The Order Of Transcendence

34.

Like a prisoner of war Blake etches yet another line into the wall beside her bed, the horizontal line that makes up the five count.

Five days....

Five days of confinement, five days of fierce thunderstorms, and five days without touch.

Three days without speech.

Acceptance sinks in, she's lost her gentle lover, she's lost the only man that ever truely loved her for who she isn't. All that remains is the hard ass that sulks about the place like she skinned his puppy alive.

If he had one, and she could reach it, goddess knows Blake would.

Five days has given the opportunity to catalogue the entire basement, what she can see of it anyway, here's three whole walls of Mason's bedroom that's out of her view. She's also yet to see the bathroom.

Blake's cell, provides a toilet hidden by a low lying bookshelf so no privacy is offered. There's no shower or bath but thank the goddess she has a hand held neck and shoulder massage wand....?

Men?

Thunder booms and Blake jumps as a bucket is sloshed and thuds to the floor at the door to her cell. Blake used to get excited, thinking perhaps he will open the door but no, the bars are wide enough so either of their arms can reach through.

Mason stands tall and breathing hard, shirtless and sexy. Not that she finds him sexy anymore, she just doesn't.

But he is.

"You want me clean, my king? Come do the dirty work yourself" Blake spits at him and stays laying on the bed with her head dangling down, the view is better like this.... different anyway.

She knows even without him saying it he expects her to strip, to wash herself with the luxurious loofah while he watches to make sure she misses nothing. Today he can go fuck himself, even if the bath oil smells delicious and spicy with lemongrass and ginger she won't give him the pleasure.
Mason silently stands watching her with an irritated tick in his left eye, the one with the arrogant brow, before he shrugs a shoulder and leaves taking the bucket with him. Blake laughs at her small victory, the small ones count when, in the end, she's still trapped here in this monsters cage.

With a flamboyant roll, Blake pops to her feet, she walks the ten steps from her bed to the small table and the coffee pot that sits there. Thanks to her gracious kings orders Blake is compelled to eat or drink the moment the urge strikes. Thanks to the freak he's made of her, that's often.

Mason's close proximity keeps the worst of the cravings at bay, but Blake's tasted blood.... she needs more.

"You do see me fading away in here right? You haven't suffered some sort of brain damage I'm unaware of?" She asks Mason as she sips the hot coffee wishing it was some other smooth warm liquid.

Mason rejoins her in the main room, he stands with a stiff back and clenched jaw. His distain is clear.

"I need something else, tea perhaps? There's like fifty jars right on that shelf, please big boy? I just need the tremors to stop" Blake pleads and holds the now empty mug to the bars.

Mason regards her carefully, he steps closer.

"Please Mase?" She whispers softly like she's pleading for just one more kiss, her head rests on the bars like she's trying to be alluring, she's not, she just doesn't have the strength to stand for long.