by P. G. Forte
Gregg seated himself on a chair beside the bed. “Sit up. I brought you some soup.”
Cara ran her tongue over lips that felt parched and swollen. She shook her head. “I don’t want any soup.” She didn’t want anything from him—not one fucking thing. She just wanted this nightmare to end.
He cocked his head and studied her through narrow eyes. “Either you’ll drink it, like a good little girl or I’ll get a hose and pour it down your throat. Your choice.”
“Why are you doing this?” she whispered in misery, wishing he’d go away. Just go away and let me die.
“Well, because you’ve got a fever and your arm’s infected, why else? You’re sick. You need to eat something to regain your strength.”
She curled into the sheets and closed her eyes. “Why? What do you care about that?” An infection sounded good. Infections could kill you, couldn’t they? And not eating would only speed up the process. Good. Finally, an answer to her prayers. She need do nothing but lie here and let nature take its course.
The sound of the chair being pushed away from the bed got her attention. Her eyes flew open as he slammed the bowl down on the nightstand and ripped the sheets away from her. She had less than an instant to realize she was naked when he landed on top of her; hard and bruisingly heavy, pushing her into the bedding so that she couldn’t move. His mouth closed on hers, kissing her, biting her lips. He thrust his tongue almost down her throat and she could do nothing to stop him. His hand curved around her breast and she tried to push it away, but she had no energy for more than one weak pass. She didn’t even have the strength to cry in pain, or frustration, or despair.
Gregg lifted his head and laughed at her, triumphantly. “See? Isn’t it more fun when you can fight me?”
She stared at him. She did want to fight him. She wanted to bite and claw and punch him until he was dead. But then he lowered his head again and she didn’t even have the strength to turn her face away. She could do nothing but whimper helplessly, while her heart beat so hard it made her head ache.
Gregg savaged her lips with one more brutal kiss and then got to his feet. “Now, sit up and eat,” he said as he picked up the bowl and pulled the chair back up to the bed—as if nothing at all unusual had just happened. As if this kind of thing was fucking normal, for shit’s sake.
But she sat up, just as he’d told her to; although every movement was an effort. “I can’t drink this way,” she reminded him, gesturing to the wrist that was cuffed to the bedpost. “I can’t hold the bowl. You’ll have to let me go first.”
Gregg smiled coldly as he spooned up some soup. “Nice try. Now, open up.”
He was going to feed it to her? Cara stared at him in disbelief.
Gregg’s eyes narrowed once again. “If you make me go for the hose, then once I’m done feeding you, I will take that hose and I will beat your stubborn ass with it until you pass out again. Is that really what you want?”
Reluctantly, she opened her mouth, practically gagging as the soup went down her throat. It was hot and much too salty, and it stung her lips; but she swallowed and, seeing that he was waiting for her, she opened her mouth again.
“So, how long had you been using, anyway?” Gregg asked, causing Cara to choke once more.
She stared at him as she gasped for breath, surprised, frightened, confused. What kind of question was that? He couldn’t be a cop, could he? No, that was impossible. “Wh- what do you mean?” she asked cautiously. “Using what?”
He shook his head. “Don’t play games with me. I know drug withdrawals when I see them. Haven’t you ever heard of just say no? It was a popular slogan, as I recall.” He smiled suddenly. “Not that you’re going to get a lot of practice saying no to me, come to think of it. I’m more of a yes-man.”
Cara grimaced. Yeah, that was really funny. She could just die laughing. “I guess it’s been a couple of years,” she admitted, rubbing her free hand across her eyes as exhaustion set in once again. Shit, maybe that’s why she felt like crap—she needed a fix. Maybe he hadn’t done anything to her, after all? Maybe she’d been hallucinating and this was nothing more than a bent version of a drug intervention? Scared straight, with a real sick twist. Could she be so lucky?
She’d like to believe it, she just wasn’t sure she did. Who would have done such a thing—her father, her aunt? Not likely. Neither of them seemed to know or care what she was up to.
“How long have I been here?” she asked, obediently swallowing more soup when he extended the spoon once again.
“Gregg shrugged. “Almost three days.”
Days? She stared at him, horrified. She’d lost days? “No. No, that can’t be right.” No one was ever going to find her, were they? She hadn’t even known she was hoping for that, until now. But it wasn’t going to happen. No one was ever, ever going to come and save her. He could keep her here like this for as long as he liked. He could rape her or kill her or cut her into little pieces, and no one would even notice.
No one cares, the thought whispered in her mind, bringing tears to her eyes. No one cares about me. She’d always known that was true, but, up until now, she’d just kept hoping she was wrong.
“Is there a problem?” A cruel smile curled Gregg’s lips – as if he knew just what she was feeling. “A scheduling conflict, perhaps? Somewhere else you think you need to be?”
She shook her head sadly. What did it matter, anyway?
“No, I didn’t think so,” Gregg murmured in mock sympathy. “It doesn’t appear you have much of a home life, does, it, since no one’s reported you missing yet. And, your school’s still closed because of some fire—so, they don’t need you. I figure I can take all the time I want with you, can’t I?”
“Why?” she asked as her eyelids started to droop. She waved the spoon away, and sank back down on the bed, rolling herself into a tight little ball. He could get his damn hose and see if she cared; she wasn’t eating another thing. “Why are you doing this?”
“Oh... because I can.” Gregg put the bowl down on the nightstand and reached for the blanket at the foot of the bed. “And because I want to.” He pulled the covers up around her shoulders, leaned in close and whispered in her ear. “After all the trouble you’ve caused me? I am damned sure going to have a good time with you, before I’m through. You can count on that, pet.”
Tears trailed down her cheek. She sniffled as she turned her face into the pillow. “No,” she moaned sadly. She had a pretty good idea what kind of good time he had in mind, she started to shake once again, just thinking about it. “No, please, please don’t…”
“I told you. I don’t like hearing no. So, cut it out.”
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, too tired to fight about it. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”
He patted her shoulder. “That’s better. Now, you just think about all the fun we’re going to have as soon as you’re feeling stronger. That should give you something nice to dream about.”
She nodded weakly. Dreams? More like nightmares. But, fortunately, she’d been too tired to dream about anything that night.
The next few days seemed to pass in a blur of being woken up and forced to eat; interspersed with other times, when she would wake to find Gregg curled beside her, fast asleep, usually with one arm wrapped around her middle, holding her tight. As if there were the slightest chance of her going anywhere with that damn handcuff still chafing her wrist. The hopelessness of her situation would crash over her then, and she’d start to cry.
“Stop that,” Gregg mumbled at one point, patting her head with a sleepy hand. “Go back to sleep.”
“Why are you doing this?” she asked him again, still unable to accept what had happened. This couldn’t be happening, it couldn’t be real. It must be a dream, or a mistake, or a really bad trip.
Gregg yawned as he pulled her closer. “Because you amuse me. Now, shut up. I’m tired.”
But she couldn’t keep quiet. “Were you really going to kill me, that night in th
e cemetery?”
“I’ll kill you right now if you don’t let me get some sleep.”
She tried to comply, but her mind was racing around like a caged squirrel. “I really am frightened, you know,” she whispered at last. “So, please, if you’re just trying to scare me, could you stop it now? Please?”
A low chuckle broke from Gregg’s lips. “That’s good. That’s very funny. I like that.” He patted her head again and leaned even closer; close enough to bite her shoulder. “You keep saying things like that, and there’s no telling how long I might keep you around.”
He came up on one elbow and rolled her onto her back. The heat in his eyes made her catch her breath. She’d known it would come to this, at some point. She was just surprised it hadn’t happened sooner... unless it had and she was forgetting? She felt an echo of remembered anguish start to stir, and beat it back into the silence. Whatever had happened, forgetting was probably a good idea.
He stared at her for a moment, consideringly, and then asked, “So, are you ready to give me that blow job like you promised?”
Shit. It had been a mistake to make that offer. It hadn’t saved her, merely prolonged her suffering. Still, if that’s really what he was waiting for – She took a deep breath and asked, “Are you ready to take this cuff off my wrist?”
He gave a short bark of a laugh and shook his head. “No.”
“Then, me, neither.” It was the only weapon she had in her arsenal, so she’d better take care how she used it.
“You gonna fight me again?”
Again? She frowned as she tried to remember. Had she fought him before? Maybe that, too, was something best left forgotten. She shook her head. She didn’t want to fight. She just wanted him to stop acting so crazy. He couldn’t really be this crazy. No one could.
“No?” He looked mildly surprised. “I’m going to fuck you now. You know that, right?”
“I know,” she murmured, scanning his face, hoping for a sign of something... tenderness, perhaps. Just a little? He had to feel something for her, after everything he’d done. He’d fed her and cared for her arm, and kept her warm. He hadn’t killed her, when he could have. He hadn’t hit her since the first night. He hadn’t cut her more than once. So, maybe, maybe possibly, he didn’t really want to hurt her?
“You’re not going to start crying again, are you?” he asked as he covered her body with his own. “Because that was getting really boring.”
“No.” She shook her head again, trying not to wince as he settled himself between her thighs. Whimpering just a little when he pushed into her.
She wouldn’t cry. What was the point? She’d just do what she did that first night, when it was all too much. She’d shut it all out and send her mind away, like a little bird flying off into the darkness, searching for someplace happy and safe…
* * *
“Admit it,” Gregg demanded. “You got these cuffs for yourself. Didn’t you?”
Cara crossed her arms and frowned. “I thought you’d like them. I saw them in the store and they reminded me of you, so I got them. But if you don’t want them, then fine. Here,” she reached for the second bag. “Maybe you’ll like this one better.”
“All right,” Gregg said, willing to give her one more chance. But after that, all bets were off. She was already living on borrowed time.
He must have been drunk from the taste of her, that night in the cemetery. That was the only explanation he could think of; the only possible reason for what he did next, because he certainly had meant to kill her and the fact that he hadn’t was still a small source of worry…
He’d carried her to his car, all the way from the graveyard, curled up in his arms like a child. He had a plastic tarp in the trunk that he used to wrap her in for the ride to his house. It was not the way he’d planned to do things, however, and by the time he got home, he was feeling more than a little annoyed about that. What the fuck was he doing with her, anyway? She’d lost him his knife and a reasonably new tarp, she’d compromised his car and now... now, she was going to be in his bed.
The house was still derelict and deserted at that point, or it couldn’t have worked. Still, there was a risk involved in bringing her here. A big risk. She’d better be worth it, he thought as he carried her up the stairs to his room. She’d better be damn good, in fact, to offset all the trouble he was going to, the risks he was taking, not to mention the mess she was likely to make on his new, white sheets.
He had the cuffs on and most of her clothes off when she regained consciousness. Terror sparked in her eyes as they focused on him; a look of such sheer, naked fear, it left him no choice but to fuck her right then. Although that, too, had not been the plan.
She put up a pretty good fight with only one arm free, especially considering both wrists were bleeding at that point. He probably shouldn’t have allowed her to struggle so hard, but he seemed to have lost a little too much caution, somewhere along the way. The stroke of her nails on his shoulder and back was just what he’d been craving to feel all night—how could he deny himself the pleasure of it?
When he was done, she curled up on her side, sobbing brokenly while he took off his shoes and got ready for bed. He couldn’t help smiling as he flexed his sore shoulder and dabbed at his face. Hell, he’d never minded rough, and she’d been asking for it.
He lay down beside her, his body sated, his back and chest still slick with sweat and blood; and he pulled her close, sinking his teeth in her arm once more. “Ah, that felt good,” he murmured as he finally settled to sleep, lulled by the taste of her blood, by the endless sounds of her sobbing—like waves lapping at the shore.
The sobbing had grown tiresome by the next night, however. That’s all she did when he took her again; she just lay there and cried. And her arm had become infected – no doubt from the tarp.
He should have killed her then. She was no longer fighting, no longer giving blood, no longer doing anything to amuse him. But the fire at the high school was all anyone could talk about at the hardware store where he’d gone to buy duct tape and a new tarp. No one seemed to have noticed a missing teenager, he realized with a giddy rush of excitement, which meant he really had no reason to hurry things along. He could take his time and, while he waited for his scratches to heal, he could see what more fun he could dream up to do with her.
But fun would have to wait until she was better. And, as he realized by the third day, if he was going to keep her for any length of time, he’d really have to start feeding her. Details, he thought with a weary sigh. Always details.
She still hadn’t given him head like she’d promised, either. He supposed it was pointless to demand it from her now. She couldn’t even stay conscious while he fucked her.
It wouldn’t even be any fun to kill her, would it? Not while she was still too weak to even flinch when he lanced her cut to let the infection drain. Or while her body was still lit up by fever, raging away like a furnace, keeping him warm while he slept.
In fact, she’d probably be relieved if he killed her, while he would be left cold and hungry, in need of an extra blanket and an order of steak tartare. With no one to amuse him, and nothing much to show for all his trouble...
“Come on, open it,” Cara urged, gesturing at the bag in his hand.
“Don’t rush me.” Gregg frowned at the tone of suppressed excitement in her voice. What’s she up to? He loved surprises, but he didn’t trust her an inch—especially when she got this excited.
He really should have offed her before now. But getting rid of her was proving annoyingly difficult to do. She’d become so very convenient to keep around. Not strictly necessary but, well, it was rather like keeping a coffee maker in the kitchen. It didn’t mean you couldn’t go out to a cafe when you wanted a jolt of java. It just meant you didn’t always have to.
“Gre-egg, come on,” Cara whined impatiently. “Hurry. Open it.”
He shot her another warning look, and then sighed, just a little sadly, as he unt
ied the ribbons from around the top of the second bag. He would miss her when she was gone; much as he’d miss his favorite coffee mug if it got broken. But, all the same, perhaps it was time to let her go. That whining...
He opened the bag, looked inside and froze in surprise.
Chapter Six
It had been all Cara could do to keep from smiling smugly as Gregg took hold of the bag, as she watched the weight of it register in his eyes. No, it’s not lingerie, this time, is it, she thought, gloating just a little at the puzzled frown on his face.
“Come on, Gregg, open it.”
“Don’t rush me,” he replied in that silky soft voice that still sent a chill of fear down her spine. But she’d learned a thing or two about him in the last few months, and she was pretty sure she had him with this present.
If anything, she had him maybe a little too well, which is why she’d tried the other gifts first. Gregg liked to think of himself as a mystery, and a part of him would hate it that she’d read him so easily. But there was another part – a much larger part, she hoped – that wouldn’t be able to resist her gift.
She watched as he started in on the ribbons, deliberately, methodically, patiently, and, oh, God, he was annoying! Was he doing it on purpose – everything slow, slow, slow just to piss her off? If he was, it was working.
“Gre-egg, come on. Hurry. Open it.” She bounced impatiently on the bed, stopping only when he glared at her. She’d lost most of her fear of him, during the last five months, but none of her common sense. There were places she didn’t want to go with him, points beyond which she never wanted to push him. For example, she’d never again make the mistake of saying bite me.
But as long as she was mindful of how far she could push him and when to back off, things were okay. There was a measure of trust between them now. And no matter what Gregg might say or think, it ran both ways.
She remembered exactly how and when it had started...
She had woken up to find him already on top of her, moving inside her; and she thought, for one, brief instant about pushing, or scratching, or biting him – just anything to make him stop. But why bother? What would that would get her, except hurt? So, she closed her eyes again and waited. How long could he take, after all?
