UN-Breakable Read online

  Oh, no, he hadn’t had sex with me. Of course not. He’d made it very clear that being a virgin was the biggest prize he’d ever acquired, and he wouldn’t take that from me no matter how difficult it was on him. It almost made him sound caring. But the endless amounts of verbal and physical things I’d endured otherwise made it perfectly clear he had no intentions of being a gentleman.

  Reaching up, I softly touched my lips, sliding my fingers across the moist flesh while remembering yesterday’s lesson. I had been waiting for hours, sitting on my knees, my skin cold and trembling. The bedroom had gone from a golden hue in the setting sun to complete blackness. I had retreated into my mind, remembering my dreams of building a life in New York and all the places I’d planned to see when I felt the lightest of touches suddenly glide up my spine. It started at the top of my butt, traversed along my spine, and up to my neck. Surprise and confusion overcame me, causing me to cry out before I could stop myself. I’d been so lost in thought, I hadn’t heard him approach. My response was perfectly normal, yet completely unacceptable in this world. I knew from previous lessons that my outburst would only play into whatever disgusting games he had planned. And he hadn’t made me wait long to confirm my intuition.

  “Uh, uh, uh. And you were doing so good, too.” He stood behind me, scolding my actions as his hands reached around me and appeared before my face with an object I’d never seen before. He smelled of sweat and alcohol, something I’d grown accustomed to, but had to continually fight against becoming sick from. “Open wide, Gwen. It’s time you learned when to be quiet and when not to.”

  I was enraged, wanting to fight back immediately. I’d waited for hours, not saying a word, not making a sound when my body cramped and begged to move. He knew this. He purposely set me up so I’d fail. And he wanted to teach me whatever this was while blaming me the entire time.

  I opened my mouth to tell him to go to hell, remembering at the last second that, that’s exactly what he wanted. I hadn’t talked back at all during the past two weeks. I’d done everything he’d asked with only slight hesitations. But this was too much. I’d found my limit. Unfortunately, before I could get more than the first syllable out, he shoved a rubber ball-shaped object into my mouth, quickly tying it in place behind my head. It tasted bitter like he’d cleaned it in alcohol or dipped it in peroxide. The shape was so large, I had to unhinge my jaw to make it even slightly comfortable. If you could use that word for such a thing.

  I growled in anger, my eyes tearing up at the humility and anger I felt. Reaching up to remove the damned thing, he snatched my arm, grabbed the other, and pulled them roughly behind my back. Shaking my head no, I whined behind the gag, pleading with him to stop. He had only tied me up once a few days before, and I’d passed out almost immediately. It seemed I had a phobia I’d never known about before. That time I’d woken to find myself back in the locked closet with a bottle of water and a granola bar left beside me.

  I knew without a doubt that passing out again would only lead him to lashing out in anger. He was sadistic and twisted, but at least when he was in control of himself, he didn’t scare me as much anymore. That was the hard part for me to accept. The things he’d do to me during his ‘lessons’ had flooded my body with shame, but also an intense pleasure I’d never experienced before. I’d actually started craving it during the last few evenings. Something I was both sickened by and curious about. Maybe the stories I’d heard about Stockholm Syndrome were true, and I was experiencing them. I had no idea. What I did know was frightening, to say the least. I knew I was changing. I looked forward to his visits now. The long, drawn out hours of being alone were torture. Some days I longed for him to open the closet door and simply say hello. Other days I found myself touching my breasts and sensitive nub, trying to mimic how he’d expertly break through my fears and bring me over the edge. If that meant I was experiencing the Syndrome, so be it. I’d almost failed my psychology class in college and refused to take any others, choosing other electives to fill my schedule instead. Now, I wish I’d taken every one of the mind studying courses. I had no clue how to fight against it. I only knew I was finding newfound pleasures as I struggled to survive day after day.

  Tying me up did absolutely nothing for me in the form of pleasure. In fact, it had the opposite effect. It triggered something inside that was far beyond terrifying. My body revolted instantly, shaking from head to toe, almost convulsing in utter fear. Feeling him pulling my arms tighter and completing the process of securing them, my tears were rapidly falling down my cheeks as I fought against the spasms racking every nerve I had.

  “Stand up,” he barked, clearly not happy with my response.

  I tried doing as he said. Attempting to pull my legs out from their kneeling position and push myself up, but I’d been like that for so long, my muscles protested and fought against the change. With the sudden onset of fear, I felt almost paralyzed. Unable to use my hands for support or balance, I began falling forward, almost hitting my head against the floor. Just before contact, I felt his calloused hand grab beneath my arms and pull me upward, assisting me to do as he had demanded.

  Taking a deep breath, I tried to calm down. Standing seemed to help a little. I felt like I had a semblance of control again, but it didn’t completely eliminate the anxiety coursing through my body.

  Releasing my arms, he took a few steps around my trembling body, coming to a stop in front of me. Lifting my eyes, I watched as he looked down at me. He seemed at a loss, perplexed with my response after I’d done so well recently. His mouth puckered outward and to the side, the universal sign for thinking or contemplation. I felt another tear slide loose, its cold path gliding down my cheek. I knew he’d only grow angrier, but I couldn’t stop it. I could just barely see the browns of his eyes deepen and anger filling them from the inside out. But, for the first time, I noticed he was trying to restrain himself. That was something new, something I hoped would be in my favor.

  Fearing I’d make myself sick and get choked on my vomit behind the gag, I pleaded with my eyes, silently begging him to untie me.

  “Gwendolyn,” he spoke softly, in a tone I’d never heard from him before. It sounded strangely compassionate. “I understand this is hard for you. I’ve actually never dealt with something like this with any of my girls. But I’m going to help you get through this. Okay?”

  He asked my permission? Oh, I wasn’t stupid. I knew it wasn’t actually a question for me to answer and agree or disagree. But I was so surprised by his words and tone that I momentarily forgot my fears and felt my body relax. In my tortured and suffering mind, it felt as though he’d given me a caring hug. On the heels of that thought came a brief desire shooting through my core.

  “There. See? You can do this.” His eyes lightened, almost glistened in the spray of light cascading across the room. “Now, let’s see,” he mused out loud, more to himself than me. “I think we’ll go downstairs and watch TV. Whadaya say?” He grinned, then chuckled. “That’s right.” He smiled again and tapped my nose with his forefinger. “You can’t say anything, can you?”

  Before I could nod or growl or form any response, he stepped to my side and slid his arm through the V-shape that mine made and led me to the door. I was completely bewildered by his actions. I knew undoubtedly never to trust him, yet for the briefest time I saw what kind of man he could be if only he’d made better choices in his life or had a better upbringing. It didn’t help that my body seemed to have tuned itself to his actions, unexpectedly wanting what he could provide. Unable to sort any of the emotions and thoughts raging inside, I did as he said and followed his lead.

  Guiding me down the stairs, we walked in silence to the living room. He was practically bouncing, proud of whatever he’d planned to help me overcome my fears. I, on the other hand, wasn’t reassured. Only the thought of watching television after endless months of doing nothing was distracting my thoughts and urging my feet forward. Maybe I was bouncing a little myself? How odd.

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nbsp; Helping me to sit on the sofa, I ignored the way his hands lingered as they slid over my breasts and the tingle it created deep inside. I’d long ago grown accustomed to his touches, stares, and disgusting ways—usually ignoring the unfathomable ways he’d take from my body. But the unexplainable desire I’d recently began feeling in response was more than I could comprehend. It made me both angry and excited, further reinforcing my ideas about falling under some type of psychological syndrome.

  Pushing aside my useless thoughts, I wiggled around, trying to ignore my bindings while I adjust my naked bottom against the scratchy texture. The couch had to be at least twenty years old. The wool, or whatever it was made of, was threadbare in some spots and completely tattered in others. Some of the cushions held indents that never lost their shape, even when you weren’t sitting on them. It was only the third time I’d been allowed to sit on the old brown contraption, but I couldn’t have been more grateful. It was far more glorious than sitting on the hardwood floor or kneeling on the bedroom carpet.

  Leaning back, I adjusted my hands and their bindings one last time and rested my head against the tall cushions. Breathing out a small sigh, I felt my muscles unwind. Other than the strain in my shoulders, I was somewhat comfortable.

  “Good,” he praised before quickly walking into the kitchen.

  I began looking around, trying to memorize every piece of furniture, every possible exit I could find. I was relieved to see that everything had remained the same from the last time I’d been in there. Other than a few articles of clothing that Alex had thrown to the floor, it didn’t look any different. Consistency was good when you had hours to plan an escape every day. The sofa I was sitting on was positioned along the outside wall of the house, blocking a window that was covered with an old, smoke-stained shade and burgundy and green plaid curtains. Across from the couch sat a wooden entertainment center. It held an older box style television with a newer VCR/DVD combo that sat on top of the TV. Endless cases of movies in both VHS and DVD formats were packed haphazardly on the half dozen shelves and spilled out onto the floor beside the unit as well.

  In the corner of the room was an old rocking chair that reminded me of my grandmother. The memories of her rocking me in her arms stole my breath and brought tears to my eyes. She’d been the only loving parental figure in my life. The only one I could count on until she’d died. I was nine-years-old and was just learning that something was wrong with my family when she passed away in her sleep. She was the rock that I’d leaned on, the love that I’d needed when nobody else was around to give it.

  Pushing the melancholy thoughts aside, I ignored my heartache and continued looking around. My jaw was beginning to ache, the pain from being held open for so long almost unbearable, but I knew I didn’t have many opportunities like this. Glancing across the room, my eyes were drawn to the dining room. It connected with the living room where I now sat, but there were no dividing walls or doorways to signify the difference. A large chandelier and an abrupt change in flooring were the only clues. Old shag carpeting lined the floor in the dining room while this room held the same hardwood flooring as the rest of the house. Making note of the missing table and chairs that would normally be present, I caught sight of four tall windows, two on each of the outer walls. They were covered with the same smoke-stained shades, but instead of plaid was old-fashioned green and lace curtains that billowed in spider web covered poofs along the top and sides. Refusing to get caught up in the tacky décor that permeated the house, I wondered what kind of locks those windows had and if they were as old as all the rest I’d seen.

  From where I was sitting, I couldn’t see much else and returned my gaze to the room before me. I was surprised to realize that I was still tied and gagged, but not panicking. Maybe Alex actually did know what he was doing. Maybe he could help me overcome this fear. No! I was giving that asshole way too much credit lately. A few nice words, a seemingly kind gesture, and I was ready to be his best friend. Well, not really, but I gave myself a quick mental shake and reminded myself not to fall into his trap. He was evil. End. Of. Story.

  Reinforcing my thoughts, he came back into the room carrying a DVD, a bottle of water, and another glass filled with amber liquid. “This,” he held up the water and motioned to me, “is for you for later. This, of course, is for me.” He smiled again, taking a long drink of his beverage. “And this,” he sat the bottled water down and held the DVD up for me to see the name, “is what we’re going to watch tonight.”

  Was he drunk? He didn’t seem drunk even though I could smell alcohol oozing off his body and clothing. But what did I know? I watched in fascination, trying to figure out the puzzle, as he took the movie out and put it in the DVD player. He eagerly turned the television on and increased the volume. Stepping backward as he watched to make sure the movie started correctly, he continued until his legs met with the edge of the couch, then sat down, his body sliding in beside mine.

  Yes, he reeked of alcohol, but due to the lack of slurring and the steadiness he maintained on his feet, I knew he wasn’t drunk. I briefly wondered if that was something I could encourage and take advantage of in the future, or maybe even tonight. Just as I began contemplating the possibilities, the movie began. He’d chosen E.T. Something that seemed completely out of character, yet absolutely appropriate for the man I’d grown to know. Still, it made me wonder about him again. Why did he do this? What made him chose this type of life? Even if I felt brave enough to, it wasn’t like I could ask with this humungous rubber ball in my mouth. But he’d shown me another side to him lately. Especially with a movie like this when there were endless numbers of action and thriller movies flashing their colorful cases in front of us. He had a child-like wonder about him at times, something most grown men never showed, completely in contrast to the cruel and evil being he could be at other times.

  “Ah, yes, now this is the best way to spend a Friday night.” He leaned his head back, his arm reaching over while sliding his dirty, calloused hand along my inner thigh. Any thoughts of his goodness ceased, replaced with the vile, repugnant disgust I had for him.

  The minute his palm connected with my leg, I froze; the muscles that had been relaxed only minutes before were contracting to their previously tense state. Maybe this was his idea of fun, but it definitely wasn’t mine. I wanted to tell him as much, but couldn’t with the gag in place. Remembering it and the bindings that tied my wrists, I started breathing heavier, unable to stop the surge of panic that washed over me. I just wished he’d remove his hand and let me enjoy my delusional fantasies of feeling relaxed again.

  “Oh, no you don’t.” He turned his body, his hand dislodging from my leg and moving to my chin. “You were doing so well. We’re going to take this slow, but we are going to do this.” He turned my head, staring intently into my eyes, making it clear he meant every word. “Take deep breaths, Gwen. If you do what I ask, I give my word that I’ll help you every step of the way. For today. After that, it’s up to you. But you must learn to deal with this. It’s expected on so many levels I can’t even explain.”

  I felt torn. My mind was fighting against the restraints, overwhelmed by their power to restrict and make me helpless. But the smallest part of me felt gratitude that he wasn’t hitting, whipping, or punishing me in any way. In the back of my mind I heard the warnings that I was losing myself, changing into what he wanted, but I couldn’t stop the transformation. In some ways, I craved it. If it meant he would continue treating me better, I’d change into whatever was necessary.

  Nodding, I agreed to what he said. I felt another piece inside breaking, another part of my soul fragmenting with my acceptance. Fighting against tears that would only provoke the animal in him, I returned my focus to the television and began watching one of the movies my grandmother had loved and shared with me as a child.

  Thirty minutes later, he stood abruptly and hurried into the other room. Moments later he reappeared, carrying two wooden chairs with him. With precise positionin
g, he carefully placed them in front of me. I could still see the television through the slats, but I had no idea what he was doing. Unfortunately, he quickly eliminated my curiosity. Bending my knees upward, he extended my legs, and harshly pulled them apart. With vigorous and determined actions, he bustled about, securing plastic zip ties around my ankles and to the outermost bars. My feet easily slid between the posts and hung through to the other side. It was very uncomfortable and immeasurably humiliating. But nothing compared to the continual downward spiral I plummeted toward, his repeatedly demeaning actions tearing me apart from the inside out. I had become nothing more than a toy, a pet to train. As if his previous stunts weren’t enough, my body was splayed open, on display, while he continued to psychologically rape my mind.

  I’d like to say I fought back, thrashed and refused to do what he wanted. But in truth, I sat there watching the entire scene as if it weren’t me who was involved, detaching from reality in order to survive. With a glance at his eyes, I was surprised to find they were the normal shade of chocolate brown. Remembering his gentle tone and knowing I’d have to deal with this regardless, I chose to keep the kind Master instead of provoking the evil one. With great effort, I forced myself to focus on the movie, ignored what he was doing as I watched Drew Barrymore through the slots in the chair.

  “Very good, Gwen.” He squeezed my leg affectionately as he sat back down, softly massaging my thigh as his attention returned to the movie. “If you overcome this, I’ll take the gag out pretty soon.”

  That’s all he had to say. I could feel saliva dribbling down my chin every so often, and my cheeks and jaw ached like a bulldozer had hit them. I’d do whatever I had to so he’d remove it. Refusing to allow my emotions and fears to overwhelm me, I focused on the loving family in the movie and blocked out everything else…even the hand that moved higher and gradually became more and more aggressive.