by Dori Lavelle
My hands move fast toward the pot and close around the handle. I don’t waste time thinking about the possible consequences of what I’m about to do. My fingers tighten around the handle and I send the pot flying through the air headed for his head. But he turns around in time and ducks.
Shocked, just as I am, by the sudden turn of events, he sways from side to side. He pulls himself together faster than I can recover. He backhand slaps me so hard across the face that I crumple to the floor, unprepared for the blow. My body tenses up as it waits for him to kick me while I’m down, or to kill me.
To be honest, right now death doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. I reject the idea immediately. I can’t leave Christa behind. She needs me. I need to survive this torture for her sake.
Checking out of life is out of the question. Especially since my death would also mean he wins. Dax can’t get away with this. He cannot live to kill another day. I have to keep fighting him.
He hovers over me, feet planted on both sides of my body, his face like thunder. His mouth is working as though he wants to say something but can’t find the right words. It must be a shock to him to realize he has not broken me completely.
He’s in for many more surprises. He has no idea that I’m just getting started.
“It’s only you and me now,” he says, glancing out the window. “If I kill you, no one will know. If I strangle you right now, you would be my dirty little secret. You don’t want that, do you?”
I raise my burning eyes to his face, unable to hide my disgust and hatred for him.
He doesn’t seem to care. He simply walks away to fill the kettle and plug it in. While I’m still on the dirty floor, he makes himself a cup of coffee and a sandwich. He doesn’t offer me any.
Once he’s done with his breakfast, he brushes the crumbs to the floor, and returns to me. “Your punishment will be to clean this house until there’s no speck of dust left in sight.”
He lifts the bucket from the table and dumps it next to me, water splashing from it. Then he yanks me to my feet and I don’t resist.
My cheeks burn with humiliation as I gaze into the water. He’s treating me like a slave, as he had done to his mother.
“You know by now I can do much worse than this.” He crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Don’t push me.”
He grabs the rag and pushes it into my hand. I refuse to hold on to it.
“Don’t be a bitch. You know what I do to women who disobey me.” He grips my hand and curls my fingers around the rag by force.
That’s it then. The monster is back. If I want to live, I need to obey, for now.
I dip the rag into the water and scrub every surface in the kitchen. It takes me back to when I was a cleaning lady at the Baroque Hotel, but the work is so much harder when you’re forced to do it.
While he drinks more coffee with a thunderous expression on his face, I scrub the counter, the table, the stove, and the windows. The only time he speaks is to tell me when I’ve missed a spot.
By the time I’m done with the kitchen, it looks transformed. The dust is gone, the majority of the dirt has disappeared down the drain, and the air seems a little bit clearer.
After I sweep and wipe the floor, he drags me to several more rooms, and finally to the living room for more cleaning. I’m exhausted out of my mind, so much that I don’t even resist.
He lowers himself onto the couch and continues to watch me acting as his personal maid. At one point I turn to find him sitting with his legs apart, his dick free and his hands gliding up and down the length. I look away again because the sight disgusts me. How can this possibly turn him on? I keep my back turned from him even when he finally grunts. I only turn at the sound of his zipper.
My head is swimming now after so much work and nothing to eat. I sway toward a stand shelf to continue my work, but the moment I arrive, whatever little energy I have left drains from my body. More sweat pops out of my skin and black dots appear before my eyes.
I sink to the floor fast. He gets to me before I can reach it. I’m surprised when he picks me up and takes me to the couch, which is less disgusting after I had beaten the dust out of it earlier.
“That’s enough for today. It’s getting late anyway. You’ll continue tomorrow.” His voice sounds like it’s coming from a distance away.
As my eyes fall shut on their own, I’m terrified of what tomorrow will bring.
Chapter Three
Dax shakes me awake before dawn.
“You’ve slept long enough. It’s time to get back to work.” The chill in his voice cools my spine and drives me to obey.
I’m so hungry that when he gives me two slices of plain bread and water to wash the food down with—before I start cleaning—I mumble a sincere thank you.
When I’m done eating, I don’t fight him or wait for him to tell me to get started. I rise from the table to clean it up, and wash up.
“It didn’t have to be like this, you know.” He lifts a Granny Smith to his lips. “But I have to punish you for constantly throwing my kindness and generosity back in my face. I gave you everything, Emma, in LA and on the Yacht. I showered you with every luxury imaginable.” He bites into the apple and says nothing more as he chews. He continues after he swallows. “Now you have to get used to this kind of life. But you’re still more fortunate than most.”
I wash the dirty dishes in silence and he no longer speaks. He also doesn’t leave me alone. I keep wishing I would come across a fork or knife I could use as a weapon, but there is nothing.
When I’m done washing up, I face him, fingers crossed behind my back. “Where do you want me to clean today?” Maybe being his maid is not such a bad idea.
Keeping busy keeps him from doing other terrible things to me.
“Aren’t you going to respond to what I said to you? Didn’t you hear me?” His tone is tinged with annoyance.
“I heard you fine.” My upper lip curls with disgust.
He rubs his brow as though to chase off a headache. “And what do you have to say?”
“I’m sorry that I did not appreciate the things you offered me.” I try hard to keep my tone from being sharp even though flames of anger are shooting through me. I have to pull it together. I have to be careful. Pissing him off doesn’t serve me at this point.
A quick glance out the window reminds me of how huge the property is. It would be hard for me to run without him catching up. From where I’m standing, I can’t even see the fence that’s waiting to electrify me. It would be hard to get away without a car.
“Good.” His smirk returns. “I want you to clean our bedroom. We’ll be sleeping there tonight.”
With him behind me, chewing on another apple, he leads me to the master bathroom where I took a shower yesterday.
The room is spacious, but messy and dirty, with torn curtains, a stained mattress, broken furniture, and dust everywhere. A picture frame with a faded picture hangs askew on the wall above the bed.
A sneeze tickles the back of my nose and I let it out. It’s a wonder I have not sneezed non-stop since entering this house.
I don’t even know where to start. I look around me, my hands already numb with exhaustion from the cleaning I’ve already done. Even the bones in my hands are aching. But I have no choice. I have to work so he doesn’t find an excuse to hurt me.
I move to one of the windows to open it so the stale air escapes the room, but it’s locked.
“Let me,” he says from behind me. I step aside. I watch him pull a set of keys from his pocket.
As soon as all the windows are thrown open, the sounds of animals enter—cows, sheep, goats, horses.
As a kid I always thought a farm is the true definition of freedom. I loved spending time on the farm belonging to a friend of our father’s, running around an open field, taking care of animals, and milking cows. I was always disappointed whenever our visits came to an end. Who would have thought I would one day be trapped on a farm with a mad man.
He’s sitting on a plastic chair by the door, gazing down at his phone and occasionally in my direction.
By the time I’m done with the windows, my back is aching and sweat is trickling down my temples. I don’t have enough energy for this. My body aches to sit, but I don’t dare to take a break while he watches my every move.
I move on to the bed and touch the dirty mattress. My stomach roils at the sight of the stains. Will I end up sleeping on this thing?
I look up at him. “Should I . . . should I wash it?” I’ll be doing it more for me than him.
“No need. I have a new mattress in the basement. We’re not sleeping on someone else’s piss and God-knows-what.”
“Okay.” My posture slumps with relief. Ignoring the mattress, I clean the wooden headboard and nightstands.
“Sorry for the inconvenience, my love. I’m afraid the previous owner didn’t have time to clean up since I wanted the farm immediately. No one has lived here for years. I’m sorry you have to clean up their mess.”
He’s talking as if he really cares when we both know he’s enjoying my misery. He jerked off to me cleaning, for God’s sake. That’s how much he enjoys watching me suffer. What an asshole.
I scrub everything to a shine, I even remove the hanging picture from the wall and clean the wallpaper.
When I dust off the radio inside the cupboard of one of the nightstands, I make a mental note to find a way to see if it works. Maybe at some point he will get tired of watching me every second and I’d grab my chance. It would be nice to hear news from the outside world, to hear someone else’s voice.
Before I move on to the bathroom, he tells me to take a break, giving me a glass of water which I accept gratefully. My hands shake as I bring it to my lips.
When I’m done drinking, he asks me to follow him to the basement to help him bring up the new mattress and bed sheets. The mattress is heavy. I drop it several times and almost get crushed by its weight, but eventually we manage to bring it into the room and drop it onto the bed.
A few minutes later, the pristine white sheets and pillows completely transform and brighten up the room. The bed looks so inviting, I’m dying to throw myself onto it and fall asleep.
I don’t remember ever being this tired in my whole life. I’ve never cleaned until my hands are raw, not even at the Baroque Hotel. I’m so overcome with exhaustion that even standing is hard for me, making me feel dizzy. I want to obey him, but my body can’t take it anymore. It forces me into a nearby armchair while my terrified eyes are fixed on Dax’s face. He will punish me for this.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he growls. “Get the fuck up. You have a lot of work to do before cooking lunch.”
I push myself back to my feet, my teeth gritted. I wish I could wrap my hands around his neck and strangle him. He should try doing the work I did on little food and drink.
“Clean the floor,” he orders.
As he continues to watch from the doorway, I get to my knees and sink the rag into the water.
I scrub the floor until my eyes fill with tears of exhaustion. By the time I’m done and back on my feet, I can barely stand. I’m swaying from side to side, on the verge of sinking to the floor like I did yesterday.
“Hang in there, my baby.” He appears in front of me with open arms. “You did a fantastic job.” He pulls me into his arms and holds me for a while. I lean into him because I’m finding it hard to carry my own weight.
He finally pulls back. “Let’s go to the kitchen.” He takes my hand and leads me out of the room and into the kitchen, where he sits me down at the table and pours me a cup of orange juice. The juice tastes like heaven on my tongue.
“I love you. I’m also really proud of you. I love your dedication toward making our new home beautiful for us. We will be so happy here, you’ll see.” His fingers brush the back of my neck. “We are enough, just you and me. We don’t need any damn kids to ruin everything.”
I bite my tongue to prevent myself from lashing out at him. My hands tighten around the cup so hard I’m glad it’s not glass, or it would have shattered.
“What do you want for lunch?” he asks, moving to the fridge. He places all kinds of sandwich ingredients in front of me. I guess he told the truth when he said the stove does not work. That’s why we’re living on sandwiches and cold food.
When I don’t answer, he prepares a peanut butter sandwich and drops it in front of me on the table, not bothering to put it on a plate. “You need to keep your strength up. Finish it.”
He doesn’t need to beg me to eat because I relish every crumb. The entire time I’m eating my food, I’m gazing out the window, wishing for my freedom, so many questions running through my mind.
I’m so deep in my thoughts that I jump at the sound of a sudden loud noise. I return to the present to find Dax glaring at me, his fist on the table in front of me. He must have slammed it against the surface.
“Stop doing that.” His voice is loaded. “You have to stop ignoring me when I speak to you.”
“What. . . what did you say?” I swallow the bread in my mouth.
“I was telling you what your next task is, but you just sat there ignoring me like a fool.”
“I’m sorry. I was far away.”
“Well, stop that shit. I want you back here with me. This is where you belong now.” He brings his face close to mine. I can feel his hot breath on my face. “Stop wishing you were someplace else.”
I meet his eyes without flinching. “Where do you want me to clean next?”
He blows out a frustrated breath. “You will sweep outside. There’s chicken shit all over the place.”
“Fine.” I lift myself from the chair. Now that I’ve eaten, I’m stronger than I felt before. Bring it on.
Outside, he hands me a rake and I get started on cleaning away the shit while the chickens run around, replacing what I cleaned away with fresh new droppings.
Dust rises from the ground and into my eyes. It makes me sneeze, but I don’t mind it much. It’s like a protective cloak. I wish it could cover me completely and make me disappear.
I want all this to be over. I want to fall to the ground and stay there. I’m suddenly tired again. My body aches for a break, but he’s watching. I keep going.
Once I’m done, he tells me he’ll set up an outdoor kitchen in the area I just cleared. I don’t bother to ask how he intends on doing that. I continue cleaning the place, picking all kinds of trash from the ground, dumping it into a nearby bin.
“We’ll enjoy a warm meal tonight.” He points at a dirty piece of paper that I failed to pick up. He waits for me to pick it up before he continues. “I’m sure you’re ready to eat a proper meal. It’s time we start living like normal people.”
“Yes,” I mumble. I’m not in a position to pretend I don’t want to eat. It won’t be a good idea to give him a reason to starve or beat me.
I must be doing something right because when I’m done, he tells me I can go and take a nap.
Rest is exactly what I need, but I’m unable to relax when he decides he needs a nap too and lies next to me.
When I turn my back to him, he wraps an arm around my waist. My body stiffens. It’s hard to ignore the touch of his dick against my back.
It’s only a matter of time before he insists that I have sex with him, to fulfil his sick desires.
I close my eyes and visualize things the way I would want them to be, what I want to happen.
My body relaxes when he doesn’t make a move to fuck me. I’m starting to drift off when he speaks.
“You’ve made me wait long enough. Soon you’ll have to carry out your duties as a wife. You will make love to your husband.”
; I stiffen, but before I can panic, I tell myself that soon doesn’t have to be today. It doesn’t have to be tomorrow either. Right now I have to focus on getting back as much of my strength as I possibly can. I will worry about the rest later.
The thought that one day he will pay a high price for his crimes lulls me to sleep.
Chapter Four
Dax wakes me when the sun is about to sink into the horizon.
My sleep had been so deep that I’m momentarily disoriented. This time my slumber was a great escape with no nightmares to disturb it.
I sit up and rub the blurriness from my eyes.
“Let’s get dinner started, sleepy head. I’m glad you got some much-needed rest.” He takes my hand and leads me out of the bedroom as though we’re a couple in love.
He takes me back to the clearing outside the kitchen. Dax had been serious about turning it into a kitchen. Three stones stand opposite each other in the middle of the space, a shiny pot balanced on top of them.
He brings out two chairs and asks me to sit. His voice is gentler than it had been earlier today.
“Since you did such a great job today, I’ll take care of dinner tonight. I’m thinking potato and meat stew.” He scratches his beard. “But I have to do something first. Get up for a moment.”
I do as I’m told, and watch perplexed as he places the chair next to the pole of a clothesline. He comes back to take my hand and sits me down again. To my horror, he reaches into his back pocket and removes handcuffs. “This is a precaution. I’ll be going in and out of the kitchen and I can’t afford for you to do anything stupid.”
I try to stop him from handcuffing me, but he’s stronger and he does the job with so much speed I’m almost shocked when the handcuffs click around my wrist.
The truth is, I don’t blame him for feeling the need to handcuff me. He knows that if I find an opportunity to escape, I’ll do it.
He disappears into the kitchen several times to get food and everything else that he needs. Then he bends over the stones and pulls out a match. It takes him a while to get the fire going, but once it does, he straightens to his full height, pleased with himself.
