Thirteen #2
He points to the celery and motions his head toward it.
“I’ll take that as a no.” I blow out an exasperated sounding breath. “Do I at least get the use of my hands?”
Blinking at me, his finger goes from the celery to my mouth. “This is what piglets eat,” is probably what he’s thinking.
“It’s just that all the head bobbing is hurting my neck, though I wouldn’t notice as much if I were at least enjoying myself more while doing it,” I tease, my humor making me feel less helpless.
At the end of the day I’m still tied up and waiting for him to leave so I can eat vegetables off the floor.
I won’t do it in front of him. I’m not ready to be humiliated more than I already have been.
“What happens when I have to shit? How am I supposed to position myself over the bucket?”
Without so much as a moving finger, he goes back down the ladder, and as soon as the doors shut, I wrap my mouth around the top of one of the celery sticks, spitting out hay in between bites.
Some prickly strands wind up getting swallowed anyway, but I’m too hungry to care, tempted to start eating more of it when there’s no more vegetables or fruit left.
Yes, I went back for that apple, though it didn’t taste as good as it did when he first brought it.
Light shines brighter outside the window now, confirming what I’d already guessed.
It’s a new day. And both the apple—which I’m guessing was dinner—and the celery breakfast didn’t come with water.
Maybe lunch will, or some in?between snacks if I get any of those.
For all I know, what I just devoured is all I’ll be getting for a while.
Much like when I was with Logan, I’m constantly guessing what will happen while being here.
It scares me while also making it easy to pretend.
Instead of always expecting my dad’s anger and shouting, I can pretend the rest of my day will be peaceful—quiet.
I can sleep as much as I want without being persecuted for it.
“Only lazy people with no ambition sleep in,” my dad would say. “Is that what you are?”
I hate his words being here. Silence is never a good thing. My head gets too loud when everything around me is quiet. I shut my eyes, lulling myself to sleep, and wake to a bowl of water sitting an inch from my face.
Shuffling closer, I lift my head and lick at the refreshing liquid.
I hated drinking anything at room temperature before, but couldn’t care less right now.
I take large gulps, slurping when I don’t get enough with only my tongue and widening lips.
When the bowl is empty, I roll to my back, and that’s when I realize my hands have been moved to the front of my body and are cuffed instead of confined by the same rope from .
. . I look toward the window, the sun brighter than when I last saw him enter.
It’s the same day. At least, I’m pretty sure it is.
I didn’t have much concept of time before and relied on dozens of alarms to keep me from being late.
Staring up at the wooden beams, I count the nails, and when I reach the last one, I start over.
I keep going until my bladder is screaming and I shift myself into a seating position, reaching for the bucket when I’m close enough. I’m glad I only have to pee again.
My stomach rolls at the thought of him helping me over the bucket to take a shit.
Yeah, that’s not what I want to think about right now.
Let’s go back to nothing here being predictable.
The engine of a car purrs in the distance and the sound dies seconds later.
A door slams and I watch the barn doors.
They don’t open no matter how much I want them to.
As much as I’m scared of what he could do to me, I also hate being alone. My breaths echo around me and birds peck at the roof. I go back to counting nails, saying the numbers out loud so I can use my own voice to keep me company. My vision fades as I grow drowsy and sleep takes me again.
Frigid air tingles my skin, and I peel my lips apart just as a blanket is draped over me.
Glowing in the corner of the room is a space heater.
The water bowl beside me has been refilled, and next to it is a red nursery feeder with only one section carrying food.
Boiled eggs, squares of cheese, and strawberries with the stems cut off.
My mouth waters and as I lift my hands from under the blanket. Nothing is holding them together anymore. Only one wrist is heavy with a metal cuff attached to a short chain hooked to the wall.
“Thank you,” I say, lifting myself up and crossing my legs when I notice the rope gone from my ankles.
He shakes his head when I reach for a strawberry, and as my fingers wrap around a square of cheese, he lifts a black device to his mouth, saying, “Not like that. That’s how humans eat and you only get to be one when I say you are. ”
“When will that be?” Tilting my head, I shift the blanket around my shoulders.
“Depends on you and how well you play each role given.”
Nodding, I lower my face to the feeder and swipe my tongue over the tip of the strawberry. Lips stretching into a grin, I lick longer stripes and suck the wider section between my lips, moaning.
A soft kick is delivered to my knee and I sit up, eyes widening. “I’m eating like you want me to.”
“Pigs don’t moan. The only sounds they make are grunts and oinks.”
I stiffen and stare at the food. I don’t want to starve and this is the most food I’ve gotten since being here. No sense in looking a gift horse in the mouth. “Oink,” I say and burst out laughing.
“Piglets don’t laugh either.” He holds up the cattle prod and runs a hand over the top.
My stomach knots and I try again, closing my eyes as I sniff at the food. “Oink, oink, oink.”
“Yes, just like that.” Leaning down, he removes all but one strawberry and one egg from the feeder. “And maybe next time you’ll start off on the right track instead of going out of your way to disappoint me.”
“Wait.” I lift a hand and he swats at it so hard I fall forward, my head hitting the plastic feeder. “I’m sorry. I’ll do better from here on.”
“Then you’ll be rewarded after I feel you have.
” Releasing the button on the voice changer, he kicks the feeder further away when I go back to eating the strawberry.
He keeps doing it and laughing, and eventually I give up, rubbing at my throbbing head and pressing my face to the prickly hay.
Tears well in my eyes and I bury my face more so he doesn’t see me crying.
Lightly tugging on my hair, he lifts my face and swipes the wetness from my cheek. “There, there, little piglet. You’ll do better tomorrow.” Each time he hides his voice, I wonder what it would be like to hear what he really sounds like.
“I’ll try,” I say softly, and he rubs the other side of my face.