__________
The weight of a simple human emotion,
Weighs me down more than the tank ever did.
The pain, it's determined and demanding
To ache, but I'm okay.
__________
I watch Sierra as I lower the temperature of the basement. She struggles to even reach the bucket I kept there, and I almost chuckle at her desperation. Her body curls into itself as I push the temperature below 60, her bra-clad chest heaving slower. I did good ripping off her sweatshirt, now she feels the cold much more fiercely. Almost comparable to the lust I feel for her. The desperation she has for warmth is almost comparable to the desperation I feel for her submission.
Submit to me, Sierra, and I'll make it all better.
Her breaths grow shakier over the hours, a light fog being exhaled from her mouth. Her teeth chatter, her limbs shake, and I feel nearer to her submission. The collar around her neck shows that she's mine to own and fuck, but the determination in her gaze leads me to believe otherwise. I haven't conquered her mind yet. Even if I own her body, I don't own her soul.
I move my fingers over the laptop screen as she lays on the mattress, adjusting her hair around her neck, seeking warmth. Her body shakes in the temperature I've set, the ends of her fingers and her lips turning the slightest shade of blue. She closes her eyes and huffs deeply, securing her arms around herself. Suddenly, the emotion of guilt weighs upon me, but I shake it off.
I feel nothing but lust towards her. Not after what happened the last time.
I see her trying to get up, but her legs buckle underneath her, and she resorts to the mattress.
Submit, Sierra. I'll help you feel good.
I lower the temperature drastically, almost reaching 20 degrees, and her chatters grow louder.
Submit. Submit. Submit.
Submit, Sierra. Submit, and I'll get you out of there.
She sits up, locking her arms around her bent legs, and says something inaudible. She clears her throat, speaking louder, "Sir..." I stand up, eager to hear what I've been wanting to hear for weeks.
"I submit to you, sir. Please, please, I won't try to escape. I'm sorry," she continues, and my heartbeat shoots with ecstasy. She's desperate, so desperate. But it wouldn't be like me to rescue her right away.
I wait. I stop lowering the temperature, keeping it constant, and I wait for her to make a move after her submission. She's mine, finally. I want her to be desperate enough to give away her will for warmth, and then, I might be able to satisfy myself.
And if I feel philanthropic, maybe satisfy her.
My lips stretch into a grin involuntarily, but I sit patiently in my seat. My joy ends abruptly when I see Sierra drop onto the cold ground, her foggy breaths ceasing, her purple fingers unleashing themselves from a tight grasp.
She fell, lifeless.
I shut the laptop in front of me, grabbing the keys and rushing down the stairs. I heighten the thermostat before I leave. I fling open the door, and run towards Sierra's unconscious form, checking for her pulse. It's there, but barely. She is definitely in bradycardia and bradypnea, typical symptoms of hypothermia. I look at the ends of her fingers, they're blue but not ice-like. She'll not lose her extremities, at least.
I hurriedly unclasp her collar and wrap my warm jacket around her. She's cold and still, like a life-like ice statue. I keep my fingers on her carotid, looking out for a v-fib, but it's steady.
Good girl, Sierra. Hold on for me.
I rush Sierra to the 'clinic', hooking her up to a heart monitor and warmed IV fluids, even when with her stage of hypothermia, she might not need it. I push a sedative into her IV, wanting her to stay asleep while I get her heart rate under control. I know that it might not be the best decision, but I don't want her to know who I am.
It's funny how she believed my name's Kayden. Do I even look like a Kayden? Even more so, do I look like a Kayden Clark?
**********
It took another twenty minutes to get her pulse over seventy-five. After that, I unhooked her and took her up into my bedroom, wrapping her up in blankets and switching on the fireplace. Much unlike myself, I even make her hot chicken soup.
Planning to take a nap myself, I clasp Sierra's hand to the headboard and drift off on the couch.
**********
A rather loud clatter wakes me up. I open my eyes and look at Sierra's awake form, glaring at her as I see her staring at me. She lowers her eyes immediately, and I stand up, walking up to her. I raise my hand to check her pulse, but she flinches. I laugh, "Don't be afraid, I'm just checking your pulse." She nods, letting out a sigh.
"Does it hurt anywhere?" I ask her, an unfamiliar kind tone in my voice. She shakes her head. "Words, Sierra. Not that difficult to remember," I demand.
"No, sir," she stutters, slurring a bit. She looks around frantically, opening her mouth to say something, but squints her eyes shut.
"What's wrong?"
"W-Where am I, sir?" she asks, pressing the side of her head with her palm.
"In a room in my house, Sierra. Open your eyes, are you dizzy?" I ask her.
"Y-yes," she says, falling back on the pillows. I check her pulse again, and it's steady and normal.
"It's okay, Sierra. It will go away," I say, stroking her cheek, "Are you hungry? I made some soup earlier," I ask her, and she nods, uttering a 'yes, sir.' I nod, tipping her chin up with my hand, "I'm gonna warm that up. You need to stay covered in the blankets, and shout for me if you feel uncomfortable, okay?"
She frowns, tilting her head, "okay, sir," she says, looking up into my eyes. "Can I ask you a question...sir?" she asks. Amusing. I nod.
"Why are you acting so kind? I mean, you...it's just that you are not like this," she asks. I scoff and get up.
"I'll bring you the soup," I say and leave the room. I don't know why I acted like that. Seeing an innocence in Sierra appeals to me, in so many wrong ways, and I feel emotions.
Guilt.
Empathy.
Lust.
Care...?
I am confused. I've never felt so...so calm. There's peace, and it's conflicting, ironically. I hurt Sierra, and the guilt I feel is so inviting. It feels freeing.
I go back to her room and feed her the soup, and she thanks me once she finishes. She looks at me, sitting cross-legged under the blankets. Her gaze is lowered, her hands still in her lap with her palms facing upwards. She doesn't even know what she's doing. I tilt her face upwards and gaze deeply into her eyes.
They hold fear. And with that fear, there's something else.
Something entirely contradictive.
Rebellion.
Author's Note:
Hey readers! This chapter was kinda bitter-sweet for me, but I had fun writing Kayden's POV. So, it seems like he isn't the emotionless man we perceived him to be, huh? Or, is he? Are these emotions just a facade?
I actually can't say.
But, I got it figured out. I'm just waiting to introduce Oliver's character because he's someone I'd love with all my heart.
Okay, then. See you guys on Saturday!
EDIT: (Friday, July 30, 2021)
Guys, I just got my first follow, and I am so happy! In the honor of that joy, I'll now post three times a week; Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday!
Thank you so much for the follow <3