“Michael,” I say in shock, not knowing what he might do next.
“What?” he replies, abruptly.
“Why did you do that?”
“Your focus was not on me. Your focus should always be on ME!” He shouts the last word and I flinch. “I look after you and you can’t even give me a few minutes of your precious time to tell me that I look good?”
“I’m sorry,” I say, my go-to response.
“You’re always fucking sorry.” Spit flies into my face from each word. I want to wipe it away, scrub my skin to rid myself of him, but I don’t. I’ll wait until he has gone.
He grabs hold of my wrist and pulls me roughly towards the bedroom.
“Michael, please, you’re hurting me.” My words have no effect on him, I knew they wouldn’t, but the panic flowing through me led to me voicing them. When we enter the bedroom, he throws me on the bed. I try to sit up but before I can, Michael is on top of me, pining me down. He pulls something out of his trouser pocket and my eyes widen as he holds a pair of handcuffs in front of me. I struggle against him as realisation dawns on me that he is going to handcuff me to the bed.
He’s going to imprison me, so I don’t go anywhere.
“Please, Michael, you don’t need to do this, I’m not going anywhere.” I repeat the words over and over, but the sound of the cuff locking around my wrist signals that once again I’m losing.
Once again, I am the fucking puppet that he pulls the strings to.
My struggling comes to nothing as the first cuff locks around the headboard, and then he does the same to my other wrist.
“There. Perfect,” he comments as he takes in his handiwork. “Just making sure. You understand, don’t you, Lucy?”
I can’t look at him. This is a new low that I never thought possible.
“You haven’t earnt back my trust yet, and until you do, this is how it is going to be. I can’t run the risk of you thinking that you have wings, Lucy. You don’t get to fly.”
I can’t answer him. My mouth has become useless. I want to scream and shout, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing that.
“I don’t know how long I’ll be,” he says as he moves off of me and walks to the bedroom door. “Aren’t you going to tell me to have fun?”
My silence causes him to laugh as he shuts the door. I hear him leave the apartment a few minutes later, and only then do I allow my tears to fall.
Chapter Thirteen
Beg me
The only light in the room comes from the alarm clock on Michael’s bedside table. I have been staring at it for the last two hours, watching the minutes go by.
Michael went out at eight o’clock, and it’s now eleven-forty-two.
I have been handcuffed to the bed for nearly four hours. The first hour and a half was wasted away by me trying to get out of the fucking handcuffs, but all I achieved was cuts to my wrists. The metal bit into my skin as I tried to reach the beside tables to get something, anything that could possibly help me, but my position on the bed meant that I couldn’t reach, and Houdini I am not. I screamed, shouted, cried, but no one came to my rescue. I never expected them to, but the shouting helped to channel some anger outwards.
Once my throat started to hurt, I gave up. With no drink to soothe the soreness, I shut my mouth, laid on my side and watched the clock. My arms have gone numb from their position, but I don’t have the inclination or the energy to move. Michael has done some horrendous things to me but being handcuffed has made me feel more disrespected than anything else. I wouldn’t treat an animal like this, yet he thinks that it’s okay to do this to a human. And not just any human, but someone that he is supposed to love.
Deep down I think that he must hate me because he sure as hell can’t call this love.
Love means possession to Michael.
Possession and control.
Eleven-fifty-one. I hear the front door open. I hold my breath and listen intently. Footsteps walk towards the bedroom door. They stop outside for a few moments before the door swings open and the light from the hallway streams in. I blink rapidly as my eyes adjust and try to get rid of the stinging sensation.
“Well, well, still where I left you.” Michael chuckles as he walks over to the bed. I want to ask him where the fuck he thinks I would have gone, but I clamp my mouth shut. I thought that I despised him before, but now it’s on a whole other level.
He stops beside the bed and looks up and down my body, his eyes roaming, making me feel dirty.
“You know, you look so beautiful like this. At my mercy, waiting for me to come rescue you.”
He sounds so pleased with himself, whereas I just want to vomit from his words.
“Helpless, desirable, and mine. I may have to handcuff you to the bed more often.” He winks, and my blood runs cold at the thought.
He’s stepping his reign of terror up.
I guess the usual mental cruelty and beatings aren’t enough for him anymore.
“Do you want me to unlock the cuffs?”
I nod my head in response.
“I can’t hear you.” His voice booms around the room, echoing off the walls.
“Yes, please,” I say quietly, hating myself.
A deep, low rumble bubbles up from his chest. “You’re going to have to do better than that.” He smirks. I have no idea what he wants from me, but he soon enlightens me.
“Beg.”
“Beg?” I whisper.
“Yes.”
“Please, Michael, don’t do this.”
“That’s not begging, and unless you do it properly, you won’t be moving from there.”
His eyes are cold, his tone icy. I swallow down the lump that has formed in my throat.
He wants me to beg.
Like a dog.
He’s breaking me.
Chipping away at my self-esteem.
Asserting his control.
“Clocks ticking, Lucy,” he says as he taps his wrist-watch to show me that I am on some sort of countdown.
I do as he asks, and I beg.
Whiny and pathetic.
He laughs.
I cry.
And when I think that he can’t humiliate me anymore, he tells me that my effort is weak, and he climbs into bed, promptly falling asleep. Hot tears spill down my cheeks as I sob silently.
I hate him, and I disgust myself.
Chapter Fourteen
I need you
“Lucy… Lucy, baby… Wake up…”
My eyes flutter open, squinting against the sunlight streaming through the window.
“Hey.” Michael’s voice is soft as he sits on the edge of the bed.
I feel dazed as I feel him reach across my body. Every urge within me wants to push him away, but when I hear the click of the handcuffs opening, I refrain from doing anything. One wrong move from me and he might decide to leave the fucking things on.
Michael gently removes the cuffs from around my wrists, so gentle it’s like he thinks that I might break, and I begin to cry. The pain as I try to move my arms is searing. Burning, aching pain.
I let my emotions overwhelm me as I sob for my plight. Michael tries to soothe me by telling me that it’s all okay as he rubs my wrists tenderly. I feel no relief. I feel nothing at all. He has brought me to a dark place, one that I am scared I will never escape from.