by Lily White
Blinking at him in curiosity, I asked, "Do you ever sleep?" It couldn't have been more than a few hours since he'd finally let me rest.
"Sometimes," he answered, grabbing the headphones and spreading them apart to put back on his head. "But not often."
"Guilty conscience about your lifestyle keeping you awake, by chance?"
He grinned. "No, not at all. When I do manage to crawl in bed, I sleep like a baby." Allowing the headphones to snap in place over his ears, he returned his attention to the computer screen, effectively ending our conversation. I just shook my head, unsure what else I'd expected from him.
Padding across his stone floor that was as cold as a sheet of ice, I made my way into the dining area and sat down at the table. A meal awaited me that went above and beyond the normal gruel they served. I tucked the napkin in my lap and happily ate the scrambled eggs, hash browns, pancakes and sausage. I was polishing off the tall glass of orange juice by the time Ethan sat down opposite me. "Was it good?"
Resting my hands on my belly, I threw good manners to the wind. "That was amazing," I breathed out, a small burp escaping my lips.
Ethan's lips tugged up into a grin. "I'm glad you liked it, but I wasn't talking about the food." The man winked and it nearly destroyed me.
"I guess we should talk about this," I mentioned, seriousness weaved into my soft tone.
Leaning back in his seat, he clasped his hands together over the surface of the table. "There's nothing to talk about. Nothing can change, Emma. Not after last night. Not ever. They can't know the way I've been with you or it will only make them want to torture you more."
"The studio heads," I guessed, more a statement than a question. Ethan nodded in response.
Several seconds ticked by before I finally asked, "Why? Why wouldn't they give you just one woman for yourself?"
"Why would they have to?" he asked in return. "It's not like they can't find a man to replace me. If I left, business would go on as usual. The only difference would be the quality of the films. They don't care much about that. Only me."
"So, why did they come to you in the first place?"
His fingers drummed over the wood. "I'm not sure I was the first director they approached," he admitted, the truth of his statement taking me by surprise. "I just happened to be the one to respond."
When I didn't immediately ask another question or comment on his admission, he shrugged a shoulder and said, "I have nothing to hold over their heads to force their hands in this. If they know I want you, they'll take you for themselves. I'll have no choice but to sit back and let it happen."
A heavy weight across my shoulders, the reality of our situation settled over me, chasing away any good feelings I had that morning. "What do we do?"
Smiling sadly, he suggested, "What we've already been doing. Stick to the routine. You'll spend time in the cages. I'll work on other films, and when it comes time for you to perform again, we can spend our time together after." Pausing, his tone dropped into a warning, "As long as you don't do something stupid like last night and get yourself killed."
Eyes holding mine, there was no humor in the steel color, only honesty. "I can't save you on the stage, either. If the cameras are rolling, the film plays out as it will. You need to understand that and be cautious. You were looking for a weakness in me last night. I get it. And you succeeded in forcing my hand when it comes to admitting how I feel for you. But that doesn't mean the next man who tosses money out for the chance to kill you won't succeed in his efforts. You need to fight immediately when they come near you. Giving them the chance to get close only puts you in danger."
Sighing, I bit the inside of my lip and considered my options. Not left with many, I relented to his plan that everything return to business as usual. "By chance can my next weapon be a gun? I can shoot him as soon as he opens the door."
Booming male laughter filled the room with such levity that I couldn't help but smile. Ethan would always have that effect on me, would always catch me by surprise and show me a small pinpoint of warmth and light when I felt like I was being consumed by eternal darkness.
Still desperate to find some way we could both walk away with our lives, I lifted my sorrowful gaze to Ethan's. "Is there any hope we can escape this place? Any hope at all?"
His jaw ticked as he stared at me, his expression blank, but his eyes rolled with such sorrow that it tore my heart from my chest. "There are two rules about this place that I've warned you about, both of which I don't think you've fully grasped." Absently, he complained, "not that you ever listen to a damn thing I say, but at least on this issue, you may want to listen."
I took a steadying breath and cleared my head, nodding it when I was ready to listen as he'd said.
He rolled his eyes at my forced attention, but listed the rules regardless. "Number one, nothing here is real. Not one damn thing. If you were standing outside on a bright, warm day, you couldn't trust it was actually the sun you were seeing."
"Okay," I answered on a whisper, not fully understanding why he felt the need to remind me of that. I knew that life inside the studio was all just a dangerous, depraved game.
"Second rule. There are cameras everywhere, Emma. In the showers, in the cages, in the halls, and behind every door. There is no place you can go that isn't monitored."
I lifted a curious brow. "What about your office and suite?"
A mischievous grin tilted his lips. "Not even here or in my office. The only difference is I've learned how to turn them off and start an old loop when I don't want to be monitored."
Wait. That was good news. If he could disable the cameras, then there was a chance for us to make it down the halls and escape. I opened my mouth to say as much, but he spoke first. "And before you suggest the same as a chance to leave this place, you should know that whereas I can manipulate some of the security cameras, I have no control over the door alarms. There is no escape, Emma. We're stuck here until the bitter end, I'm afraid."
Damn...
Nodding his head, Ethan pushed up from his chair, stood at the back and wrapped his fingers over the top of the backrest. "I should probably send you to the cages soon. There's work to be done. If you want to take a shower, or get another hour of sleep, you're welcome to do so."
Seeing him standing there in a simple black t-shirt and a pair of dark grey slacks that hung perfectly from his narrow hips, I had another idea in mind. "I'll take you up on that shower offer, but if I have another hour to spend with you, I have a different idea in mind."
A glimmer of heat flashed behind his eyes, his mouth crooking up at the corner. "Do you? Even after I kept you up all night?"
I shrugged. "Might as well make the most of our time."
I didn't have to ask him twice. I barely had time to yelp in surprise when he rounded the table to lift me from my seat and pull me into the bedroom.
EMMA
Often I've wondered if falling into a routine is the same thing as giving up. We come into the world as tiny things with no real thoughts other than the need to explore our new world, our new existence. But as we grow, as we get to know ourselves and all the intricate details of our desires and aspirations, we dare to dream of what we would one day accomplish, of what we'll become.
The rare individual actually stays true to their youthful dreams, while the rest of us find new dreams in other pursuits, or settle for what life gives us and fall into our daily routines.
Family becomes more important than ambition when you're older. A comfortable, stable spouse becomes more necessary than than the excitement and exhilaration of first kisses. A job we may or may not want becomes imperative in order to pay the bills.
My parents had a routine, their parents before them, and none of them seemed truly happy in a life where nothing much changed from day to day. In a way, agreeing to that routine was the same as giving up on their dreams, whatever they may have been before life got in the way.
I couldn't claim to have done much better, only my
routine didn't involve children or bills, holidays or family. My routine was spent endlessly rotating between Ethan's suite, the stage, and the cages. An endless cycle, it never changed, the days blending so seamlessly together that I didn't know if I'd been in the studio for weeks or months.
Trying to keep count of the men I killed didn't help gauge the amount of time I'd been kept prisoner. The downtime given between performances was staggered, a few days maybe, a week or two. There was no specific rhyme or reason to when I was hauled from my cage, taken to the small room where I could warm up and gain strength and then tossed up on that stage to prove once again that I was willing to fight to survive. After that, I was hauled off stage again, dragged to Ethan's suites and made to perform in a different way entirely. I didn't mind the performances - either on stage or with Ethan. Both had their merits.
Imprisonment will change a person. The long, desolate hours give you plenty of time to explore yourself, not the physical body - although in a male prison, maybe - but in this prison, for me, it was an internal exploration, hours of my day taken to look deep inside to ponder all my likes and dislikes, my hopes and my fears. Rather than keeping busy with what life would have been in Boston, I was left to discover my inner self, that soft voice that talks to us all the time, but we're always too distracted to hear. What I found when I finally took the time to gaze deep enough was that, no matter what the situation, I had the fortitude to make the best of it.
Prior to the studio, I would have never guessed it could become easy for me to kill a man. And even though I would dread the act when first pulled from the cages, I learned that there was a fierce aggression inside me, a warrior that could set aside her heart to take revenge on the demons who stalk their prey when they're helpless to escape. That's the type of man who paid to fight me, the type who would easily rape and kill me with no regrets if I didn't kill him first. I harbored no guilt for their deaths and if I were to be completely honest, I enjoyed being their bitter end. They deserved it, I had no doubt about that, and the act alone was enough to help release aggression. It was enough of a spark to light the fire in me for what would come next.
Ethan and I didn't simply make love, we didn't fuck and we didn't have sex. It was nothing as normal as that. We battled for superiority, we devoured each other, glutted ourselves on both pleasure and pain, submission and dominance. I'd be lying to say I didn't let him win that particular dance more often than not. What he would do to my body when given authority to do as he pleased was indescribable. After he was through taunting and teasing, biting and licking, tasting and consuming, I was left in a state of pure bliss, a euphoria so light and airy that at times I wondered if I would ever come down.
Ethan was a drug and I'd become the addict. He was a touch of happiness in an endless nightmare, a bit of passion within a cold, callous existence where routine had become my undoing.
It was with him that I discovered other parts of myself that had never been allowed to exist, the parts that had been held down and blanketed by societal demands, by a set of expectations and rules of what was deemed appropriate to enjoy and what was simply depraved and without taste. It was in my moments with him that I realized that human life isn't simply about the happy times and heartwarming moments. There was no true line between right and wrong because, in each of us, both light and darkness exist. To refuse one was to diminish the other. To never fear was to never feel brave. To never hurt was to never find joy. To turn away from what society deemed disturbing was to never fully understand that even in ugliness there was beauty.
For that understanding alone, I could find solace in my imprisonment, I could convince myself that, although this was not the fate I would have willfully chosen for myself, it was still a life lived full of experience and discovery, a moment rare for most people because they refuse to step outside the lines drawn by humanity to truly look at what lies within shadow. In the end, I felt whole for once, strong for refusing to close my eyes and look away from truth.
It's what Ethan meant by truth in his films. If the world is a stage, we are all just actors wearing our masks and dancing to the choreographed routines of whatever is deemed acceptable during our particular time period. But beneath those masks, and when one steps away from the dance to simply watch what exists in all of us, we discover the duplicitous nature that makes us human.
There is no good or bad. There is only life and death. To ignore one is to never fully understand the other.
"Is it possible they've made it colder in this place? Even with the blanket, I can't stop shivering."
Leaning my head against the bars between Melanie's cot and mine, I stared with concern at a woman who was practically skin and bones, whose eyes were so shadowed by defeat that they didn't shine with any sort of life anymore. In the time I'd spent in the cages, I'd enjoyed talking to her, felt happy to know that although she would remain a prisoner, at least she wasn't subjected to the constant abuse the others endured. But as time moved on through days that were just one long day of never-ending sorrow, Melanie had lost her will to survive.
Often, I reminded her of her son, of the potential for finally seeing him again, even if I knew the chances were slim to none. I would ask her to tell me memories of the only person in this world who could warm her heart despite her circumstances. For a while, at least, it worked, but after so much time, she'd run out of memories to give, and even the ones she could dig out from the deep confines of her mind weren't warm enough anymore to light the dark path she walked day in and day out.
I needed to find a way out of this place, even if Ethan swore to me it didn't exist. It was difficult to believe there were any buildings in existence that were impenetrable. Criminals escaped all the time in state prisons and county jails, even the ones deemed inescapable. I just had to bide my time. Pay more attention. Learn exactly what it would take to slip past all the security and get outside.
"You're up, Killer. The boss says you'll be filming tomorrow."
Lifting my eyes from where Melanie was balled up beneath her blanket, I bared my teeth at the guard standing outside my cell door. They'd taken to calling me 'Killer' after the amount of films I'd made and survived. Sadly, I'd learned that the guards weren't so bad once you earned their respect. They were just lumbering men with their automatic security blankets, running their own routines through life.
Reaching in Melanie's cell, I brushed my fingers down her cheek. My voice dropped to a whisper when I said, "I'll be back before you know it. And then we'll talk about how to get out of here."
She nodded her head and I stepped to the cell door, waited for the guard to unlock it and then followed him to the pneumatic door. He keyed in the code and I realized it was the first notes of Three Blind Mice. At least, that's the electronic tune it carried.
Delivered to the dive motel room, which I now referred to as the warming room, I shuffled to the bed and lay down to curl up in the scratchy blanket.
It was the same routine, the same steps, the same experiences.
The same.
Day in.
Day out.
Nothing changed...except for my moments with Ethan.
I fell asleep and ate breakfast the next morning. I went to makeup and wardrobe. I killed. And while the warm blood of my attacker's body was still dripping from my skin, I was led to Ethan's suite to be cleaned up and used in ways that made my toes curl and my body dance within Ethan's glorious heat.
But then, something else changed.
"I need to be in my office tonight," Ethan explained as we lounged on the couch of his living room, naked and exhausted. "You can stay here or come with me, but I have work to accomplish and I left everything I need in the office."
Through a yawn, I answered, "I'll go with you. Even if I just have to sit there and watch you work. It won't be much different than what happens in your suites."
He looked down at me and arched a brow as his hand took possessive hold of my breast. There was a purr to his deep voice when he
said, "I have been meaning to pry your legs apart over my desk and find out how you taste in a different room. Perhaps the lighting will make the experience more succulent."
A shiver coursed through me. He could taste all he wanted. Anywhere he wanted. Just as long as I benefited from the experience.
Grudgingly, we got up, got dressed and walked to the halls in route to his office. As soon as we entered, Ethan darted to his computer, tapping a few keys as his gaze wandered across the screen.
"Are you in that much of a rush to get back to whatever film it is you're working on?"
He grinned, stood up to his full height and stared over at me. "I was handling the cameras. The guard in the security room will now see a boring loop of me sitting at my desk alone. At least, that's if he reviews the tapes. Normally, they don't."
He'd made the comment casually, but it was just another piece of information I could use eventually in my effort to escape. How I would use it, I wasn't sure, but I'd save that concern for when I had lonely hours of time in the cages to ponder.
Stepping around his desk, he walked past me to start a fire. It was blazing by the time he stepped away again to pour himself a drink.
I watched, curious. Breaking the comfortable silence between us, I asked, "Have enough for me?"
His eyes slid between the bar and me. Angling his head to the array of alcohol, he offered, "Help yourself."
I did, and after enough drinks that I'd lost count, I grew bored sitting by the fire while he tapped and clicked, scrolled, and jotted notes on a pad of paper by his computer. The man was a workhorse. And I still had my doubts about whether he slept or not.
"I'm bored," I finally blurt out, sitting up and throwing my legs off the couch to press my bare feet against the soft area rug. Wrenching my neck to look at him, I felt sluggish and uncoordinated, inebriated by the amount of alcohol I'd consumed. Pouting my lip enough to appear overly dramatic, I tried to tempt him to help curb my boredom. "Will you play with me?" I asked, my voice far too sweet and girlish.
