Chapter 3
THREE
Days pass. I don’t know how many because I have no way to know the passage of time. I’m so lonely. The only things I’ve done are stare at the bars above me, drink bottles, pee myself, and sleep.
Well, that’s not all, of course. Sometimes I do more than pee, and the guards hand me wipes and walk away. It’s very difficult to clean myself up since I can’t sit up. I manage. It’s gross. And it pisses me off.
I’m lethargic. I don’t bother to talk to the guards anymore.
I don’t even look at them directly, and I’m grateful they don’t require it.
The doctor doesn’t return. It’s just a series of guards.
If I assume they’re working in three shifts per day, I’ve been here three days—longer if I count the time before I woke up, nauseous.
When I hear the door opening, I don’t even flinch. I’m used to it. I could predict almost exactly when it will happen. I don’t look in that direction. I don’t need to. It’s always the same thing. A boring routine that’s driving me out of my mind.
As usual, my cage opens, but this time, instead of swapping out my used diaper and bottle for new ones, a hand settles over my stomach, making my breath hitch. I turn my head to find someone new facing me. For the first time since I woke up, the person doesn’t look like they want to murder me.
The hand is warm and comforting. His face is kind. He’s smiling.
When I inhale, I draw in his scent. It’s enticing.
I’m wrapped up like a burrito in the blanket, so he’s not touching my skin, but my entire body settles as if he’s got magic powers. Peace fills me. I stop shivering and stare at him, unable to blink.
He speaks in a soft voice, though I can’t understand him.
After a few moments, he leans in farther, wraps his hands around me, and slides me out of the cage and into his arms.
I let him. I can’t stop him. I should be freaking out. The cage is awful, but the unknown might be worse. Rava and Lyra were taken from this room, screaming.
All I manage is a whimper as the man cradles me in his arms, cups my head, and presses my cheek against his shoulder.
I’m marginally aware of two guards flanking us as the new man carries me from the warehouse. He smells so good. I have no experience being this close to a man, not even the Venkorian guards. I assume someone must have manhandled me into the cage, but I wasn’t conscious at the time.
This man is giving me no indication he means me any harm. He keeps me snuggled in the blanket as he walks down a hallway and through a door.
I wince when I see that we’re now in what looks like an exam room. It’s not too different from the medical bay on the space station. Several men in white join us. They aren’t angry like the guards.
The man cradling me is wearing a navy suit and a starched white shirt, which is open at the collar. I’ve seen pictures of men dressed similarly on Earth before its destruction. He’s being so careful about my head as he speaks to the men in white.
When I hear water running, I flinch and turn to see a tub filling. The thought of taking a bath after all the time I’ve been caged in this dress makes me moan softly, but I don’t know what this man has in mind. Will he leave me alone in here and let me bathe?
More words are exchanged, then the men in white leave the room, shutting the door behind them.
My apparent savior lowers me gently onto the exam table and begins unwrapping me.
I tremble, both from the exposure to the air and my nerves. What is his plan?
When he reaches for the hem of my dress and lifts it, I shove at his hands and shake my head.
He wraps a hand around one of my wrists and brings my fingers to his lips. I’m stunned. He kisses my knuckles and strokes his cheek with them. It’s soothing. My heart rate slows. But I still don’t want him to take my clothes off.
No man has ever seen me naked. No man has ever seen me, period. Not since I was a newborn. On the space station, we lived a modest existence. We were taught that exposing our private parts to others was inappropriate, so I’m panicking at the thought of someone undressing me.
My savior cups the top of my head with one hand while he holds my wrists against my stomach with the other. He’s smiling again as he speaks to me. I wish I could understand him, but maybe I don’t need to. The tone is all I need. It’s filled with promise.
I calm further at the rolling cadence of his voice, and I find myself letting him lift my arms above my head so he can pull my dress off.
Shivering, tears leak from the corners of my eyes. I’m embarrassed beyond belief. My breasts are exposed, and my nipples are hard points from the cold air.
I stare at this kind man while he removes my diaper, trying not to think about my nudity. He has thick brown hair and tanned skin. His eyes are deep brown, and I find myself wanting to stare into them.
My own skin is extremely pale—partly from genetics and partly from living nearly my entire life in a space station with no exposure to the sun. I know my eyes are a pretty green because my friends have commented on them many times.
The man rolls me onto my side, away from him, removes the tie from the end of my braid, and unravels my hair next. As he runs his fingers through the strands to separate the sections, he murmurs at me in an even lower voice that makes my heart race.
Finally, he scoops my naked body off the table and carries me to the tub that’s still filling with water. When he squats next to the basin, he reaches in to feel the water before taking my hand and lowering it into the stream.
Instinctively, I jerk my fingers back. It’s too cold. I wiggle in his embrace, hoping he won’t put me in this frigid water.
He frowns and adjusts the knobs. When he holds my fingers under the stream again, he looks at me and lifts a brow.
I smile and nod. It feels much better. I’m so grateful he cares what I think. He’s not going to force me to sit in freezing water. My entire outlook on life has shifted with the addition of this man. So far, he has seemed kind. I wonder what his plans are for me.
Clutching his neck, I lean my head against his shoulder. I’m weak and still feel heavy. It’s been days since I was drugged, so my heaviness shouldn’t be from whatever they injected me with. But, it’s also possible I’m being drugged by the formula.
When the man is satisfied with the temperature of my bath, he grabs one of my feet and dips it into the water, lifting a questioning brow again.
I smile and nod.
He grins and lowers me slowly into the tub.
It feels heavenly. Warmth surrounds me. For the first time in days, I’m no longer shivering.
I immediately cover my breasts and clasp my legs together, but the man gently grips my chin and tips my head back. Frowning, he shakes his head before prying my wrists apart, forcing me to lower my hands.
He’s kneeling next to the tub, but he’s at least seven and a half feet tall, so his huge frame is leaning over me.
When he releases my wrists, I instinctively pull my hands back to my chest.
He shakes his head, frowns, and points toward a hook embedded in the tub near the top. There’s one on both sides.
The man holds up a pair of handcuffs next, shakes them in front of me, points toward the hook, and does that questioning eyebrow raise again.
The blood drains from my face. Is he threatening to cuff my wrists to the sides of the tub if I don’t stop covering my breasts? I’m shaking as I lower my hands to my thighs. I know I’ve understood correctly when he smiles and gives me a curt nod.
I’m shocked by our ability to communicate without words.
I’ve never tried to talk to someone who spoke a language I don’t know.
It’s bizarre, and yet we’re managing. But it will be exhausting if I have to gesture to express my thoughts and needs for the rest of my life.
The sounds coming out of the Venkorians’ mouths are not noises I could ever learn to make.
The man sets a palm on the back of my neck, covers my eyes with his other hand, and leans me back until my hair is completely underwater.
I panic and reach for his forearm, but he doesn’t let my face go in. In seconds, I’m upright, startled, as he pours what I assume is shampoo into his palm.
He points at my eyes and squeezes his own closed for a few seconds. I understand his meaning and lower my lids to avoid getting soap in my eyes.
As soon as he starts massaging my scalp, I whimper. His touch is so nice. I can’t recall the last time someone washed my hair. It must have happened when I was a toddler, but that was so long ago.
He takes his time, and I’m glad because I never want him to stop, but eventually he tips me back to rinse off the soap. I’m not nearly as scared this time. I know what to expect.
Next, he pours more soap into his palm, lifts one of my arms, and washes from my fingers to my shoulders. He does the same to the other arm and then my feet and legs.
I think he might be done, and I won’t have to endure him washing my torso, but I realize I’m sadly mistaken when he grabs my hips, stands me on my feet facing him, and sets my palms on his shoulders.
I’m getting him wet, but that’s not even a tiny fraction of my concern because the man reaches around to wash my back and then my front. He cups my breasts and spends far more time than necessary fondling them.
When he pinches my nipples, I yelp.
He chuckles, his voice deep. It seems to reach inside me.
With one of his giant palms on the small of my back, he uses his other hand to play with my breasts again, glancing at me. He’s smirking.
I’m cold, standing here in the chilly air, but my face heats as my pulse increases. It feels so odd having him touch me like this, but I like it.
Eventually, he slides his palms around to my butt and then runs them up the fronts of my thighs. His head tips back to meet my gaze while he drags his thumbs higher and higher, coming too close to my private parts.
On a sharp inhale, I try to move away and avoid the odd sensations, but the man reaches around and swats my bottom. Hard. Shocking me. All the air leaves my lungs.
He gives me a sharp, intense look and shakes his head.
I’m panting as I inch forward. For some reason I can’t explain, I don’t want to anger him.
The man holds one of my butt cheeks firmly and wiggles his fingers between my thighs, prodding me.
When I part my legs a few inches, he nods but continues to tap my inner thighs. Does he want my legs even wider? I spread them, just in case, and he takes the opportunity to slide his palm all the way up until he’s cupping my most private parts.
Gripping my bottom tighter, he stares into my eyes while he drags his fingers slowly through my folds.
I gasp as my knees nearly give out, but he has a secure hold on me—both my butt and my crotch.
I’m tingling all over, my body shaking from sensations I’ve never experienced.
His fingers are wicked, and he keeps stroking through my private parts, making me aware of a sensitive bundle of nerves I didn’t know existed.
He even slides his middle finger back and washes my tight rear hole, rubbing it over and over until I think I might faint.
Suddenly, it’s over. He removes his hand and helps me sit on my bottom again.