Trigger warning: chapter contains intense violence.
He walked slowly, climbing the stairs with an air of anticipation. "You shouldn't have done that, my rose. Now I'm mad."
I tried to open the door again, but it didn't budge. I was trapped, with no way out, and my panic only increased the further he climbed up the stairs, his fingers drumming against the wall as he walked.
I tried to put on a facade of anger, holding the knife out towards him and spitting, "Don't you date come any closer or I'll put this knife through your chest."
He just shook his head and continued climbing towards me.
"You know, I think it's about time I tell you the rules of living here, my rose." He said, his voice hard.
I held out the knife hopelessly trying to keep him away, but my hands were shaking so bad they he just reached out and plucked the blade from them without any effort.
I gulped.
He was at arms reach now, his face twisted in a look of disappointment. I pressed myself against the door, willing myself to disappear. It didn't work.
He stepped even closer, and leant in so he could whisper into my ear.
"Rule number one. Don't piss me off."
Without warning, he spun me around and wrapped his arms around my chest, then lifted my body off from the floor and he threw me over his shoulder. I struggled and screamed but he just held on tighter.
He carried me down the stairs, ignoring my cries for help, and back across the room to the corridor. The knife of fear twisted in my chest when he walked past the bedroom door, heading towards the door I hadn't seen behind.
Facing backwards, I couldn't see the room until he stepped into it. He maneuvered me off his shoulder and came just short of dropping me on a bare concrete floor.
My breath caught in my throat at the sight of the room around me. Metal hooks hung from various places in the walls and ceiling. In one corner of the room stood a black pole reaching all the way from the floor to the ceiling. A wooden table stood in another corner of the room, covered in loops and rings. In the opposite corner, a stark contrast from the rest of the room, a lavish, four-poster bed sat, covered in velvety red fabric. The whole room was lit by harsh lights set into the ceiling, and along one wall was rows upon rows of shut cupboards. There was another door on the opposite side of the room, and something told me that I would dread knowing what was behind it.
I took it all in, fear coursing through my veins. The room was like something out of my nightmares, straight from a horror movie catered for all kinds of torture.
The man slammed the door shut behind us and stood over me, a dark look on his face.
"Get up." He spat at me. My lip trembled and I just stared. When I didn't get up fast enough, he grabbed my arm and roughly wrenched me to my feet. I let out a yelp as he leaned in close to my ear once more.
"Rule number two. Do as I say, when I say it." He said, then started pushing me into the middle of the room.
He let me go and crossed his arms. "Take off your clothes."
I stared at him, shocked, wondering if he was joking. He pursed his lips.
"Now, Rose. Rule number two." He said, his voice cold. Not wanting to annoy him further, I hastily took off my shoes and pants, leaving on my underwear, and pulled my shirt over my head, before crossing my arms across my chest to hide my bra from view.
He pursed his lips, but wordlessly took my clothes and threw them carelessly across the room. He then narrowed his eyes at me. "Don't move." He said, and turned around, heading towards the cupboards. I couldn't help but shiver from the cold.
He ran a hand along the cupboards, pondering, before opening one cupboard, and drawing a set of thick and dark leather manacles. My heart started beating faster and I glanced at the door, wondering if I could make a run for it.
Oh yeah, because that went so well before. I told myself bitterly. I stood my ground, deciding it wasn't worth it to anger him even more.
He turned back to me, smirking, the chains on the manacles clinking as he moved back across the room.
"Rule number three, my rose. Bad girls get punished." He said, grabbing my arm and wrenching me around so I was facing away from him. I let out a yelp as he manhandled me, a sharp pain shooting up my arm. He ignored my squeal and forced my wrist into one side of the manacles, securing it so it was clamped tight over my skin. He grabbed my other hand and forced it into the other side, and did the same thing, then pushed me away from him. I stumbled and fell onto the cold hard ground, unable to catch myself or balance with my arms clamped tightly behind my back. When I turned around, I found that he was already returning to the cupboards.
He went back to the same one as before, and pulled out another set of manacles, as well as a roll of thick chain that he wound around his hand. He then turned back to me, a wicked grin playing across his features.
This man is psychotic, I thought to myself.
He tossed the ring of chain down beside me, then crouched down at my feet and clamped my ankles in the other set of manacles. I tried to keep my breathing steady, and bit my lip to keep from lashing out against him and making the whole situation worse.
Once he was satisfied with the manacles, he grunted, stood up, and pulled me up off the floor. The chain between the manacles on my feet was longer than the one on my wrists, and if I focused on not falling over, I knew I would be able to move.
But only if he wanted me to.
He lifted the chains he had cast aside on the floor, and smirked at me. At either end of the chain was a thick clip, the kind they used when abseiling. A carabiner, I remembered. Not that it mattered what it's name was. Only how it was going to be used against me.
The man spun me around once more, so he could reach my manacles, and I heard a click and the clinking of metal on metal. He had attached the chain to the one on my wrists.
With that, he started dragging me backwards, pulling me by the chain, in the direction of the wall of rings. The chains clinked as I stumbled backwards, an menacing sound in the silence.
He must have secured the other end of the chain to one of the rings, because when he stepped back, I could feel my arms being pulled back.
A lump rose in my throat as his eyes scanned over my almost naked body, lust and hunger obviously playing across his features as he admired his handiwork.
After a few moments, he smirked and lifted his gaze to my face. I didn't bother hiding my fear.
"My my my. You truly do have the body of a goddess my rose." He said, his voice deep and dark, and dripping in sarcasm.
I flinched, and shut my eyes, not wanting to see him devouring my skin with his eyes any longer. He just chuckled.
"I can't wait to mark that gorgeous body with scars." He said, and I heard the unmistakable sound of the pocketknife flicking open.
I opened my eyes to see him smirking at me, twisting the blade between his fingers.
"Hmmm, where shall we start first?" He says, falsely pondering.
I shake my head, trying to move away from him but barely able to move an inch because of the heavy chains. "No, please no. I'm begging you. Don't hurt me. Please. I'll do as you say. I'll do whatever you say."
He stilled, standing in front of my helpless body as I begged him. He smirked. "Oh no, my rose. You'll do whatever I say regardless of whether I hurt you. It's just a matter of whether you do as I say so we don't have to come in here again."
Then, with one fluid movement, he reached out the blade, and sliced it across my hip. I yelped at the sudden pain, and desperately tried to twist away. I could hardly move though. The manacles kept me in check.
Tears pulled at my eyes and I bit my lip to stop myself from crying out in pain, or letting out a sob. The man smirked and raised his eyebrows at me. "Oh, my poor poor rose. If only you hadn't tried to run away. Now, the very weapon you stole from me and threatened me with will cause you so much pain."
With that, he sliced at my hip again, the movement quick and fluid. I yelped, and clenched my eyes shut. "Please." I whimpered. "Stop."
He chuckled. "Oh, my rose, I have barely begun."
He made another cut on my hip, this time lower than before, closer to my underwear. I bit my lip to stop myself from crying out once more. When I opened my eyes he was smirking at me.
"You know, my rose, I think I have an idea. Stay here, and I'll be right back. Although," he paused, smirking as he glanced down at the manacles, "you don't have much of a choice."
I couldn't help it. A sob escaped my lips, and he just grinned and walked away. He closed the door behind him as he left, so I was left standing there, a steady throbbing pain on my hip as I bled out. When I looked down, I could see the blood trickling down my leg, winding it's way towards the cold hard ground, staining my underwear in the process. Tears welled up in my eyes as I looked down. What else was the man going to do to me before I escaped? Would I ever escape?
Yes. I would. I couldn't live here my whole life. I couldn't let him break me. I couldn't die here. I wouldn't.
The sound of the door opening again on creaky hinges broke me from my thoughts. I lifted my gaze to see the man holding something yellow in his hands. With a shock of fear and confusion, I realised what it was.
He walked back over to me in eager strides, throwing me a crazed smile. He held up the yellow fruit in front of my face.
"You know, I've always wanted to try this." He said, before cutting into it with the pocket knife, and bringing it towards my hips. "Apologies in advance, my rose. This is going to hurt."
With that, he pressed the lemon against my wounds and I screamed. Burning pain shot up my sides as lemon juice mingled with blood. He pushed the lemon into the wounds, rubbing it along the open cuts. Just when I thought the pain was subsiding, he used his other hand to grab the pocket knife and cut once more along my side, immediately pressing the fruit into the fresh wound. I screamed and cried, each squeeze a fresh layer of pain.
Finally, after what seemed forever but could really have only been a minute, he pulled the lemon away, a dark grin on his face.
"I have always wanted to do that. You know what else I have always wanted to do?" He asked. He didn't wait for a response, instead, he knelt down in front of me, his face at my crotch, and he lifted the knife to my stomach. "This."
He sliced into my flesh and I screamed once more, but this time, he didn't pull away. He sliced again and again, so deep I was worried he was cutting away at my flesh. I cried out in agony, screaming and desperately trying to get away from him. To no avail.
He finished slicing at my skin and rose to his feet one again, smiling at me. "There. Now you will always know who you are."
In a haze of pain, I looked down to my stomach, and fought the urge to throw up at the sight of so much blood. Yet even with the blood, I could clearly make out what he had carved into my flesh.
He had spelt out a word. A word that would heal into a scar, that would be etched into my skin for the rest of my life.
Rose.