Hillary_Tail of the Dog

by Angel Gelique

  “Why not?”

  “What if I tell you things I shouldn’t tell you?”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know...anything. What if I say the wrong thing?”

  “That’s not possible. There’s no right or wrong, and there’s nothing you could say that you shouldn’t feel comfortable discussing with me at any time, even now. Is there anything you want to tell me?”

  “Will you kiss me?”

  “You need to get serious,” Dr. Bentley said sternly, growing increasingly agitated.

  “I am serious,” Hillary said, with a straight face.

  “No, I’m not going to kiss you.”

  “Then I’m not getting hypnotized,” she replied and looked away.

  “If I kiss you, you’ll cooperate?”

  Hillary turned her head to face him, surprised. She smiled. Her eyes lit up, flecks of copper and gold within hues of blue, shining brightly, almost mesmerizing.

  “Yes,” she agreed excitedly. She felt her heart begin to race in anticipation. She was desperate for human contact...for male contact.

  Dr. Bentley leaned in toward her. She closed her eyes. He planted a quick peck on her cheek and pulled away abruptly. Hillary grew visibly furious.

  “What the hell was that?” she shouted.

  “I kissed you, as agreed.”

  “That’s not a kiss,” she argued, “I meant a real kiss, not a kiss my grandfather would give me....” Her voice trailed off.

  “You remember your grandfather?” Dr. Bentley asked. He was thrilled at the prospect that he’d inadvertently caused a breakthrough.

  “No,” Hillary replied, “I mean in general...that’s how grandparents would kiss their grandkids, isn’t it? That’s not how I wanted you to kiss me.”

  Dr. Bentley sighed disappointedly.

  “Well, you weren’t specific,” he said, “and I kept my part of the agreement, now you have to keep yours.”

  “No!” she yelled angrily, brows furrowed as she glared at him, seething with rage.

  “That’s why I can’t trust you,” she spat, “you always lie to me and try to trick me.”

  “I didn’t lie—I kissed you, I—”

  “You knew I didn’t want some lame kiss on the cheek. I wanted your lips on mine, I wanted—”

  “Hillary!” Dr. Bentley interrupted loudly. “I’ve already told you that’s never going to happen, and I mean it. You’re fifteen years old. You should be hanging out at a mall somewhere with your friends.”

  “You’re right,” she said, disgustedly, “but instead I’m stuck here, naked and tied to a bed and when I try to make the most of it, I get screwed.”

  “The sooner we sort things out in your mind the sooner you’ll be able to have your life back and do the things you want to do.”

  “I’ll never believe you again,” she hissed and turned her head away from him.

  “Well, I guess our session is over then,” Dr. Bentley replied. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  He shut the recorder off and stood up.

  “You’re not going to hypnotize me,” Hillary said virulently, without facing him.

  “Yes, Hillary, I am.”

  “I won’t let you...I won’t cooperate.”

  “If you don’t we’ll just need to resort to other means,” Dr. Bentley said, and walked out of the room without engaging in any further conversation with her.

  Hillary watched him leave with contempt. She tried again to wrestle free from her restraints, hoping that Monica hadn’t fastened them as securely the last time she exercised her limbs. To her dismay, the ropes were just as tightly tied as ever. She didn’t know how, but she knew that she would escape this lonely, shameful prison. She would get out of there and find her way home again.

  ~10~

  Hillary had a restless night, worrying about how the hypnosis would go, wondering if there was any way for her to prevent it. Every time she dozed off, she was plagued by horrific images. When she awoke the next morning, Monica was in her room standing beside her bed. As always, she had no idea what time it was since there wasn’t a clock anywhere in sight.

  Hillary’s head was pounding and she wished that she could go back to sleep. She felt like she had just fallen asleep when she was awakened by Monica shuffling around the room. She was sure that Monica had been purposefully noisy. There was a scowl on her face that made it clear that she had not yet forgiven Hillary. Monica didn’t speak to her. She was holding the familiar plastic tote full of hygiene supplies. She looked incredibly annoyed. Hillary thought very briefly about apologizing to her, just to keep her as an ally, but quickly dismissed the idea.

  She’s no friend…she’s the enemy, she reminded herself.

  Monica silently began putting lotion on Hillary’s body, from her feet up. Normally she would sponge-bathe her first. Hillary knew she was purposefully being spiteful. She didn’t care. She wondered when Dr. Bentley would be arriving. The thought of him made her smile in spite of herself. She was still angry at him, yet at the same time, she fantasized about him. Those fantasies accounted for about half her thoughts while she lay in bed staring off into the empty space. Her remaining thoughts were focused on escaping, which were just as pleasing yet frustrating as her thoughts of Dr. Bentley. Things seemed more hopeless than ever, yet she knew she would find a way to escape somehow; where there’s a will there’s a way.

  As Monica rubbed lotion over Hillary’s upper thigh, Hillary closed her eyes and pretended it was Dr. Bentley caressing her.

  Why couldn’t Dr. Bentley take care of me, she thought, as goose bumps covered her flesh and she shivered. When Monica was finished applying lotion to Hillary’s legs and feet, she covered her lower half and pulled the sheet down to expose her upper half. She stared down at Hillary perniciously as she thought about the things Hillary had said to her a few days ago, the last time she had tended to her needs.

  Monica and Hillary had been getting along pretty well, under the circumstances. Monica had started reading to her each night while she bathed her and brushed her hair and teeth. They would discuss the novel and try to predict what would happen next.

  Then, a week ago, Dr. Morrison, who had been an infrequent visitor—to Hillary’s delight—walked in unexpectedly as Monica was sponge-bathing Hillary. The sheet had been pulled down to her waist and her breasts were exposed. Monica hastily covered her up.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked him, greatly annoyed, as she placed the sponge into the pail.

  “What do you mean? She’s my patient,” he answered defensively.

  “Shouldn’t you be at the hospital?”

  “You have a problem, Monica?” he asked bluntly.

  “Yeah, I have a problem, when you come in here to stare at Hillary. You know damn well this is the time I bathe her and groom her.”

  “What the hell are you talking about? How would I know what you’d be doing? I just got back from an important meeting, if you must know, and I have to fill out a report. I needed to check Hillary’s vitals and ask her a few questions, if you don’t mind,” he said sarcastically.

  “Have a blast,” she replied bitterly, picking up a tube of lotion and flinging it across the room. “I’m sure you’ll have fun with her.”

  “What’s that supposed to—”

  “What?” Hillary interrupted, her eyes widened in disbelief, “don’t leave me, Monica!”

  Monica ignored her and turned to leave.

  “You’re acting like a child, Monica,” Dr. Morrison chided.

  “At least I’m not screwing one,” she snapped back, “you might as well get it from the little whore since you won’t be getting it from me.”

  “Hey!” Hillary exclaimed, first hurt, then angry by Monica’s comments.

  “At least he’ll enjoy himself with me. He told me I feel much better than you do.”

  Monica was speechless, not knowing whether to direct her own hurt and anger at Patrick or Hillary. If looks could kill, they both wo
uld have been lifeless.

  Hillary wondered, briefly, if she should have felt guilty for upsetting Monica. A voice in the back of her mind spoke out to her: She didn’t spare your feelings when she called you a whore, why are you worrying about her feelings? Her face reddened as she burned with rage. She was foolish to befriend this woman who clearly thought so little of her. Hillary felt a satisfying rush knowing that she had caused Monica such pain. It was a powerful feeling, especially given her current status as the victim/prisoner. It was an amazing rush, the best feeling she had felt in... however long it had been since she was abducted and brought to Dr. Morrison’s house of horrors. She didn’t want that thrill to end.

  “He told me so,” she beamed, “he especially loved my boobs, why do you think he came in here?”

  Monica was too angry to even respond. She stormed out of the room, Dr. Morrison quickly following after her. Hillary could hear their shouting match, clearly at first, then gradually fading as they disappeared to some unknown destination. She smiled, content that she had caused enough chaos to keep Dr. Morrison and his probing hands and eyes away from her.

  Monica had stayed away from Hillary as long as she could. She was only there now because Patrick had forced her hand by warning her that he’d have to bathe and take care of Hillary’s hygiene needs if she didn’t. As much as she disliked Hillary, she could not bear to think of Patrick’s hands on her, sponge-bathing her, rubbing lotion on her body, doing God only knows what else.

  “…he especially loved my boobs....” Hillary’s words echoed in Monica’s head now as she massaged lotion on Hillary’s shoulder. She couldn’t help but stare down at her chest, sneeringly.

  It ignited feelings of hatred and jealousy. Her marriage to Patrick had been tenuous for years. Now, thanks to Hillary, with her perfect little body and Patrick, with his raging hormones and lack of willpower, her marriage ceased to exist altogether.

  “Ow!” Hillary yelled. “Do you need to be so rough?”

  Monica, lost in loathsome thoughts, didn’t realize how rough she was being. She did not reply but made a concerted effort to be careful, or at least less rough. She was glad that she was nearly done and could get out of there soon. It made her increasingly anxious.

  When Monica was finished with the lotion, Hillary broke the silence.

  “So you’re not going to talk to me anymore?” she asked crudely.

  Monica sighed in frustration. After a long pause, she said, “After all the things you said to me, you expect me to be friendly?”

  It was more of a rhetorical question, but Hillary replied nonetheless.

  “Me? What about the things you said about me? You called me a whore. You practically begged Dr. Morrison to rape me again....”

  Monica’s stomach sank in disgust at the mere thought of Patrick with Hillary. During her more lucid reprieves from her hostility-induced insanity, she was rational enough to know that Hillary could hardly be blamed for Patrick’s infidelity. In fact, she seemed to have no interest whatsoever in Patrick, which would make her a truly innocent victim of Patrick’s lust and abuse. Yet, Monica needed someone to blame and that someone was Hillary.

  Sadly for Hillary, this was not one of Monica’s rational moments. The explosive combination of jealousy, betrayal and anger that she felt could no longer be subdued. Hillary was not an innocent victim. Hillary was not her friend. Hillary was not her problem. She would tend to Hillary’s needs no more enthusiastically than if she were watering a neighbor’s plant. She would do what needed to be done and no more. Any pity she had acquired for Hillary during her moments of weakness had completely dissipated.

  Without responding, she swiftly gathered up the items she had brought in with her.

  “What are you doing? You’re not done yet, you didn’t even bathe me, you just put a little lotion on me…you haven’t even brushed my teeth or hair,” Hillary argued, “what about deodorant?”

  Hillary could smell her musky armpits.

  “You smell a little better than before, at least,” she said as she placed the plastic tote bag over her forearm and turned to leave.

  “You’ll be sorry, Monica…I’ll make you pay for this…I’ll make you suffer worse than I’m suffering now….”

  Monica ignored Hillary as she hurried out of the room, neglecting to empty the urine collection pouch. She had done the bare minimum for Hillary.

  More than she deserves, she thought hatefully. Hillary continued to shout threats and profanities. She was furious. She knew that Monica was probably well beyond the audible range by now but she felt the need to vent. She continued spewing profanities until her throat became raw.

  The fact that Monica was upset with her did not faze her at all. The fact, however, that she could no longer manipulate Monica into helping her escape, that enraged her. She couldn’t take being there much longer. She wanted to go home. She had already dissociated herself from Dr. Morrison, now Monica. That left just one other person to rely on for help: Dr. Bentley. The thought of him was enough to calm her agitated nerves. He would be the one to help her escape. My hero, she thought, with a thin smile that rapidly faded. Her worries resurfaced.

  Now more than ever she feared being hypnotized. Dr. Bentley had told her that they had ways of making her cooperate—what exactly did that mean? What would they do? She thought of possible scenarios, none of them comforting. She knew she had to get Dr. Bentley on her side. She would have to be especially nice and cooperative. She hoped she would be able to pretend that she was hypnotized. She had to resist whatever influence he would exert to invade her mind. Then, perhaps, she could fool him by telling him the things he wanted to hear. As she plotted, she started feeling less anxious and more confident. She could do it. She would do it.

  A couple of hours later, Hillary could hear Dr. Bentley and Dr. Morrison talking, their voices growing louder as they approached her room. She turned her head to face the doorway. Dr. Morrison entered first. He had a smug look on his face, which Hillary assumed stemmed from satisfaction in forcing her to submit to something she didn’t want to do. Little did he know that she was eager to begin, at least until she noticed that he was holding a syringe. The sight of it sent shivers up Hillary’s spine. Nevertheless, she forced a smile upon her face.

  “Are we all set and ready?” she asked Dr. Bentley enthusiastically.

  Dr. Bentley arched his eyebrows in amusement.

  “Set and ready for what?” he asked.

  “Aren’t you going to hypnotize me?” she said with a smile.

  “Are you saying you actually want to be hypnotized?”

  “Well, I didn’t sleep much at all last night thinking and worrying about it and I realized that you’re right. It’s worth a shot at getting my memory back. I want to remember who I am so that I can get better and finally go home.”

  “Really?” Dr. Morrison asked sarcastically.

  “Yes, really,” Hillary replied snidely, the smile leaving her face as she looked at him. She quickly shifted her eyes back to Dr. Bentley, smiled, and added, “I trust you.” Her emphasis made it clear that she didn’t trust Dr. Morrison at all.

  “I appreciate that,” he replied, smiling back. “The hypnosis will work much better with your cooperation.”

  He walked around to the side of the bed where the IV equipment, rolling table and chair was. He did not sit. Dr. Morrison lingered by the doorway.

  “When can we get started?” she asked, feigning excitement.

  “Dr. Morrison is going to check your vitals and make sure that you’re physically well enough first.”

  “I’m fine,” she said, her smile dissipating. “Can’t you check my vitals and stuff instead?”

  “I’ll be right here,” he reassured her.

  “I don’t see why you have such a problem with me,” Dr. Morrison interjected, stepping forward to the opposite side of the bed.

  Hillary turned her head to face him.

  “Why do you have that needle?” she shifted her eyes
to the syringe as she spoke, then back up to him.

  “It’s a mild sedative,” Dr. Morrison replied.

  “You want to knock me out and take advantage of me again?”

  “Now you know—,” Dr. Morrison started, angrily, then held his tongue and took a deep breath. “It’s to aid with the hypnosis.”

  “How?” Hillary asked then faced Dr. Bentley. “Do I need to be sedated for it to work?”

  “Not if you’re willing to cooperate on your own,” he responded.

  “I am!” she said quickly, almost too eagerly.

  “Then no,” Dr. Bentley answered, “it won’t be necessary.”

  Dr. Bentley reached over and grabbed the syringe from Dr. Morrison’s fingers. He placed the syringe on the over-bed table next to him. Hillary let out a long, exaggerated sigh of relief.

  “What are you talking about, of course it’s necessary,” Dr. Morrison stated abrasively.

  “Not anymore,” Dr. Bentley explained, “Hillary’s willing to go through with it.”

  “And you trust her? You know as well as I do that—”

  “Stop it!” Dr. Bentley urged, his right hand raised, fingers parted expressively “This is not the place to discuss it.” He walked around the foot of the bed to where Dr. Morrison was standing and motioned for him to follow. The two doctors left the room. Hillary smiled, content in the knowledge that Dr. Bentley was on her side. She had an ally...someone who would protect her.

  Dr. Bentley walked quietly to Dr. Morrison’s office, Dr. Morrison following a few steps behind. After Dr. Morrison entered, he closed the door to make sure that Hillary could not hear their conversation, however unlikely it was given the distance. Voices did carry, and sounds echoed in such a big, empty room.

  “What are you thinking, Jake?” Patrick asked. He was clearly annoyed, if not outright angry.

  “Hillary wants to be hypnotized…we don’t need to resort to sedating her.”

  “Bullshit, she’s manipulating you Jake…she just doesn’t want to be sedated.”

  “Who would want that? And you and I both know hypnosis works best with a cooperative patient. Otherwise, it’s just an interrogation.”