33. Sable
SABLE
Lex locks me in the bedroom once again, but before he even turns the lock, my trembling hands reach for the collar and tug at the lock.
Of course, it’s solid, and I don’t have any hopes of breaking the metal.
I look for something sharp that I could use to dig through the leather, but all I find is some gaudy old letter opener.
I pace around the room, cursing at the stone walls as I try to saw through it.
I don’t want to sit down on my bed with the evidence of my orgasm still leaking between my legs.
This bed isn’t a place of comfort. They’ve used me here repeatedly. They should be ashamed of themselves, but I certainly am not helping my own case when I cry out in pleasure for them. How delicious would it be if Lex and all his arrogance wouldn’t get me wet?
Yet he gets me off every time.
After a while, the leather is hot from the friction, and it’s obvious that I'm more likely to hurt myself than I am to get free. I toss the stupid porcelain doll clothes on the floor to vent my frustration and gain a little control over myself, but now I’m in underwear and a collar still drenched in my own cum.
My stomach rumbles with hunger, but I’m so annoyed at Lex that even if he knocked and offered to take me to dinner, I’d gladly tell him to fuck himself. And I love dinner.
Cursing, I go to the bathroom and give myself a whore’s bath, not wanting to relax with wet leather on my skin.
I go to bed completely over it and rest just to end this day.
When I’m finally drifting off to sleep, a sorrowful melody filters through the walls, disturbing my only peace.
It plays all night and into the early morning.
I ask myself repeatedly if this is another form of torture, but the music seems too hauntingly beautiful for that.
My phone tells me it’s nine thirty in the morning.
I haven’t checked my social media since I arrived, not wanting to see what pictures are now available of me online.
Old shows replay on my phone to comfort me, but all I hear is the music.
The musician is tired and growing more frantic.
His performance is coming to an end, and tears prick my eyes.
There are no words, but after hours of listening, I know the melody like my own heart and understand the pain in my soul.
Then it’s finally quiet. No one comes to ask me to run, or takes me down to a humiliation ritual, or forces me to attend a class I can’t understand, and maybe that means they’re done with me, bored after a few days.
I reach for my neck, fear flashing through me as my hand finds the collar still securely around my neck.
I don’t have any ideas left that won’t hurt me more than the leather.
Who would have guessed that the mighty Sable Briarwick would be imprisoned, surrounded by strange doors, collared, and crying over soulful violin music.
The future is nothing but fog in front of me, and the past doesn’t exist. That’s the Bellthorn effect.
This place stands on its own, unaware of time and space.
My dad warned me about that back when I had one.
How disconnected from reality he felt here, as if the fog was a wall around the castle, keeping real life away.
The music starts up again as I get ready for the day, but the song is different.
I carefully put on my makeup and get dressed in case one of them is a late sleeper.
Based on what Parker said and my own experience, I believe we should switch days.
I should have taken Parker’s suggestion and gone running with him, but I was pissed, and I wanted to hurt him. Look who you hurt instead.
When a knock finally comes, I feel incredibly vindicated that I did need to get ready. I throw the door open, expecting one of them, and my face falls hard when it’s not.
“Excuse me?” I rudely ask the man standing in a blue boiler suit. He’s the first normal person I’ve seen in days, and it’s jarring. He stares back at me like I’m just as unusual.
“Sable Briarwick?”
“Yes.”
“In here!” the man turns and shouts down the corridor.
“What?” I ask, but no one answers me. A crew pushes forward carrying boxes, and I step away as they file into the room.
I consider telling them I didn’t order any of this, but then laugh at myself.
Obviously, I don’t get to make my own choices anymore, and one of the guys sent these.
They unpack an enormous TV, a stereo system, and a few gaming consoles.
This could actually make my time here a lot nicer, but I push down the excitement, knowing well that nothing comes for free at Bellthorn.
I watch from the corner until they finish installing everything, but once they’re done and heading to the exit, I ask, “Who sent this?”
The man shrugs and leaves, making sure to lock me back again.
No one even asked for my signature to confirm delivery, and somehow that’s a new low.
I don’t want to enjoy the perks of my new entertainment system just yet.
Not when at any point one of them is going to come and let me know how much this costs, but they don’t.
Hours drag and eventually I have to accept that they aren’t coming today, and as the late afternoon approaches.
While I’m happy not to see them today, I can’t ignore the hunger anymore.
My stomach is eating itself, folding in pain.
It’s been far too long since I had anything, and I’m starting to feel faint.
Why aren’t they feeding me? Is this a test?
I don’t understand what is happening, but I know I need to eat.
Desperation grows inside me, and everything is forgotten. I don’t care about the collar, Cillian, or any other pranks they have for me. All I want is to eat, and I’ll do anything for dinner.
“Fuck me in every hole, but God forbid you give a girl some carbs!” I shout far louder than the damn music playing, but no one answers me.
I’m starting to get scared they forgot about me. Every toy loses its shine, especially to rich boys like them. What if I’m a toy forgotten at the bottom of the trunk? The fear of starving to death makes me even more irrational; the electronics around me are a sick joke at this point.
“Hey, assholes! Thanks for the TV, but what about some fucking food?” My voice isn’t as strong as I wish it were. “This isn’t even the first time you’ve forgotten to feed me, you useless motherfuckers!”
Tension builds, the clock ticks, and I only grow more frantic. It looks less and less like they forgot to feed me and more like they aren’t feeding me for a reason. I refuse to think about that.
“You like my ass, you need to feed it, Parker!”
At a certain point, I just start spilling my guts to the empty room, tears slide down my cheeks, and my final shout is, “Fuck you, Dad!”
Everything I’ve been covering up with orgasms and endorphins comes rushing to the surface.
Fear, traumas, tears, everything is boiling out of me, and eventually, I drag myself to the bed, my body shaking in anger and hunger.
I lie down, feeling the weight of the world go with me.
I wrap myself in the blankets, suddenly as cold as I was at the bottom of the river.
Before I even make the decision, I drift off into a dreamless sleep.