by CJ Roberts
“Leet sawm k’leet sue is Russian. When you hear the command, you will lie on your back with your knees spread and lifted toward your chest. Hold your legs behind your knees.” Kitten broke position and stared up at him with a pleading expression.
Caleb’s breath stuttered into his lungs from his excitement. At last, she was compliant and his to command. The feeling was heady, but made somewhat hollow because he was teaching her the commands in Russian. “Leet sawm k’leet sue,” he repeated. His expression was hard, his eyes serious.
Kitten’s mouth tilted downward at the corners in a slight grimace, her chin trembling with her effort not to cry, but she nodded. In achingly slow degrees, she put herself flat on the ground. She looked up at the ceiling and the tears she had been holding fell down the sides of her face into her hair.
This was hard for her. Caleb knew it would be, but it was the easiest thing she could do compared to the journey ahead. There was guilt on his part, but also desire, intense desire that thrummed in his veins. The guilt was nothing when pitted against his desire to have Kitten at his mercy. If that made him sick and depraved, he’d accepted it a long time ago. “Your legs, Kitten. Let’s have it.”
He watched as her knees began to bend, and he nearly doubled over with want as her hands pulled at the nightgown, raising it over her knees and up her thighs. He hadn’t expected her to bare herself to him, but she was. His cock began to stir to the beat of his speeding heart, filling, lengthening, and begging to show itself. Kitten raised her knees toward her chest, her hands fisting the nightgown at her waist. Her pussy was clearly visible, the pink lips spread and flushed, her tiny clit peeking out from beneath its hood. Caleb drew a sharp breath and swallowed.
He could stare at her forever, but his desire was not the purpose of this exercise. It was the most concise manner of re-establishing their roles. There would be no outbursts today, no arguments on the road, no confusion about whether or not he would spare her. “You really are beautiful there, Kitten.”
She whimpered.
“Excuse me?” he snapped.
“Thank you, Master,” she corrected.
“Very good, Kitten. You can put your legs down now.” Her movements were quicker than he thought possible with her injuries, but he declined to comment. He also ignored her sniffling. “Lye zhaash chee means prone. Do you understand the word?”
Kitten sobbed as she nodded. “Yes, Master.”
“Over on your stomach, then.”
“It’ll hurt,” she said.
“Attempt it at the very least. Always try to obey. Let me worry about what you can and cannot handle. Return to the rest position, with your back to me,” Caleb said. His words were clipped and brooked no argument. “Lye zhaash chee.”
A mewling sound burst past Kitten’s lips, but she quickly pressed her lips together and held her breath as she struggled, like a turtle flipped on its shell, to roll over. Caleb pushed away the urge to help her. The situation reminded him of the first time she had disobeyed him. He had slapped her breasts a rosy pink until she’d obeyed. It seemed like ages ago.
It took a minute or two, but finally she was in the rest position. Caleb admired the way her ass rested on her bare feet. “Now lean your body forward with your ass in the air. Normally, you have your arms stretched out in front of you, but for now, keep them wherever it’s most comfortable.”
Kitten was stoic as she did what she was told. She chose to keep her arms crossed over her chest, letting the side of her face rest against the ground. The nightgown obstructed Caleb’s view. He stepped forward and gathered the fabric up over the soft cheeks of her ass.
“Oh, Kitten. I do like you like this. So much.” His words held nothing but truth. He couldn’t resist palming her lightly splayed cheeks and opening them slowly. Kitten trembled, but remained otherwise still beneath his questing fingers. “Can I touch you?” he asked, with a hint of challenge.
There was silence for a few seconds and then she answered, “Yes, Master.” Caleb smiled. It was exactly the answer he wanted and exactly the one she should give. She was learning.
“That’s good, Kitten. I’m proud of you,” he said. He stroked the soft flesh of her inner thighs. Kitten let out a gust of breath that Caleb interpreted as desperation. This was a lot for her to handle so soon after the trauma of the last few days. She’d done well, and he really was proud of her. It was enough.
He pulled the nightgown back into place and urged her back into her rest position. Tears tracked down her cheeks and her face was most definitely worse for wear, but Caleb kissed her wet cheeks anyway as he helped her regain her calm.
After he gave her more medicine for her pain, he calmly fed her breakfast while she sat quietly between his knees, accepting all he had to give her.
Chapter Eight
Day 9:
Dr. Sloan doesn’t ask me why I’m crying, and I assume it’s because she figures she knows. I would rather she ask me. “I know what you’re thinking,” I say, but it sounds like an accusation.
Dr. Sloan clears her throat. “What am I thinking?”
“That Caleb is awful, that he’s cruel, and I’m stupid for loving him.”
She shakes her head, somewhat wryly, and responds in a way I perceive as clinical. “I don’t think you’re stupid at all. If anything, I think you’re extraordinarily brave.”
I scoff. “Right. I’m brave. Reed said the same thing.”
I hear the scratching of her pen as she makes more notes. “Well then, you have a second opinion now. You don’t think your actions were brave?”
“Not especially. I think I just did what I had to do. Caleb’s always saying a person has to do what they must in order to survive. Survival is the only thing that matters.”
“You don’t think surviving is brave?”
“I don’t know. Do you think that guy who cut off his arm because he was trapped by a boulder was brave? It’s just instinct.”
“It’s called fight or flight, and one is certainly braver than the other, depending on the circumstances. Under your circumstances, what you did was very brave. You’re here, Olivia. You survived.”
“I wish you wouldn’t call me that. I don’t like it.”
“Would you prefer Miss Ruiz? Agent Reed says you don’t mind that as much.”
“Yeah? What else did he say about me?”
She smiles coyly and suddenly I find myself suspicious of their relationship. I don’t like the fact they talk about me. “We’re required to discuss the case, Miss Ruiz. We exchange all notes and information, as well as any insights we might have. I did tell you all of this.”
“I know. What did he say about me?” I have a strange curiosity about Reed that hasn’t abated. I don’t know what it is about him, but there’s definitely something.
“He said you’re a brat,” she says, but her eyes smile. I smile a little too. Reed didn’t say that at all.
“Back to the subject. Why don’t you think you’re brave?”
I sigh. “I don’t know. I guess…I’m here, and that’s what Caleb wants.” An uncomfortable silence settles between us. I’m lost in my thoughts. What Caleb wants. I thought I did everything he wanted, I tried my very best to make him happy, but in the end…I guess it doesn’t matter.
“You keep referring to him in the present tense…. Why?”
I can see his face in my mind’s eye, so beautiful, so sad. There’s blood smudged across his cheek, but I don’t care. I’m not squeamish any more. It’s the face of the man I love, the only one I’ve ever loved, and it’s difficult to imagine there will ever be another. I wipe more tears away. That bastard. “It’s easier,” I finally answer. “I don’t like the idea he’s gone.”
Sloan nods. “Go ahead, tell me what happened next.”
“Nothing much really, after breakfast he helped me get dressed. Then he tied me to the bed, gagged me, and left for a few hours.” I know where he went now – he went to the bank, but I don’t know if I should tell Sloan
or not. Then again, Reed already knows about the money. “He went to the bank,” I add. Sloan flips through her paperwork and writes something down.
“Why isn’t Reed here? Why the both of you at different times?”
“Agent Reed and I have different job descriptions. He’s interested in the case; I’m interested in your well-being as well as the case.”
“So he doesn’t give a shit about what happens to me is what you’re saying.” I’m not shocked by the information; it’s something I already knew to be true, but still, it stings to hear it from someone else.
“I didn’t say that. Please don’t put words in my mouth,” Sloan says. I think I’ve made her uncomfortable, but I can’t say for what reason. “Agent Reed says you kissed him?”
My eyes open wide and my mouth is slightly agape. I can’t believe he told her! Why would he do that?
“So!?!” My face is heating up, and I’m positive it stems in equal parts from anger and embarrassment.
This is a side of Sloan I haven’t seen yet. Her brow is arched, and her mouth is a little tight at the corners. “I’m not your enemy. Please stop acting like I am. He told me because he’s concerned for you, and the only reason I bring it up is because you were just telling me he doesn’t care about you.”
“Fine! I kissed him.” I look away from Sloan and toward the windows. Only Reed uses the kindergarten interrogation room to talk to me. I probably make him nervous. Good.
“Why?”
“Because he had something I wanted.” The words fall right out of my mouth, and although I know the picture they paint of me, I can’t say I care. I’m fixated on the pigeon walking back and forth outside my window. I’m envious of the pigeon. It doesn’t have a care in the world beyond eating, sleeping, and defecating on park statues. That’s the life.
“Is that the only reason?” She’s trying to keep her words innocent, but I know nothing she says is innocent, not even her stories about interpretive taxidermy. It would be easy to forget Sloan is a member of the FBI and she’s trained to handle cases like mine. She comes off as very empathetic, and even a little vulnerable herself, but she wouldn’t be where she is today if she weren’t a wolf under that wool suit.
My head swivels toward her and away from the window. I make myself smile brazenly. “Are you jealous, Janice?”
She doesn’t miss a beat. “Of what, Olivia?” I smile again, and this time there’s an answering smile on her face. Yeah, Sloan has teeth. I like teeth.
We go back and forth for several minutes. She asks me a question, and I turn it around to pose the same question of her, and she turns it back on me again. It would seem like useless conversation, but I think we’re both learning little things about one another with each exchange. Still, I’d rather be talking to Reed. I tell Sloan as much.
“That isn’t unusual, you know. Some victims of abuse tend to gravitate toward strong, authoritative men…like Agent Reed. They also tend to mimic the behavior expected of them by their abusers, especially when that behavior is of a sexual nature.”
I feel like she’s just doused me in hot oil. “Don’t. Don’t do that bullshit psychotherapy crap on me. It was a fucking kiss, not a pledge of my undying devotion. And for the record, I’m not some broken rape victim you have to put back together. I’m fine.” I’m crying again and I hate myself for it. Why won’t my face stop leaking!
“I’m sorry, Livvie. I didn’t mean to upset you,” Sloan says. She sounds sincere, and that almost pisses me off more than her suggestion I’m some basket case.
Aren’t you? You don’t know who you are anymore. You have no place to go from here.
“I think we’re good for today. Do you want to stop? We can go have some lunch in the cafeteria. Maybe play some cards in the rec room, or maybe checkers? I love checkers.”
“Sloan?”
“Yes?”
“You’re doing it again.” I wipe the tears off of my face and blow my nose with some tissues – funny how they’re ready and waiting by my bed.
Sloan lets out a deep sigh and leans back in her chair. Her expression is inscrutable, as though not even she knows what she is feeling, or thinking, or wanting to say. Finally, though, she nods slightly to herself and opens her mouth. “I don’t think you’re broken. I don’t mean to ‘psychoanalyze’ you. Well…” she laughs without humor, “at least, not out loud. But I do think there are some cracks to be filled in. You’ve been through so much in the last few months, and I’m incredibly impressed all you have are cracks. You should be broken, but you’re not. Cracks can be mended and believe it or not, you have a lot of people who want to help you mend.”
I swallow really hard. I don’t want to cry any more. I don’t know what I want, except for Caleb. I think I would gladly go back to the mansion if it meant I could be with Caleb again. I would live it all over again. I know it isn’t healthy, and I worry that maybe, just maybe, Sloan and Reed are right. I’m fucked in the head and nothing I feel is real.
“You don’t know what you want, Livvie, and what you think you want, you’ve been brainwashed into wanting.”
Even Caleb said my love isn’t real, but…I feel it. I feel my love for him more strongly and deeply than anything I have ever felt in my life. I think if it turns out they’re right and I am wrong…that will break me. Survival…it’s the most important thing.
***
It’s been an okay morning, I guess. I didn’t care for talking with Sloan, but playing checkers with her was slightly amusing. I could tell she was still analyzing me as we played, asking loaded questions beneath the guise of conversation, but for the most part we just talked about life outside the walls of the hospital. I missed a lot of things over the summer.
For starters, I missed graduation. I’m not sure how I feel about that. I suppose I don’t really care, but it’s strange not to. It had seemed so important four months ago. I guess I’m still a graduate. My grades were exemplary before I left.
Left. That’s funny.
Nicole started college. She’s called the hospital a few times and we’ve chatted a little – not about anything important. I avoid that. She’s offered to leave school for a few weeks and visit me, but I asked her not to bother. I’m fine and I have a lot of stuff going on anyway. It was shockingly easy to get her to agree not to come. Life goes on. Even if yours is over.
Sloan has left the building, but she says she’ll be back later today. As if I’d asked or even wanted her here; the woman is daft. I’ll take “Answers to questions no one has asked” for $100, Alex. Still, I wish I had something to do besides lie in bed and watch TV. I’ve raided the library, but it’s all so unimpressive.
Reed is supposed to come interview (more like interrogate) me soon, and I can’t help but feel a little excited about seeing him and talking to him. When he gets angry with me I can almost see Caleb in his brown eyes. It’s silly, but I almost live for those little glimpses.
I’m not sore anymore – haven’t been in days. My bruises are gone and my scrapes are scabbed over. When they heal, it will be as if all evidence of my time with Caleb has been erased. I wrap my arms around my stomach and squeeze until the thought passes. If you had told me a month ago I’d be sad to have unmarked skin, I’d have called you stupid and smacked you around for good measure. But here I am – a girl without a mark and without a reason to keep moving forward.
“That’s not true, Pet. You have every reason,” Caleb’s specter whispers in my ear. I don’t know if hearing his voice in my head makes me crazy, but I don’t care either way. It’s what I have left after the scrapes heal. I can’t give him up. Besides, I know the voice isn’t real, no matter how much I wish it were.
I like to play his voice in my head at night, when the hospital is quieter and I can concentrate on making him as real as I can. I spread my legs and finger myself to the memory of his mouth sucking on my tits and his fingers flicking back and forth over my clit. If I try really, really hard, I can hear him, feel him, even fabricate the
smell of him – but I can never get him to kiss me. I usually cry after I come. That’s exactly the kind of thing I don’t tell Sloan. I’m fairly certain she’d have a field day with that information.
I make use of my time waiting for Reed; I take a shower and put on the oh-so-sexy hospital lunatic outfit they give me to wear: gray pants and shirt. You would think they’d have something more cheerful given the scenery, but then I think of the crafts room and decide it’s just as well. My skin tone does not do yellow. My lunch arrives and I pick through the soggy carrots, eat the gravy-covered, yet still tasteless beef, and drink my milk. I eat the green Jell-O too. Caleb fed me better food during my kidnapping than these people. I laugh at my own joke.
“Something funny, Miss Ruiz?” I look up from my tray and see Reed.
“Yes,” I say, “something is very funny, Reed.” He smiles, no teeth, but it’s still pretty nice just the same. I wonder if Reed has a girlfriend. He’s not wearing a wedding ring. What would Reed’s girlfriend be like?
“Care to share, or do you have to extort more concessions out of me first?” He casually walks into my room and stands at the foot of my bed.
“You’re funny, Reed. Me extort you, that’s rich.” He smiles again and shrugs. I mimic him. “I was laughing because the food here is awful and Caleb fed me way better stuff. Seems like this place is real captivity.”
“Say the word and I’ll have you transferred to The Pentagon; I hear they serve amazing spaghetti every Thursday.” He sets his briefcase on the chair and leans against the wall.
“Gee, thanks. But I think I’ll just put up with the horrible food. If I’m going anywhere from this place, it’ll be to my new digs in whatever Midwestern town you’ve decided to hide me in.” I give him my sweetest condescending smile. “How’s that going, by the way?”
Reed shakes his head, unfazed. Not that I really expected to get a reaction from him. This guy just doesn’t lose his cool…unless you make out with him. I smile again, wider, all teeth, and my smile isn’t remotely sweet. The idea has promise, as it seems to be the only thing we have in common.
