Fifteen
Blake
Daylight is fading. Each hour stretches longer the less that door opens.
He’s only brought food twice in the last few days.
Seems to be at the same time too. As soon as the sky begins brightening and right before the sun goes down.
If I’m counting from when it started, that means it’s been a week exactly, and he really has let me sit around in my filth.
I bet I smell worse than the pigs outside.
Sniffing under my arm, my nose wrinkles, and I wince at the food stains on my clothes. Worse than a whole group of pigs.
I don’t know what made me act out that day.
I think I was testing my limits. He didn’t toss me away for doing so either.
Nothing I’d earned before was taken away.
I was given a choice of a bath or to wait a week.
The decision was mine. I made it. Not him.
It was left up to me. I’ve never had that before .
. . except for with Logan. Of course it’s only been with people I’d least expect it to happen with.
With everyone else it was one way. Theirs. There was no either or.
Crawling forward, I stare harder at the door. I keep waiting for it to make the slightest sound or movement. A creak, a small shake . . . fucking something. He came in earlier while I was sleeping. So silent, I never heard him enter or leave.
The only evidence I have of him ever being here are the strips of chicken and mixed vegetables he left me in the feeder, along with the water in the bowl.
I’m able to move enough to adjust the space heater and stretch my legs a little.
I try to stand but my legs are too weak to hold my weight on my first attempt.
I’ve been lying around for far too long, not having the energy to do more than move when food came or when he asked me to.
All I’m doing is weakening myself. I have to gain my strength back if I want any chance at escaping.
But what will I even be going back to? I’ve lost the modeling job for the underwear ad.
My dad will probably kick me out for worrying my mom and not coming into the office.
Looking around me, I cling to the blanket and stare down at the squares of steak beside the piece of cornbread.
With hunger stirring inside me, I reach for the food, using my hands when I once again don’t see the door opening.
Tearing at the bread with my teeth like some rabid animal, I don’t wait to fully chew it before swallowing it down.
With crumbs sticking to the back of my throat, I cough and lick at the water.
A laugh slips from my lips when I realize what I’m doing.
Drinking from the bowl like a fucking animal when I don’t have to.
He can’t see me when I’m in here alone, and yet I often find myself crawling around on all fours or stirring food in the feeder with my nose.
He could sneak up on me at any moment and I don’t want to lose food privileges, to go back to stringy pieces of veggies.
I can’t be too careful. There were other times I didn’t hear him, and for all I know, he may be hiding in the hay.
With that thought, along with something I don’t understand, I drop what’s in my hand and lower my face to the feeder.
I move it to where I can watch the door at the same time and the night sky drapes over the window.
The sprinkling of stars has me focusing more on above the door than at it.
I’ve never taken a moment to enjoy them.
They’re beautiful. Finishing my food, I lean back against the wall and stretch out my legs as I connect the sparkling lights with each other, smiling.
A horn from outside causes me to jump and my eyes are back on the door.
The metal locks hit against the chain and the door squeaks open.
He’s in a black mask tonight, looking up at me once before continuing doing what he came here to do.
Which has nothing to do with me. Why does that bother me so much?
His attention being on something else. He drives out on a four wheeler, not sparing me another glance as he gets off to shut the doors again.
Come back, I want to say, and I don’t even know what for or why.
So I’m not alone. So I can hear a noise not coming from myself or an animal or the rickety old barn.
So the days aren’t dragging as much. So I can feel needed and like I serve a purpose.
No . . . why would I want that here? Not here.
Not with him. A dull ache fills my chest and I hug my knees, squeezing my eyes shut.
I really thought he appreciated my efforts, though.
He sounded so pleased when I was good, and for a little while I wasn’t .
. . I wasn’t a fuckup and he encouraged me to keep going.
He wanted more from me. They usually don’t, but he did.
I hate how much I want to get that back. Any kind of attention from him is better than this. He won’t give me more than a stare tonight, though. Is it because I wouldn’t agree to the bath or him brushing my teeth?
When he laid the blanket over me and helped me use the restroom, I began leaning too far into what he was offering.
Having someone else take care of me, since it’s never happened before.
I had previews of it, but not as much as being here, and I’m scared my repressed yearning for it over the years may cause me to want more from the wrong person.
Because right now it feels so good coming from anyone.
My captor included. Rocking back and forth, a tear slides down my cheek and my breathing grows ragged when I hear voices outside.
I want to yell for them, but then I think about going back home to my dad’s rules, the suffocation of the people in my life and being surrounded by so many people only to be invisible.
He said he won’t kill me, but why do I believe some deranged stranger who kidnapped me?
Who the fuck knows . . . then again, the people I was suppsoed to trust constantly broke it.
Staying here for another week or two won’t hurt, and I can earn his trust more at the same time.
It’ll make it easier to make my escape. My gaze drops to my bare feet, partly covered by the hay, and then darts up to the cobweb-covered ceiling.
How did a place like this become more ideal to me than home?
No. I have to want to get out of here. My dad’s words slip inside my head, and I sing loudly, but when I open my eyes and he isn’t here.
He’s nowhere near me. Occasionally he talks to me in my head, but I can make him disappear here whenever I want.
I can make them all disappear. The pressure too.
And the disappointment on my mom’s face.
Cramps scatter along my stomach, and I wrap my arms around myself, staring at the bucket.
I’ve dreaded having to use it for more than pissing.
Not sure if that’s the reason I haven’t felt the urge, but I think it’s finally catching up to me since I’m eating more.
Less meals but more food in general. My eyes nervously bounce around the room, palms sweating as I crawl forward.
Yanking down my pants, I steady myself over the bucket and relax my body. Nothing.
I try again, squeezing a little, my legs wobbling and my balance all over the place.
A roaring engine gets closer. He’s right outside the door.
The chains rattle and I crash to my side when he steps into the barn.
I curl into myself, reaching for my pants, and my skin heats the louder his footsteps grow.
They halt and then retreat. He drives the four wheeler into the barn and shuts off the engine.
His boots are loud when they meet the wooden flooring, and I tug at my pants when the ladder jostles from side to side.
His eyes peer up at me and he adjusts his black mask before continuing his way up.
Reaching the top, he stares down at the bucket and frowns.
I prefer when I can see his lips. Makes him seem more human, like me.
We aren’t equals, but it sometimes helps when I can make myself believe we are in small ways.
“Having a hard time using the restroom?” His gaze travels up my bare thighs, and his chest moves heavily as he continues to look upward, avoiding the other naked parts of me.
He’s using restraint. Or am I seeing shit?
Does he want to look at me but is stopping himself?
Did he lie about not wanting me that way?
Why the hell am I asking myself that? The real question is why do I want to try harder to get him to look? To prove what he said wrong. To prove he can want me?
“You can speak if I ask you a question.”
My fingers tighten around the loops of my jeans and I work them over my slender hips. “No.”
Sighing, he picks up the bucket by the handle, taking a closer look. “Always only piss. That’s not healthy for piglets. We might have to fix that soon if you still haven’t gone in a couple of days.”
I freeze up. “What do you mean?”
“We can’t have you going on like that. It can’t feel good. Is it because you’re embarrassed? You don’t have to be.”
“Easy for you to say,” I say gruffly, sitting all the way up. “You get to use a toilet that flushes.”
“And maybe you can get back to that point too.”
My eyes light up. “Really?”
“Yes. The more you do good as my piglet, the more human privileges you’ll have. You’ve done mostly good this week. Could use more work, but that’ll come in time. I did catch you using your hands to eat today, but then you quickly remembered how you needed to be.”
My stomach twists. He’s watching me. My eyes circle the room. “You can see me?”
His mask shifts. “Yes, but don’t worry. Whenever you require privacy, I’ll always look away.”
“And why do you get to decide when I need it?”