EMMA
What the hell is wrong with me?
I barely recognize the woman staring back at me in the mirror.
Something happened last night, something changed me, and I don’t know how to explain it. Even to myself.
The closest I keep coming is Stockholm Syndrome.
It must be something like that because no normal person would let their kidnapper fuck them like that and enjoy it.
And my God, did I enjoy it!
It was out of this world.
I’ve never felt anything like that before. That’s why I don’t know who I am anymore. That’s why I’m questioning my sanity. Especially as I run my fingers all over my bruises.
Do they hurt?
I don’t even know.
Kinda, but all I can really recall as I look at them is the phenomenal explosions of pleasure I felt in my body last night. I was like a volcano and the lava of pleasure that wouldn’t stop erupting. I can almost still feel the burning hot bliss shuddering through me right now.
My finger finds my lip, which has a definite imprint on it. I mean, that makes sense. Owen did draw blood last night. But again, I liked it.
“He’s old,” I whisper to myself in the mirror. “What is wrong with you?”
But for some reason, that only makes it so much more taboo, so much more exciting. I am definitely going crazy here.
If he doesn’t let me leave soon, I don’t know what’s going to happen…
Eventually, I pluck up the courage to leave the room. To finally face Owen. I know I’m covered in bruises and welts, but he needs to see what he did to me.
I wonder if he’ll like to see me like this.
Like I sort of do…
“Hello?”
But as I peek my head around the corner, I find myself faced with way too much stillness. The cabin is quiet… there’s an emptiness shrouding me.
“Owen, are you here?”
I tip toe through the room, but find nothing. No one, and not even a note.
He’s left me, again, but this time it feels weird, and so much worse.
Like he can’t even face me the morning after the night before.
It’s no wonder I’m endlessly frustrated.
My eyes find the front door. Much as I want to face Owen, to see his face when he looks at me, I also still really want to leave because I don’t know how this relates to my father and that whole mess I want to escape from.
Plus, I miss work, and I’m sure the clinic misses me too.
I dart my eyes around the cabin one last time before I stride towards the door. My pulse pounds while I try to mentally plan how fast I’m going to have to run to ensure I’m safe.
“Argh shit!”
I was so focused on getting out of here, that for a second, I forgot about the electric doors until I get zapped and flung backwards. Again. As if I need new injuries…
“Fucking hell.”
I’m getting a little annoyed actually. An anger burns up through me. This isn’t fair, why has Owen gone so far to keep me here? He hasn’t even explained what the hell we’re doing, which is kind of ridiculous.
What the fuck is going on?
Much as last night was fun-maybe the most fun I’ve ever had-I have to be realistic about this.
He’s left me this morning, so I don’t think I can say he gives a shit about me.
He’s just my kidnapper, and whether he says he’s trying to protect me or not, I still need to get out of here. I need to overcome this electrical nonsense to get the hell out of here.
Seeing as Owen left me here alone, it might be my only opportunity to find a way out.
I run around the cabin, tugging at all the windows, but they’re locked.
The bars across them mean I’ll struggle to get out even if I break the glass.
But there must be something I can do.
With my heart racing in my ears and nerves zig-zagging through my body, I tear around the cabin, trying to see if I can find anything that could help me.
Maybe I can switch off the electrical current.
Or perhaps I can get this God damn ankle monitor off me.
I have to do something.
I halt outside Owen’s bedroom door.
This is the one room I haven’t been in yet.
I don’t know why I’m hesitant. It isn’t like Owen has respected my privacy or anything, but it feels too weird to just go in there now without an invitation.
But if I don’t go in now, then when will I get another chance like this?
My stomach churns.
I feel a little sick.
But I push the door open anyway, despite the anxiety, and I force myself inside.
I remain on my tiptoes, too afraid to be heavy-footed, but truth be told, I don’t really know what I’m expecting to find here. This room is as bare as mine.
Where does Owen keep all his stuff?
I guess he doesn’t live here, but he must have something. He must have planned this out somewhat.
But I don’t find anything in every drawer I open and cupboard I peer in.
A few items of clothing, but nothing special.
Nothing that gives me a way out of here.
“I don’t know what you think you’re going to find…”
Owen’s booming voice makes me damn near jump out my skin.
I thought he was gone. What the hell is going on?
“But you won’t find a thing in here.”
He smirks, knowingly, before turning away from me, leaving me a heap in the middle of his bedroom floor.
I feel silly and pathetic.
How the hell am I going to convince this man to let me out of here when he’s always three steps ahead of me? I don’t know if this is a person I’ll ever be able to outwit.
“Whatever,” I shoot back with a one shouldered shrug, acting all passive aggressive. “I mean, you can’t blame me for wanting to get out of here, can you?”
He chuckles. “No, I guess not.”
I rise to my feet, not quite done with the conversation yet.
I don’t know what I want to say, but I would love to keep him talking.
See what I can get out of him.
Maybe Owen is a man who values honesty.
He might not be the most honest man himself, but if I try and be truthful with him, then we might get somewhere.
I have to try anyway, because I don’t know how much longer I can stand this.
“What do you think about arranged marriage?”
“Huh?” Owen furrows his brows as he settles on the couch. “What?”
“Arranged marriage. Like when parents decide who their kid should marry.”
“Oh… I don’t know. I don’t know a lot about it. I mean, I know a lot of cultures do that kind of thing, so I don’t have any judgment…”
I fold my arms protectively across my chest. “Well, what about when a mafia boss is trying to marry off his daughter to strengthen ties with another
Family?”
“Is this what’s happening with you?”
I throw my hands in the air in frustration. “It’s what I’ve been trying to get away from for years. In fact, I had a plan to get out of it, which involved you.”
“Me?” Owen presses his hand to his chest in shock.
“Well, Wilson Anderson, yes.”
A heat burns in my cheeks but that doesn’t stop me from talking. I’m hoping that this truth will allow Owen to open up to me a little bit.
“I wanted him to tap into the homeless network of the city, to see what Wilson could find out about rival gangs and stuff.”
“Why?”
“Well, I thought if I could prove to my father that I could be of use to him while working in the clinic, then he wouldn’t make me marry someone to ‘prove my worth’ to the family.”
Owen tosses his head back and lets out a belly laugh.
That sound makes me feel like shit.
I don’t think he’s taking me seriously.
“The man Dad wanted me to marry is abusive.”
That wipes the smirk off of Owen’s face. Something clicks and Owen changes.
So, he cares about what happens to me? Is that what he’s saying here?
Or he just hates men who abuse women?
There’s a crackle of energy coming off of him.
“Who?” he snaps. “I want a name.”
I part my lips, about to give him the name that he seems to want, but that doesn’t happen.
Instead I realize that I might have leverage here.
“I will give you a name… once you’ve told me why I’m here. What is all of this about? My father? The mafia? Money? What?”
He blinks a few times, the dead stare sending a cold shiver tearing through my body, but I also know I’m not about to back down.
Not when I finally have a chance to figure some shit out.
But then, much to my surprise, Owen’s reaction is insane.
He tosses his head back and lets out the loudest, warmest belly laugh I have ever heard come from him.
Wow, I like that sound.
I shouldn’t like it because I know he’s mocking me. He’s sure as shit not giving me the answers I know I need, but I kinda don’t want the mirth to end.
It’s nice to see that there’s more to Owen, that he can enjoy himself. He seems so uptight and wound up all the time, I like to see him smile.
“Ah, Emma, you do make me laugh.” He rises up to his feet, which isn’t great. He won’t tell me anything if he’s gone. “I have something to take care of tonight, but maybe we can pick this up where we left off another time.”
What the fuck?
What the hell is happening here?
I watch in shock as he goes out the cabin, knowing all too well that I can’t follow him.
Did he really just leave me here?
I’m trying my hardest to piece together what just happened, but my head is in a spin.
He left because I had leverage.
I guess that’s a good thing because it means I can use it at some point.
When he’s here, that is.
I run my hand up my arm, feeling the bruises there once more.
Is it sick that I wish he was here by my side, causing more bruises all over me? More pain, more excitement, more desire?
I did not know that was something I would enjoy.
Maybe that’s because I don’t have the most experience in that department, but I never thought I would like the whole pleasure and pain thing, but fuck me, I loved it.
I adored every single part of it.
I want more. So much more.
I want him to hurt me, to pinch me, to spank me again. All the things I never thought would feel good, but made the orgasm that much more intense. I didn’t know it could be so powerful, seriously, which is why I want more… I want to know what other crazy things I don’t yet know about myself.
Maybe I’m kinky.
Maybe I’m crazy.
I don’t really know, but I do like the fact that I’m not on my own with that feeling. Owen must like it too because he’s the one who brought me into that world.
Maybe there’s a reason he was brought into my life.
Maybe it’s all because of this.
I stare at the cabin door, wishing he would just walk back through it already so we can be together in this. I don’t feel great trying to process all of this on my own. I need him here.
Maybe it is Stockholm Syndrome after all…