I take my sweet time chewing each bite of my leftover pizza as Michael finishes his sandwich at a much quicker pace. He said my second punishment will be today after lunch.
My nose has started to numb since I went to bed last night, but I try to discreetly breathe through my mouth whenever possible to avoid any further damage.
Michael has been trying to make smalltalk with me for the better part of the day. Most of it is a clumsy attempt at being casual: How'd you sleep? Your nose looks better. Your hair looks very nice tied back like that.
I take another bite of my pizza and look up to see him squinting at my face.
"What," I ask, quite annoyed.
"I'm trying to count your freckles..." he squints harder before giving up and lighting a cigarette with a sigh. "September," he blows out a little cloud of smoke, "you're quiet today."
I shoot him a hard frown and keep chewing. "What? No obscene name calling? No adorable threats on my life? No endearing smartass comments?" He inhales another puff of smoke. "You're already givin' up. How boring." My frown turns into a glare. "M'guessing this has to do with the hot-poker play."
"Is there any way for me to get out of it?" I try to keep my hands and legs from quaking.
"That was the punishment you chose. You have to live with it," he answers, blowing a puff of smoke in my direction. I fan the cloud away from my face, causing Michael to chuckle.
He holds the cigarette out to me, and I wave it away with a frown. "Don't you think I see you eating slow?" I freeze. "Obviously stalling," he chuckles. "It's actually kind of cute."
I swallow my last little bite of pizza and dig my fingers into my thighs. The stinging pressure helps me to not show weakness to my captor.
"Alright," Michael starts with a grin, "start strippin'."
My arms fold themselves tightly over my chest. Michael sighs and puts out his cigarette. I wait for him to get up and make me, but he just sits in his chair across from me, chin propped up on a fist. His eyes are locked on mine. My defiance has turned into a standoff.
I don't blink. Michael doesn't blink. The room is filled with a deafening silence. I want to look away so badly, it hurts; but I submerge myself in those cold blue eyes. Those eyes fixed with a determined stare and an unwavering look of dominance.
After what feels like a good thirty minutes, Michael begins to rise from his chair. I watch him steadily make his way towards me. It's only when his long, cold fingers grab at my shirt that I try to flinch away.
Michael grunts as he pulls me up by my waist and grips me in an unsteady standing position. He balls the hem of my shirt in his tight fists and attempts to force it up over my head. I make damn sure that the hem doesn't make it past my stiff elbows.
We struggle back and forth until I lose my balance and tumble to the ground. Michael, having let go of the t-shirt stands over me with a smirk on his face. I try to get back up, but he plants his foot on my chest.
"Well, this is a nice little change," Michael mocks.
"Get off-" I'm cut off by his foot pressing down on my sternum.
"You need to do as I tell you," the pressure of his foot lightens a bit, "and things will go a lot better for you, sweetheart."
I hate it when he calls me that. I'm not sweet, especially not to him. The urge to punch him in the face gets stronger with his every use of the word.
Michael's eyes continue to stare into mine and I throw my head aside to ignore it. My hands curl into fists against the tiled floor. His foot slides away and I try to slide up again until Michael's hands pin mine above my head by the wrists. I look back up and see that he's now straddling me.
My mind goes back to when he caught me trying to kill him that first time. His quick reaction, my hopeless struggling. All that blood on the floor and walls...
Michael's lips brush against my ear. "Are you ready to cooperate now?" I thrash beneath him to no avail. "Because if not," he grips my wrists so tightly that I can feel my bones bend under the pressure, "I can always change your little punishment to something way more..." I feel his lips gently press against my cheekbone, "fun." I can feel the playful smile on his lips.
Change my punishment? How can he...? Wait. The first card I picked...
"Then change it," I say behind clenched teeth. His face quickly rises from mine and he quirks a curious brow at me. "The first card said two punishments. It didn't say anything about what two they should be." I don't back down from staring back at him.
"How badly do you not want to do the hot poker play?" His expression is blank, but there is a flicker of excitement behind his eyes. I bite my lip and squeeze my eyes shut. "I see," his voice is devoid of any emotion.
Michael's weight lifts and I allow my eyes to open. His hand is held out to help me up. I take it reluctantly. He pulls me up to my unsteady feet.
"Alright," is all he says. "What did you have in mind?"
I don't know how to answer the question, so I settle for a tiny shake of my head. He quirks a brow, analyzing my answer.
"You don't want the hot poker play?"
Another small shake. "No," I whisper, looking down at our feet.
"It's either that," his fingers hook under my chin, pulling my face up to look back at him, "or a punishment of my choosing."
A punishment of his choosing? This could be worse than anything else he could have said. And considering what he's already done, it actually might be worse. He could hurt me in so many other ways than with a hot poker.
All I know is that I already am sporting a broken nose and a bruised back along with the many preexisting injuries from my father.
"I..." I swallow, looking up into his ice-cold eyes. "I just... I just don't want to-want you to hurt me again." Damn, my stuttering. I can't look into those eyes anymore, so I squeeze my eyes shut again.
His lips brush against my forehead. "If you have me choose, I promise that I won't add another mark to your beautiful body." Those cold hands run up and down my arms.
I nod, not opening my eyes.
"I need to hear you say it," he says, impatiently squeezing my shoulders.
My knuckles are white because of my clenched fists. "Michael," I say as I open my eyes, "will you," I gulp, "please choose my punishment?"
"Punishments." The word crashes through my body and I try not to collapse to the cold hard floor. "That is the price of this change." I don't offer to answer him. "I'll take your silence as a yes," he says with a broad smile. "Instead of hot poker play," my fists clench and unclench with anticipation of the next words to come out of his mouth, "we are going to..." he pauses for effect, a tiny smirk playing on his lips, "take a relaxing bath together."
What's so relaxing about that?
Thank god he stepped around me to start drawing the bath; I don't know how to respond to that.
The tension in my joints relaxes. I did tell him that I didn't want him to hurt me again, so I guess this is kind of a step up.
It's just a bath... It's just a bath... It's just a bath...
I keep saying this to myself over and over as the splattering sound in the tub turns into a splashing sound.
"September," Michael's voice purrs.
Hugging myself tightly, I slowly turn to look at him. He's halfway through unbuttoning his shirt as he raises his brows at me, urging me to start stripping as well.
I try to keep my breaths steady and even as I peel off my shirt. When I look back at Michael his shirt is on the floor and he's fumbling with the clasp on his belt.
I can plainly see the bandage around Michael's arm. The wound doesn't seem to bother him that much.
He's not looking at me right now, making it easier for me to take off my shorts and panties. The stuffy air around me has never felt so cold.
I cover myself as best I can and avert my eyes from Michael as he takes off his pants. The small chuckle that escapes his lips makes me want to make another desperate break for the door.
The splashing stops.
"September." His hand grips around my arm, pulling me into his hairy chest. A tiny huff of laughter from him causes all my muscles to tense.
"Go on," he says, yanking my hands from my face, "have a look." I squeeze my eyes shut. "Don't you want to know what it looks like?" I shake my head. He laughs again. "I'm just fucking with ya."
His fingers curl around my wrist and lead me over to the tub. When I finally squint open my eyes his thumbs are rubbing the joints in my shoulders and the steaming water is right in front of me. Those large hands slide up and down my back, causing my whole body to shiver uncontrollably.
"Go on," Michael's hot breath moistens the inside of my ear. "The water's perfect."
I slide one foot into the hot water and bite my lip as my flesh adjusts to the heat. Not looking back up at Michael, I lower the rest of me to the water. I hug my knees to my chest to hide as much of my naked form from his eyes as possible, even though he's already seen pretty much everything. The water's foggy surface almost reaches the crook of my knee.
Michael steps in behind me, placing a leg on either side of my hips.
We soak for a moment before I feel a soapy loofa scrubbing my back. He doesn't say a word, and neither do I. The citrusy fragrance permeates the steamy air. As the loofa makes its way steadily down my back, Michael's lips press against the back of my neck. I shrug away and scoot forward only for him to slide me back by the waist. He goes back to scrubbing and his other hand starts playing with my braid.
I watch the clear water slowly become a soapy white as Michael cleans my back. It smells so clean; the exact opposite of what I feel.
I don't want to be clean. All I want is to see the sun, the sky, the trees. I want to be with Mason sitting in his car, debating about pointless shit like whether or not a hotdog can be classified as a sandwich. I want Michael in jail where he can't hurt anyone else.
The sound of Michael clearing his throat snaps me out of my thoughts. "Looks like I did a good number on your back."
I huff and stretch my legs out; it's not like he can see my breasts from back there.
"Let's see..." his finger traces along a bruise across my shoulder blade. "Does it hurt when I press here?" His finger pushes down and I wince. "That's a big yes."
After scrubbing a bit more, he starts moving around my waist and washes my stomach. His fingers brush over the old bruise from my dad and I flinch beneath that touch. Tears begin to boil behind my eyes and I chew on the inside of my cheek to hold them back.
"Tell me something, September," Michael murmurs next to my ear. "Do I treat you better than your daddy did?" My breaths come out shaky as I hold back more tears. "Hmm?" My fists clench and unclench around my knees. "Am I not gentler?" His hands rise up from my stomach to cup one of my breasts. A tear slides from my eye. "More reasonable?"
"Please," I whimper, "don't."
"Do you wish that your daddy was still alive?" His fingernails dig into my breast. "That I didn't take you away from him?" I try to pull away but he holds me in place. "You wanted him gone." He grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks it hard. "Didn't you?"
"Yes!" The awful realization tumbles from my lips before I even know what I'm saying. "I wanted him gone!" I bite my tongue to prevent more painful truths from coming out.
His grip loosens on my hair and I can feel him undoing my braid. My hair drapes over my shoulders and sticks to my wet skin. He's still rubbing the loofa along my breasts.
It was true. I did want my father gone. I didn't exactly want him to be tortured to death, but I'm glad to be rid of him. In truth, fate has just traded me one monster for another. In the end it's like comparing a monster under your bed to a demon possessing your body. One you can run from, the other you can't.
The tears slide silently down my cheeks and cause ripples in the soapy water when they fall. It's not long before my aching nose begins to drip as well; but instead of mucus, bright red blood drips into the water as well. The blood twists and swirls in the soapy water and slowly dissipates.
"Michael," I choke.
"Hmm?" His fingers are busy running through my hair.
"I-I'm bleeding..." I gently sniff.
Michael leans forward to check my face. He pulls back and grabs me a tissue from the tank of the toilet. "Here." He hands it to me and I hold it to my nose and tilt my head back. "No." Two fingers push my head down. "Chin down."
I feel the blood soaking into the tissue. We sit in place for as long as it takes my nose to stop bleeding, and I pass the stained, white clump back to Michael.
"It's a lovely color, isn't it," Michael murmurs in my ear. "One of the reasons I love what I do." He leans his back against the tub, pulling me back so my head rests on his chest. His callused hand traces along my stomach and starts moving down toward my thighs.
I push his hands away and try to concentrate on the cracks in the ceiling.
Michael clicks his tongue, sliding his hand back across my stomach. "Be nice, September," he teases. "This bath is supposed to be relaxing for both of us." His fingers crawl down to my inner thigh. I squeeze my legs together to keep his hand away from where he wants it to go. He wraps his arm around my neck; not choking me, but holding me in place. "I wonder..." His fingers squeeze past my closed legs until they reach their target. "If you'd like this."
I thrash beneath his locked arm, causing the soapy water to splatter to the tile floor. Michael wraps his arms tightly around me, trying to get me to calm down.
"LET GO!" I scream, kicking and bucking against his grip.
One of Michael's legs wraps around both of mine to hold me in place. "Take a fucking breath," he grunts against my neck.
I can feel the stabbing ache in my back as my thrashing continues. Every ache is so painful it tells me to stop, but somehow also tells me to keep fighting. I only let out a scream when the flat of Michael's hand collides with my broken nose. A sharp pain pulses through my face and I stop thrashing.
"Are you ready to behave," he asks, moving a hand down to clamp around my thigh.
I nod against his chest only for him to dig his nails into my leg. "Y-yes..." I whimper.
"Good," he says as he releases his tight hold on my thigh. "As I was saying, September..." his fingers slide back between my thighs. "This, sweetheart, is your other punishment." His lips press against my neck again, daring me to try to pull away.
My other punishment... There's no getting out of this one... Just get it over with.
I grip the edges of the tub tightly and open my legs for him.