Legacy

Chapter 3: My Punishment

The stairs groan beneath our feet. Every step I take drags my heart lower in my chest, like it swallowed a brick and it's getting heavier and heavier.

When I finally touch my toes to the floor I keep my eyes shut and shakily wait for Michael to do something. Anything. Yell. Hit me. Maybe even break something, whether it be an object or one of my bones. Yet, I still flinch as I feel his fingers lightly pull a strand of hair away from my face. My teeth clench as those same fingers gently trace my jawline.

"Now you're gon' go back to the room and sit on the bed. Don't move until I get there." I open my eyes as he tucks the strand of hair behind my ear. I stay right where I am, not quite ready to do what he says.

The room seems brighter than it was earlier... I glance around him to see a pair of seller doors flung open leading outside. There are chains hanging from them, obviously there to keep the door shut tight... To keep me in.

"Go," he orders in a low whisper that sends a chill up my spine.

It's hard for me to drag my body back to the room and colapse on the creaky bed, but I do so as quietly as possible.

I jump at the sound of metal against metal. He must be chaining up the door.

My breaths come out shaky and uneven. His footsteps echo in my head as I dread what he has in store for me. I don't know what I expect him to do, but I just know that it will hurt.

My muscles tense as he walks in carrying a video camera on a tripod.

"W-what are you doing," I ask, gluing my back to the wall. He doesn't answer, just flips the screen open and adjusts its focus on me. I cover my eyes and try not to think about what he's doing.

"We," he says, snatching my ankle and locking me in the shackle, "are going to have some fun." He gets up and starts recording. "Now, look at me." I force my eyes to meet his. "And tell me what you did wrong."

I just stare at him, feeling my mouth go dry and the tears gathering behind my eyes. He raises his eyebrows at me and I bow my head under his gaze.

"Come on, September," he pipes up, "you know what you did." My toes curl and dig into the sheets. "Say it."

"I-I ran." He crosses his arms. "A-and I-I tried to escape."

Michael nods. "Yes, you did." He goes back to the kitchen and pulls a large cardboard box from one of the cabinets. "I was hoping to introduce you to this later, but now seems like a more appropriate time."

Michael pulls an ironing board out from behind the nightstand. After setting it up he reaches into the box and removes a scalpel. I shudder as the light glints off of the tiny blade. He sets it down on the surface of the board and reaches into the box again, this time removing a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

The inside of my cheeks are raw from me biting so much and the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth. My heart is thudding against my chest.

Michael sets the box down and locks eyes with me. His hands float down to his belt buckle as I draw in another shaky breath. He removes his belt and lays it on the board, still not taking his eyes off of me.

"Alright," he repositions the camera so it's now filming the objects he laid down, "you, sweetheart, get to pick your poison." He seems a little too excited about this. "Let's say," he picks up the scalpel and models it for the camera, "three good cuts with ol' Simon, here." My eyes grow wide as he sets it back down. "Four cigarette burns," he picks up the lighter and kisses it, "you can choose where, if you want." He sets the lighter down and his fingers curl around his belt. "Seven beats with my belt," he runs the leather slowly between his fingers, "across your back. Or," his eyes light up, "if you're feeling adventurous, we could always go with," he tilts the camera downward, "the Mystery Box. Ooh..."

I feel goosebumps rise on my arms and legs as he repositions the camera on me. Ideas flood my head about what's in the box. It could be a gun or some other tool he could use to kill me. Or it could be a drug that will cause my skin to burn like wildfire. Tears slide down my cheeks as my eyes scan the different choices.

"Or I could always choose for you." I look up at his smirking face. "Believe me, you won't like my choice." I keep my mouth shut, and try to keep my lip from quivering. "Alright," he mumbles, reaching for the Mystery Box.

"The belt!" The words just tumble from my lips as more tears streak down my cheeks. He looks up at me, obviously a little impressed by my pick. "I'll take the belt."

"Good choice," Michael says, picking it up and tightening it in his grip. He pulls the set of keys out of his pocket and unshackles me. "Stand up."

His order hits me like a ton of bricks. I lower my feet to the freezing floor and try not to stumble while standing up.

"Turn around." My blood runs cold, but I turn and face the bed.

The next things I feel are his nose pushing past my hair and his lips lightly brushing against my ear. "Take off your shirt," he whispers. I shiver and hold the shirt in place. "Okay," he mumbles, curling his long fingers around the hem. His hands are cold and rough against the warm skin of my waist.

"Okay!" My voice cracks because I'm still crying. I bat his hands away and take a deep breath. He sighs and I feel him trying to reach for the shirt again, so I quickly pull it up over my head and set it on the bed.

I feel so exposed. I forgot that I wasn't wearing a bra. The soft breath from his nose alerts me to the idea that he's quietly glimpsing my breasts from over my shoulder.

Michael's cold hand glides across my bare shoulder. My body freezes beneath his touch. I close my eyes and brace myself for the first lash.

He grunts as he pushes me down on my knees. My fingers claw the sheets as if they can be used as a stress ball, and I bite down on my lip. His fingers curl around my hair and toss it over my shoulder to get it out of the way. I loose a tiny gasp as his palm runs up and down my spine. I bat his hand away and he sighs.

Even though I can't see it, I can hear him fixing the belt in his hands. He heaves another sigh and brings the leather down against my back. I wince, gnawing on my lip until a little blood gushes out.

That's one.