Chapter 42 #2
Her knees scraped the ground, marking her skin even more. The cuts started bleeding, and every time she moved, I cried silent tears as he continued to hurt her privates. Then he pulled his hand out, and my gasp wasn’t the only one heard in the room.
Blood—so much it dripped from his closed fist. He happily took the gag off, shoved his hand in her face, and shouted, “Clean it.”
He only waited long enough for her to respond.
But she wasn’t fast enough for him, so he wiped his hand over her face and breasts, painting her almost. Please, god, let him be done, I prayed.
I knew Autumn was praying the same thing, even if I couldn’t hear her words.
At night, sometimes I heard her small voice praying.
He wasn’t done, though, and he returned behind her. He paused for a moment and looked down at her bottom half and then at the mirror where, if we were visible, he would’ve seen four very young, frightened little girls who were in shock. Attaching the gag once more, he grinned sickeningly at us.
The Collector turned back to X and spit on her.
She tensed, and even though we had never seen anything like this before, I knew somewhere in my brain what was coming.
No, I screamed in my head, as if that would stop him.
But this time, I stood as still as I could.
I vowed not to cause her additional pain ever again.
I kept my gaze forward and focused on the floor by her hands instead of the view of her spread butt cheeks.
The sound she made around the gag when he jammed his finger into her bottom was muffled but distinct enough I would never forget it.
It hurt badly, by the sound of it. Our masters would want to do this to us one day—that was what the Collector said. The thought made me want to pass out.
“Ready, slave whore? I’ll try not to split your ass, but no guarantees,” he said.
With those words, her eyes closed, and he repeated the same process as he had done before, two, three, four fingers. Her fingernails dug into the ground and snapped.
My eyes whipped open as a surge of terror consumed me.
Gasping for air, I stumbled out of bed on shaky legs and ran toward the bathroom.
Pain radiated through my legs as I fell to the floor in front of the toilet.
I surrendered to the waves of nausea. Minutes dragged on, each passing second better than the one before as the nightmare receded.
Slowly, I pushed myself away from the toilet, my body drained of all strength.
I moved on autopilot, going through the motions of brushing my teeth while trying to stem the trembling of my hands and not get toothpaste all over me.
Aching with desperation, I reached for my phone; the panic hadn’t left entirely, and I needed him.
“Sir,” I whimpered into the speaker, trying to calm myself.
“Kinsley, it’s okay. You’re safe. Tell me what happened,” Marcel said. Hearing his voice broke the dam.
“I hate the memories. Why do they have to be there? They’re always there, waiting for me to feel normal again, and then they return to remind me I’m not.”
“Which one was it this time?” His voice was soft and soothing.
“I can’t be a kajira. If he finds me, he’ll make me a slave whore. I know he will. I don’t want to be a slave whore.” I sobbed.
He spent twenty-five minutes on the phone with me, talking me down off the ledge.
Then he promised to check in later and gave me specific homework to do.
I spent thirty minutes journaling in my notebook, trying to capture the fragments of my thoughts, fears, and hopes.
Each stroke of the pen was a cathartic release.
I snapped a picture and sent it to him, letting him know I’d completed it.
Putting the journal inside my nightstand, I checked the time, noting I could squeeze in a quick shower. I always took one after a nightmare. Cool air washed over me as I stood and stretched, then stepped toward the bathroom, before a knock on my door stopped me in my tracks.
“Come in,” I called out, pushing my hair back from my face.
“Dear…” Sophia’s voice reached out, gentle and warm, enveloping my weary heart. “I know you said you wanted a rain check on shopping and dining out,” she continued, “but I have a fantastic plan that doesn’t involve going anywhere. What do you think? Join me?”
Her voice carried a sense of eagerness and genuine care. Feeling guilty about how I rushed off earlier and made a fool of myself, I nodded.
“Okay, I think I’d like that.”
“Wonderful. Come with me, then,” she said, waving her hand.
I sighed; a shower would have to wait. A flicker of gratitude thumped inside my chest, though, because a small part of me wanted to connect deeper with this woman. Her gesture spoke volumes, and I wasn’t going to shut her down again.
Curiosity mingled with anticipation as she led me to one of the drawing rooms. It had been completely transformed into a spa.
Two ladies stood poised, their smiles mirroring Sophia’s.
The soft scent of aromatic oils wafted through the air.
With a graceful wave, Sophia beckoned me toward a plush chair.
I settled into the seat, the tension in my muscles melting away.
A glass of wine materialized in front of me, and I accepted it with a genuine smile.
Our conversation centered around beauty and fashion as we both tried to find our way around some of our awkwardness. As we delved deeper, the conversation turned to our mutual heritage. I listened, fascinated, as she shared her memories of Russia.
Each word resonated with nostalgia, and my curiosity was once more ignited by the knowledge that maybe my mother, if she had lived, would feel the same way.
With each tale she wove, the imagery of St. Petersburg emerged.
She spoke about family vacations on the shores of Lake Baikal.
Her stories breathed life into distant memories of my own, and I absorbed them with a thirst for more.
I could’ve listened to her talk forever.
As soon as our mani-pedis were done, we were treated to massages.
It rivaled the one I’d gotten in Portland on the weekend with the guys.
The therapists, instead of using their hands, had these sandstone pods they used to apply gentle heat and pressure.
They glided over my skin seamlessly and made being touched by a stranger easier somehow.
A soft, drowsy haze tempted me to fall asleep; the soothing strokes had relaxed me immensely. A part of me wanted to give in, but the fear that my nightmare might return held me back from giving over completely. As the massage ended, Sophia’s voice danced through the air.
“Now on to part three. We’re going to have an old-fashioned girl’s night in with dinner and a movie.”
The idea of good food, cozy blankets, a sea of pillows, and further connection had me jumping at the chance. I’d gone from completely unsure of myself to actually enjoying her company.
Sophia’s excitement lingered in the air, hinting at her tipsy state. The sight of her this way—unguarded and relaxed—had me smiling. “Shower and put on your most comfortable pajamas, then meet me in the media room.”
An endearing charm colored her inebriated mirth—a lightheartedness I found irresistible. If only I could let go like that, relax and have a good time. Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard tonight. Embracing the moment, I nodded and hurried to my room.
The thought of slipping into my most comfortable pajamas left me with only one option. Alek’s were highly inappropriate outside of bedroom appearances, and Nik didn’t like me to wear any, so that left something from Ivan’s collection.
I settled on a cute lavender-colored brami-style cropped top, showing off my midriff and the matching pair of low-rise joggers.
It came with a cardigan, so I threw that on and went to find Sophia.
As I caught sight of her talking to Christopher, a playful grin on her lips, I couldn’t help but feel thankful for this brief period of time with them.
Another memory to tuck away and fall back on when I was feeling lonely.
Dinner was served in the media room, and we settled in to watch a movie.
It was one of those period romantic dramas and lighthearted.
We shared a steady flow of wine, and I was having so much fun that I didn’t pay attention to how much I was drinking.
We laughed and reimagined what the characters would look like in our modern world.
“Could you imagine how the scandal would have unfolded now?” She laughed as we talked about how social media would have made it more tantalizing.
“Not to mention the rumors would have flown so fast and free online. It would be so blown out of proportion, and everything viewed in the wrong context,” I added, toasting her.
“We should do some karaoke next,” she said, snorting as she laughed.
The thought of the straightlaced woman I’d originally met clashed with her request. But the sheer delight in her voice was potentially worth making a fool of myself. Something about unleashing our inner divas had me grinning.
“Oh, you should pick one you’d love to sing to Christopher,” I playfully suggested.
The request seemed to ignite a flame of excitement within her. Her eyes danced, and without hesitation, she sprang from the seat and opened up YouTube on the TV. As the familiar opening notes of “Genie in a Bottle” filled the room, laughter bubbled from deep within her.
Sophia’s voice was surprisingly good, and it made the collision of nostalgia and silliness even more entertaining.
She began belting out the lyrics with abandon.
Caught up in the music, she grabbed my hand, and we twirled and danced around the room.
What started as a fun karaoke session transformed into our very own concert, and it was the perfect ending to an exhausting day.