by Nikki Rae
“Doe,” he whispered, smoothing my hair, “what did I say? Are we going to hurt you?”
I’d suddenly wished I’d asked for more water; my throat was unbearably dry. This was an olive branch. Master Lyon wasn’t trying to cause me harm, even allowing me to shake my head without having to answer out loud.
“No,” Marius confirmed from somewhere not far in front of me. “She knows that, Elliot.”
“Take your time,” Master Lyon said, redirecting my attention. “It’s important you see. I want you to know what is happening.”
I didn’t know what that meant any more than I knew what weight he’d been referring to. Goose bumps rose on my skin as he gathered my hair into a loose braid down the center of my back. Logically, I knew neither of them would cause me harm, but I flinched at the slightest sound. Marius was circling us, coming to my Owner’s side. Judging by the way Master Lyon’s hands left me and how Marius had stepped away, I guessed he’d handed him the aforementioned rope—the implement of torture. I’d never been punished with rope before, but once while I vacuumed the Compound lobby, I was beaten with the power cord for a young girl running through and tripping over it. She’d cried from her skinned knee as I was whipped.
“Hands.” Master Lyon’s breath made my hair tickle the back of my neck, inducing chills that made me feel more naked than before.
Surrendering my hands behind my back, he pressed my palms together just below the shoulder blades.
“This is called ‘reverse prayer position’,” he explained, threading my fingers together so he could leave me again with one hand on my arm so I wouldn’t lose my balance.
Was that what he wanted from me? To pray? Beg his forgiveness? I’d much prefer he beat me.
“Make sure it isn’t pulling,” Marius said, directing my Owner from across the room.
I hardly had the chance to contemplate what that meant when I felt the smooth friction of the rope around my wrists. It was now that my gaze snapped from the floor, searching for Marius. He only nodded once in my direction, focused on the trunk in front of the bed and the neat piles of black ropes he set aside. Next to them, he arranged an assortment of round stones with holes in the middle.
Although Master Lyon had instructed I stare forward, my eyes wandered to the ceiling beams. The hooks.
Every lock clicked into place. I’d anticipated a punishment, but not this. He’d only wrapped my wrists, and as he pulled the rope tight, I yanked my arms free.
I also hadn’t expected tension to immediately become slack, and as soon as they’d fallen around me I tried to scramble to my feet.
Master Lyon snatched me by the side of the head before I could fully stand, eyes on me as he lowered me back to the pillow. “You said you wanted me to be your Owner.” He sounded too even, unfazed. “You’ve disobeyed both of us. This is the consequence.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “Please, Elliot.”
His jaw clenched and then his features relaxed. “No more speaking right now, Doe.”
I could barely hear the request, like he didn’t want to ask but saw no other alternative. Instead of wriggling from his grasp, I righted myself on the cushion.
“Maybe you would like to keep your arms at your sides?” Marius suggested, only looking at Master Lyon.
My Owner glanced at him before turning his attention back to me. “Yes,” he said. “Would that be more comfortable?”
Images of our time by the lake back home filtered through my mind; him using his belt to keep me in place as he reminded me of who I’d once been. Remembering I wasn’t permitted to speak, I nodded. Master Lyon’s hands trailed down my shoulders as if the previous position had caused damage he alone could erase. He was shockingly gentle as he held my hands and brought my arms downward so my palms were against my thighs.
Then without further comment, he began to bind me once again, this time around my torso and keeping my arms tight to my body. He wove the rope in patterns only he knew, knotting it and adding more when he ran out. Marius delivered each one to him, and Master Lyon secured the four weights to my torso by looping the ropes through. He strategically placed the stones along my elbows, chest, and back; it seemed Master Lyon was concerned with an even distribution.
My breathing had finally returned to normal when they both stood. Master Lyon stopped touching me, stepping away and scanning his work. “You are not to move from this spot until I return. Do you understand?”
He was leaving me, helpless, under his control, all alone.
This was worse than a beating: isolation.
When he found the recognition on my face, a tiny smirk appeared. “Yes,” he said as if I’d asked a question.
Marius was already retreating out the door, down the stairs. Master Lyon took a step backwards to follow him, but hesitated.
Kneeling, he came close but didn’t touch me; he didn’t want to be any more lenient than he’d already been. “You need to sit and think,” he said. “With nothing to distract you. No one else but you.”
I shook my head, unable to comprehend. I wanted to apologize, to tell him it would never happen again, but he wouldn’t believe me. I’d now run twice from the man who Owned me, betrayed him. There wasn’t a greater offense in his eyes.
“Is your body comfortable?”
He’d phrased it purposefully; he only cared about how I physically felt, not what was going on in my mind. He reserved that honor for me.
Once again, I shook my head; I wasn’t ready for him to leave just yet.
Master Lyon’s expression softened. “What hurts?” He mistook my hesitation as not wanting to break an order, not for how speechless I was. “Answer me.”
Swallowing, I thought quickly. “My legs, sir.”
He was close enough to hear me if I whispered, but I hoped he appreciated the extra effort it took for me to speak clearly. Examining the ropes, Master Lyon’s hands made contact with my bare skin and I hated the rush of heat it caused. Even now, when I was terrified of what he would do to me—think of me—I trusted him enough not to destroy me.
In a matter of seconds, he had brought my legs out from under me until I was sitting with them slightly bent. My shins were pink from kneeling for so long; I couldn’t imagine what they would have looked like without the pillow.
Once he’d concluded I was better, Master Lyon stood. “No more mistakes, Doe.”
These were the last words he said before switching out the light and shutting me in the room like it was a cage.
Two
In the beginning of my time at the Compound, my worst fear was punishment. The method didn’t matter; pain of any kind was avoidable as long as I didn’t disrespect my keepers. That was a lesson I’d learned quickly on my first day.
When I was brought back a tainted, scarred, unworthy girl relegated to a closet, I was beaten, ignored, even spat on—a slave amongst slaves. I was deemed “unstable” and possibly mentally ill, which was also frowned upon within the Order. As with everything else they believed, contradictions ran rampant; they were the pot and I was the kettle.
My entire existence had become a punishment with the rare girl pitying me. Mostly, others kept their distance unless it was to complain about the food I’d cooked them, how incorrectly I’d folded their clothing, or made their beds below their standards.
Though the memory was fuzzy, I could recall a time I’d hung a girl’s dress on a plastic hanger instead of the proper one lined with velvet. I was no older than twelve, and apart from the short period I’d been courted by the Wolf, I had no experience with these types of things. For the rest of the evening, I was whipped across the knuckles with that plastic hanger until my hands were swollen; for that whole week, all I thought about as I cooked and cleaned was the seemingly small mistake. I couldn’t hold a broom or scrub a dish without being reminded of how I’d failed.
I watched the green, shining light from the window crawl across the floorboards. At least I wasn’t in pain, so it could have been worse.
However, as time wore on, every weight became heavier. I’d read the spines on each shelf, studied all the facets of my Owner’s space. After the first hour or so, I’d been able to stop crying. I didn’t know how long he planned to keep me this way, and I didn’t want to dehydrate myself. At first, I could hear my Owner and Marius downstairs, muffled French I couldn’t make out. Then the door opened and closed. I never heard the ATV start, and I wasn’t foolish enough to think Master Lyon would leave me alone right now.
Alone to escape, anyway.
Once I’d memorized the layout of the room, I’d run out of things to keep me occupied. I knew, of course, that this had been my Owner’s intention. The less I had to stimulate my mind, the more it wandered. That was why I’d hidden so many days and nights in my room or the study, nose buried in any book I could find.
It was a unique form of torture, him punishing me in a room full of books I couldn’t read past the cover. When I couldn’t concentrate on any other distractions, the thoughts flooded in—all I’d tried to suppress bubbled to the surface.
Not long after I’d been returned to the Compound, physical harm ceased to affect me. That was when Elma and the other guards became creative, letting any girl who wanted to help tie me in the “isolation room”, which was nothing more than a cellar with a dirt floor. Then the volunteers were allowed to say any awful thing they wanted to me. After a while, their words held little meaning. I’d betrayed the Order. I’d renounced their beliefs. In their eyes, I was lucky to be at the Compound and not left in the Mainworld to rot.
Their insults meant nothing; they were based off lies. So Elma and her colleagues set about brainstorming other ways to make me pay for my disobedience.
When the sun had dipped below the speck of horizon I could see from the floor, my head began to pound. My stomach was empty, and my lips and mouth were dry while my bladder screamed with discomfort. I’d listened intently for someone to return, but the sky grew darker and darker, increasing my pulse as the light across the floor dissipated into blackness. Everything around me became part of the night.
I wished for the stars, to trace the constellations as I had while I was drawing them with Marius, but from the floor in the center of the room, all I could make out were the silhouettes of tree branches. There was no ounce of doubt in my mind that my Owner had strategically chosen this spot, just as he’d chosen everything else.
Eyes open or closed, the memories assaulted me.
Elma and the guards had concocted the confinement technique once they noted my lack of reaction to punishment. My new quarters were even tinier than the maid’s wing of the Compound, where we had to share but at least there was enough room to turn around. When you’re reduced to absolutely nothing, the lowest on the Order’s ladder, you begin to think and behave accordingly.
There had also been a window in the maid’s wing. The women who lived there treated me the same as anyone else at the Compound, but it was bearable. The window overlooked the courtyard, and I could watch the other girls stroll or practice their lessons. I could remember the color of the bush our window faced, which would bloom with blue-purple flowers every spring. Before my arrival, the other maids had been allowed to open that window, smell those flowers before fall took them and the petals shriveled from brown to white. As if they needed more of a reason to hate me.
The Forgotten may have been rejected by Suitors, remaining Ownerless the remainder of their lives, but they were still devout Members. One’s society deeming them unworthy did not diminish values upheld for centuries. Only the Mainworld—the truth—could do that. Even then, believing in something you knew deep down was a perverted lie was preferable to believing you had contributed to the very oppression your “religion” promised to guard against.
In my closet, there was often a crack of light under the door. No matter how bad things got, I knew there was a chance. I could see beyond the darkness.
There was no such hope for that here. Everything around me had been painted an inky black that rivaled the shadows my Owner wore over his scars.
Back then, my room was a twin mattress on the floor, sandwiched between the four walls like I’d been stowed in a shipping container. It really had been a closet at one time, and I would be locked inside at lights out and whenever Suitors came to visit. The morning I was forced from the maid’s wing, I’d been ordered to clean out the space and organize its contents among other storage. At the end of my dinner duties, I’d expected Elma to escort me back to my shared room, but instead she took me there, where I’d been working all morning. From then on, I was locked up every night—taken out most days but completely forgotten otherwise.
I couldn’t recall falling asleep, but I woke to the warmth between my legs. It quickly grew cold, and I realized I’d lost control of my bladder as well as my mind. I hadn’t thought there were any tears left in my body, but they sprang anew, hot down my face and then making me shiver as they dried on my skin. In the dark, nothing stared back but me, and being alone with myself was the worst punishment anyone could deliver.
My chest chook as I silenced a sob, and I shivered in my own filth. They kept record of everything—my Owner had confirmed this to me himself. He had known all along what would hurt me most, and making me relive that time was at the top of that list.
I wasn’t supposed to be this person anymore, yet here I was, in the exact same place I’d been at the Compound.
And I hated him. I hated Elliot for doing this to me, but I had hurt him, too. Perhaps in the worst way I could have. I hated him, yet I understood.
From exhaustion or hunger, I hadn’t noticed my head had slumped forward a bit; my eyes stayed closed for longer periods until I couldn’t decipher whether I was searching the dark or dreaming.
My neck straightened at the abrupt sound of the front door slamming; two sets of footsteps. I tried to staunch the hope fluttering to life in my chest when I heard muted voices again, smelled whatever Marius was cooking in the kitchen. Surely, one of them would retrieve me soon.
However, the more time that wore on, the less likely that possibility appeared.
I couldn’t have fallen asleep—I was too spiteful to have nightmares on his behalf. Still, when the dim light finally kicked on overhead, I had to squeeze my eyes shut. I refused to admit I remained that way to avoid looking at him, even as I heard his measured footsteps coming towards me.
He stopped just in front of me, and I heard him crouch as he placed something heavy on the floor. I could smell food. Some kind of meat. My mouth watered, eyes cracking open to take in the tray he’d brought upstairs. If he noticed, Master Lyon made no comment. My vision was blurry; I couldn’t make out much besides the ceramic plate and glass of water before I needed to close my eyes again.
Unprepared, I flinched when I felt him comb the hair from my face. He lifted the glass, pressed it to my lips. “Drink.”
No tenderness in the command. He sounded mildly irritated, like I was a chore he had put off all day. If he’d realized my condition, he said nothing about it. I was so thirsty, but I couldn’t bring myself to do as he’d ordered. The glass disappeared, and he was tipping my head upward. He was so close I could feel his breath against my forehead.
“Let me take care of you, Fawn.”
I winced at his choice of words, the use of my name; my mind flashed to last night—less than twenty-four hours ago—when Marius had said something similar.
I shook with the effort of reining in my temper, refusing to lash out and give him another reason to keep me like this. Opening my mouth, I complied, gulping down the water in a matter of seconds.
“Good.” He sounded a little warmer.
Setting my glass back on the tray, Master Lyon picked up a bowl of something resembling food. Although it made my stomach clench with hunger, I backed away when he brought the spoon to my mouth.
He sighed. “You need to eat. And if you do, I’ll untie you, clean you up, and we can talk.”
Biting my tongue, I gla
red at him. His smirk infuriated me even more.
“The choice is yours.” Sitting cross-legged in front of me, he stirred the contents of the bowl. “If you don’t want to speak to me, you can sleep like this.”
His tone hadn’t changed; he was simply delivering information.
When my eyes next met his, Master Lyon was expectantly watching. He had showered and changed since the last time I’d seen him, and his clean appearance infuriated me. Dark jeans and boots; a long-sleeved grey undershirt concealing every scar or hint of vulnerability. Even the one he’d called mine had been hidden, buttons done all the way up.
“Would you like to eat, Doe?” He rephrased it as a question, but we both knew I wouldn’t choose the alternative. I’d been alone with myself long enough.
I couldn’t meet his gaze as I nodded, but he wouldn’t show mercy here.
“Use your words. I’ve asked you a direct question.”
The first few times I tried to speak failed, every response drying on my tongue. When I finally could answer, I wasn’t sure he could hear me. “Yes, sir. I would like to eat please.”
He let me stare at my legs in front of me, and though that also brought my hands, bound to my thighs, to my attention, it was better than the alternative. My limbs were numb from sitting in the same position, and I suspected if he so desired, he could make it hurt more when he untied me.
The spoon connected with the side of the bowl, and then it was coming towards me again. I’d been starved far longer in the past, but I couldn’t ever recall being this hungry. I devoured what he gave me, each bite tasting of nothing as I chewed and swallowed until the bowl was empty.
After another glass of water he poured from a pitcher, Master Lyon set everything aside and used a cloth to wipe my mouth. Without speaking, he stepped around me and began the task of undoing the ropes.
