Butterfly

by Rebecca Sherwin

  I’m falling. My heavy body plummets and I wake with a scream. Cooper has untied me, but he doesn’t catch me. Why would he? My body lands on the polished floor of his tower with a thump and I stay curled up by the post he had me tied to, waiting for the numbness to subside.

  “Breakfast,” he says, kicking a plastic plate of scrambled eggs towards me.

  Shaking my head, I turn away, but cry out when he fists my hair and forces me to my back. He’s standing over me, his feet either side of my waist, and his eyes are exceptionally dark. I narrow mine, trying to see where his pupils end and irises begin, but it’s useless. He’s a monster.

  “Just because you tried to run and sealed your pathetic fate, it doesn’t mean the rules change. You will still follow them, or suffer the consequences.” He kicks the plate again, nudging it into my side. “Now, eat.”

  When he lets me go and steps back, I sit up, crossing my legs under me.

  “No.” I shake my head. “You said it yourself, my fate is sealed. I have no reason or motivation to follow your ridiculous rules.”

  He growls, but takes another step back, folding his arms and smiling at me.

  “I can make you eat, caterpillar, but I’d really rather not dirty my suit.”

  His suit. My eyes travel the length of his body, from the charcoal jacket, to his charcoal trousers and perfectly polished shoes. He rocks back on his heels and chuckles; he knows exactly what I’m doing, and I look away when I feel my skin heat with a blush.

  “Cooper, I’m not eating. I refuse to be your pet.”

  He sighs, emphasising the hooking of his arm as he looks at his watch, and his lips move silently as he calculates how much time he’s got.

  “I calculate we’ve got time for five lashings.”

  My throat dries and I shuffle backwards. “What?”

  “Sex isn’t the only punishment I’ve got in my armoury, Erin. I’m not in the mood to fuck you, but I am in the mood to teach you that there are consequences for your disobedience.”

  “Please don’t.”

  “Beg me, baby,” he says with a laugh as he steps forward and removes his belt. “I like it.”

  “You’re sick.”

  “I can promise you, you’ll love it.”

  “So how is it a punishment?”

  “Because you’ll punish yourself for enjoying it so much.”

  Everything about him is a mind fuck, reverse psychology to the extreme. I know his intentions, I know what’s he trying to do, and I don’t have the power to stop him.

  “Please, Coop.”

  He stills, bowing his head to glare at me as he stretches the belt between his hands.

  “Don’t call me that.”

  When he reaches me, he bends to pick up the plate and throws it across the room. I watch it clatter to the floor, leaving me no option to promise to eat his breakfast to avoid this.

  “Get up.”

  Now’s my time to behave, to work my way towards a situation where I’m not whipped with Cooper’s belt. Getting onto my hands and knees, I move to stand, but a foot on my back keeps me in place.

  “Just like a good little pet,” he says, with the cockiness to pat the top of my head. “Stay right where you are.”

  My fists clench against the wood, my toes curling with the urge to kick him in the balls. I know he’s standing over me and I hate it. I shudder when Cooper drags the dress he put on me last night up my thighs, over my arse, and rests it in the centre of my back.

  “This might hurt a bit.”

  Before I have time to protest, or beg again in the hopes of reaching through to him, a heavy whoosh groans in the air and the crack of leather echoes around the room. I scream, curling up in a ball when angry heat flares from my backside, to my fingers and toes.

  “Count, caterpillar,” Cooper says, his hand flat on my behind as he soothes the assaulted area. “Lose count and we’ll start again.”

  “One,” I growl through clenched teeth, as he pulls on my ankle and forces my back to arch.

  The second strike brings another wave of agony to tear through me and I scream again, instinctively trying to crawl away.

  “Nuh uh uh,” Cooper groans. “Count.”

  “Two!”

  “Good girl.”

  He places a kiss between my shoulder blades as heat surges between them and sweat begins to gather at the nape of my neck. How can anyone enjoy this? Why did Cooper think I would hate myself for enjoying this? I hate this, and I hate myself for going swimming the night he took me.

  “Please,” I cry as the first tear falls. “Please, stop.”

  “Ready for number three?”

  “No.”

  My answer is drawn out by another scream as Cooper’s belt whips me for a third time. I pant and heave with the need to purge the pain. I sob, tears rolling from my eyes, over my cheeks and onto the floor between my hands.

  “Why? Why is this going to make me eat?”

  “Oh, caterpillar,” he breathes as he gets to his knees behind me and presses his front to my back. “I need you to understand the purpose of this.”

  “So tell me. Tell me the purpose.”

  “Desire.”

  Strike four is softer, more merciful, less full of hate and intended to draw my attention to the effects of Cooper’s attack.

  “You see,” he says, parting my legs with his knees and cupping my pussy. “You like it.”

  “I don’t.”

  “You do. Look.” He sinks a finger into me and I feel the evidence of my arousal. He’s a fucking monster. I don’t want to feel this. “Feel how easily my finger slides inside your cunt. I wish you could feel it, caterpillar—the way your body sucks me in and holds me prisoner.” He hums, drawing his finger out to circle my clit. “In fact, I want you to.”

  “No.”

  “Do this for me…and I might not administer number five. I’m running out of time, sweetheart. Make your choice.”

  I feel him leave me, but his hand touches the back of my neck and eases my cheek to the floor, flush to the cold wood wet with my tears.

  “How much do you want to avoid number five?”

  Shit. I really want to avoid number five. Fuck. Cooper has beaten me. In a matter of minutes, he has won. If I don’t do this, I take whipping number five and I’ll be forced to acknowledge how much I like the pain, how the ache deep inside me only intensifies with each strike. If I masturbate for him, if I show him how aroused I am, he’ll mock me for it; he’ll taunt me because this stranger knows me better than I know myself.

  “Erin…”

  “Okay!”

  My cheeks heat with a fiery blush when I slip my hand between my legs and ease a finger inside me. My back arches further as I grind my hips into my own touch, the wet heat inside me making me shudder with deviant bliss.

  “See,” Cooper says, stroking my assaulted flesh. I can feel the sticky warmth of blood and the sting of his fingers grazing the slashes in my skin. “You love it.”

  “I…” I moan, rolling my eyes closed as he presses a kiss to the top of my thighs. I know he’s watching me fuck myself. “I don’t.”

  The fifth and final strike is a shock, and time slows as black spots dance in my vision. Cooper said he wouldn’t hit me, and he has. He’s still punishing me, this time for lying to him because I do—I really do—love it.

  “Cooper!”

  The second a fresh wave of tears falls from my eyes and I slam both hands to the floor, my arousal forgotten, Cooper reminds me who he is, who I am, and what I’m doing here. The belt clanks on the wood as he drops it, his hand on the back of my neck pins me in place, and two fingers stretch me, prolonging my agony and encouraging my arousal.

  “Please,” I cry, as he pumps his fingers in and out of me, fucking me with abandon and growling from behind me as I clench around him and try to fight even as I give into his will. “Please, Coop.”

  I’m close, so close I can almost taste it, the explosive orgasm my kidnapper promises.<
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  “I don’t like liars, Erin.” He’s bruising me. He’s punishing me. He’s ruining me with an expert touch and impenetrable resolve. “It’s okay to like it. It’s okay to love it. It’s okay to crave it. I’m going to make you rely on it to survive.” His voice is soft and smooth, so calm and calculated it kills another fraction of my damaged soul. I shouldn’t love this. I can’t. “You really should have just eaten breakfast, caterpillar. Now…” His rhythm slows to a sudden stop. “Now you’ll be left wanting all day.”

  “No!”

  Cooper stands and his foot nudges my ribs as he pushes me onto my side. I curl up as the cold moves in; the throbbing tension of frustration frays my emotions and calls for more tears to escape. I watch Cooper retrieve his belt, slide it through the loops, and buckle it up like it hasn’t just whipped me until I bled. He smooths his suit down and re-buttons his jacket before slipping his fingers into his mouth and rolling his eyes closed with a sigh.

  “Have a nice day, caterpillar.”

  I say nothing as I watch him cross the room, open the door, and close it softly behind him.

  Five butterflies flutter around the rosebush outside. Their bright wings pop against the dark green of the leaves, their soft beauty a contrast to the thorns that threaten their floral paradise. I lay where Cooper left me on the floor of his tower, and watch them, wishing I could be the butterfly he wants to make me. I want to brandish my wings and fly away, far from here, far from the world I once knew, to a brand new world where I can live without danger.

  I think of my mother, of her blonde hair cascading down her back as she braids my hair before tucking it into my swim cap. She was the perfect sports-mum. She watched every training session, followed the news on every meet, and made friends with the other mums. I remember her smile, and the lipstick she’s worn since I was a child; one that smells of peaches and makes her thin lips glimmer.

  I think of my father and his salt and pepper hair. I remember him sitting at his desk, keeping updated on news in the swim world so we could set our newest target; so we knew how hard I had to work on improving my times and propelling up through the ranks. He footed the bill for everything, paid for every swimsuit and all my train tickets and hotel rooms, before I made it professional. Now I thank him by supporting him through his retirement from teaching.

  What will they do without me? How will Mum cope without me running her to the supermarket? How will Dad cope without me sending monthly cheques for his country club membership? Who’s cooking Griffin’s dinner? Who’s ironing his shirts? How is he paying for diesel for his car? I had my purse and all my credit cards in my gym bag before Cooper took me. Did he take my gym bag? Has he got my purse? Is he spending my money? He won’t be, if he wants everyone to think I’m dead.

  What am I even thinking about? I need to find a way out. I stand up, finally stretching out my arms and legs, trying to ignore the burn in my arse and the tension in my core. Pulling the hairband out of my hair, I retie it, looking around me. The room is empty, void of anything to keep me company. I’m just in a room, with a few windows, a shiny floor…and a bucket in the corner. God. There’s no bathroom. How long will Cooper be gone for? Sighing, I walk around the room, taking one careful step at a time. I count fifteen laps, before I give up and sit in the corner. I sleep for a while, dreaming of my parents and the life I used to live. Will I really not go back? Is this really it for me? I refuse to give up the fight, but I’m out of ideas. When I wake up and leave exhaustion behind for a while, I search each of the windows, reaching up as high as I can, looking for cracks in the frame where I can pry them open. Nothing. Each window is a solid lump of glass and nothing short of breaking one will let me use them to escape. I have nothing to break them with. I’m trapped. My breathing starts to shallow as I stare up at the high ceiling and silently pray to be given an idea. How long before I run out of oxygen? Is there enough to see me through? Will I suffocate in here? Is that his plan, to drive me crazy and turn me insane in captivation? It’s in the news all the time; animals who live in cages and spend their days walking around their homes in search of stimulation go crazy all the time. Then they dehydrate…I haven’t got any water. God, I’m thirsty. I need a drink. I need air. I’m panicking.

  I lay on the floor, sprawling out on the wood like a starfish and stare up at the ceiling. I can’t do this. I should have just eaten Cooper’s plate of egg. Why hadn’t I? Because he tied me to a post and left me to sleep upright. He did that because I tried to escape. I tried to escape because I don’t want to be here, I’m here against my will. I have to keep reminding myself that I was forced to be here, and that I have no choice but to stay. I want to figure Cooper out. I want to know why he’s done this. But I want to go home. I want to get as far away from him as possible, because he’s a madman. I should have just eaten breakfast. What would I be doing today if I had?

  I close my eyes and force my lungs to inhale and exhale at a sedate rate—deep breaths in and out. Calm. Calm, Erin. Picturing the pool I used to swim in as a child, I imagine swimming a slow breaststroke and needing to keep my breathing in time with each push and pull through the water. I don’t know how long I’ve been here and it frightens me. What if this is it? What if Cooper leaves me here to die and all I’ve got as my life slips away, is butterflies and memories of a breaststroke I’ll never swim again?

  “Caterpillar.”

  I jump, closing my arms and legs so I lay rigid on the floor. When I open my eyes, I see Cooper standing over me. His head is cocked, a smirk crooking his evil mouth, his eyes alight with a cocky softness I neither love nor hate.

  “Are you ready to talk?”

  He extends his arm, offering me his hand and, stupidly, I take it, allowing him to help me to my feet. He stands me in front of him and strokes the sleep from the corners of my eyes with his thumb. I shudder, remembering how brutal he was earlier, but when he cups my cheek, I nuzzle into his warm touch.

  “You used the potty. Good girl,” he says, before taking my hand

  I blush. I hate that he knows I peed in a bucket. I hate that he did that to me and thinks me using it is some sort of a reward for him placing it there. I bow my head, but Cooper turns to me and tips my head up straight.

  “Stop it.”

  I nod, hoping he’ll let me go and wallow in my embarrassment. I take a slither of relief when he smiles softly at me.

  “Now, caterpillar. Do you know why I kept you in here today?”

  A glance out of the windows at the dark sky tells me it’s night-time and I’ve been here all day.

  “Because you kidnapped me and you can do whatever you want with me?”

  “No, baby.” His thumb strokes my mouth and his gaze falls on my lips as he licks his own. “No, no, baby.”

  Before I can ask what he’s talking about, he bends his knees and presses a firm kiss on my lips. I sigh, slipping my hands around the back of his neck to draw him closer. I’m surprised when he lets me touch him without an order, but disappointed when he pulls back and holds me away from him.

  “You need to learn, caterpillar. I asked you to eat your breakfast and you didn’t.”

  “This is because I didn’t want to eat?”

  “Yes. I asked you to eat what I made for you and you refused. Therefore, you received a spanking, and you were placed in time-out to think about your behaviour.”

  “My…behaviour?” I frown at him, but he’s absolute, unwavering and firm.

  “Yes. Is there anything you need to say?”

  “Uh…sorry?”

  “Pardon?” he asks, turning his head.

  “I’m sorry, Cooper.”

  “Good girl.” He kisses my cheek. I close my eyes and allow the scent of chlorine and Cooper to soothe me. It’s wrong. So wrong. “Come on, let’s go back to the house.”

  Taking my hand, Cooper leads me out of the tower, and down a bright spiral staircase, before he unlocks a door at the bottom and we step back into the main house. So this is why the fi
rst floor of the house seemed so much narrower than the ground floor.

  “I made us dinner,” he says as he leads me to the kitchen. “Are you hungry?”

  “I am,” I say with a nod, already knowing I’ll eat everything he’s made.

  I’m hungry, and the sting on my backside reminds me what happens if I don’t eat when he tells me to. Cooper takes me to the dining table and sits me down. The sky is dark outside, shadowed by the bushes that had brightened my view just a few hours ago. The only light is the candle in the middle of the table, in front of a single red rose in a small glass vase. Cooper places a napkin on my lap and turns to the cooker to plate up our meals.

  “I don’t need to get my gun out again, do I?” he asks, placing my plate in front of me.

  “No, Cooper. I’ll eat.”

  He didn’t ask me that to frighten me. I see that as he sets his own plate down and sits opposite me. There is no intimidation in his voice, only fear. He’s afraid that I’ll try to run and, as a result, he’ll have to shoot me. Despite what Cooper says he has planned for me, he doesn’t want me dead. At least not yet. Which means I have some time. I can still find a way to escape. Just not when he has a handgun on the table, tarnishing the effort he’s gone through to dress the table. I know he feels remorse for what he did to me this morning; he confirms it when his grey eyes slide from where he was looking at his dinner, to me, and a cautious smile dances over his lips.

  “It’s Friday,” he says with a shrug, nodding his head for me to see what he’s served.

  I smile without thinking when I look down at my plate. He’s cooked pasta, beneath a delicate cream sauce with thinly sliced mushrooms, bacon and chicken. He’s even garnished the plate with a leaf of basil, and given me a thin slice of garlic bread.

  “You know,” I say, twirling the tagliatelle around my fork. “Bacon is a very important food group. It’s scientifically proven to promote happiness. Like chocolate, wine, and exercise.”

  “All about the endorphins, huh?” he asks with a throaty laugh, shaking his head.

  “Oh, yeah.” I smile at him, noting the lingering grin on his lips as he twists his fork in his pasta. “Bacon should be treated with respect and served generously. You’ve even given me bread.”