and tried to prevent it, although it was a feeble attempt because she knew it'd happen no matter what. Then she was sent to the bathroom, told to wash her face and stop her crying before numbly re-entering the bedroom and lying where he gestured. She tensed when he lied next to her but was thankful when he once again didn't lock their wrists together.

Tina had to listen to his deep breathing as she tried to understand what she had done to deserve this hell.