I look down at my wrists at the shitty knot that’s binding my hands together. I could get out of this. I’m sure I could. I haven’t tried, but I know I could. He’s either not used to this, or he’s testing me. I’m not sure which one it is, and either way I would end up with the same result.
I settle my back against the headboard and square my shoulders. I will be right here when he returns. I close my eyes and picture his face. I will not do anything to compromise my opportunity. I know I’ll see him again soon. He’ll come to check on me. He said he would. I need to be good. I need to make sure I live to see him again. Memories flash before my eyes that harden my heart and strengthen my resolve.
My eyes pop open at the sound of the door opening. I have to remind myself Kane is the enemy. His comforting touch makes my body weak. The cravings I have are from the sick way I’ve been conditioned.
Kane is not good. I’m just fucked in the head. I need to remember that. I’ve already forgotten so much about myself. But I have to remember that. None of these men will help me. None of them are good.
He walks through the door with fistfuls of bags. I feel a pull to go help him. But I stay seated. After all, I’m tied to the bed. Kane tied me to the bed.
He drops the bags on the floor in the center of the room. He looks tired. He turns to me and gives me a tight smile before walking closer. I stay still and make sure to look at him. I’ve only had one other owner who wanted my attention. And he only kept me for a day.
“Sorry it took so long,” he says, as he starts untying the binds. He must see how easily they come undone, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead his face displays a quick look of worry and then confusion. But then it’s gone.
He doesn’t look back at me. He avoids eye contact altogether and that makes me worry. My heart sinks in my chest and I start to think I’ve upset him. My heart races and adrenaline flows through my veins. I stay still and wait. I need an order. Some kind of a command that I can obey.
He walks back to the bags and finally looks at me as he says, “I need you to go through these things and put them away.”
I move quickly to get off the bed and to the bags. “Yes, Kane. I understand,” I answer as I kneel on the ground. I open the first bag and I hesitate. It’s full of women’s clothes.
“Make me a list of the shit I forgot,” he says, as he walks toward the door on the other side of the room. I turn my head to face him, but all I can see is his back. I don’t have a pen and paper. I also don’t want to assume that I know everything he wanted. I go through each bag, pulling out the clothes and try not to assume they’re for me. A few bags are white plastic; Walgreens is written on the side of those. A few of the other bags are from department stores I recognize.
I hear him put a few bags down on the counter in the bathroom and he walks back into the room, avoiding my gaze once again. He told me to look at him. Didn’t he? My heart falls in my chest. I’m sure of it. I continue to move as doubt creeps in. Kane walks back into the bathroom and I hear the water running as he washes his hands.
I’m being good. I’m listening. I stack the clothes neatly next to me on the floor. There’s another bag with Advil and warm and cold compresses. There’s a tube of ointment and bandages. My heart swells in my chest thinking they may be for me. I push it down. I can’t get my hopes up. No one has ever offered me comfort like this. Even if he is, he’s not good. He’s working for him.
He walks out of the bathroom and looks down at the pile of clothes. My body tenses for a moment, but I continue my work. I haven’t finished. I’ll go quicker though. I can be faster if he’d like.
“I’ll get the rest,” he says, bringing my attention to him. “Is there anything you didn’t see that you’ll need?”
Yes. There’s no underwear that I’ve seen. I don’t have a hairbrush, but I can use my fingers. No deodorant or toiletries. But I’m not sure if I need them. I don’t want to make an assumption, but I don’t want to give the wrong answer either. I feel like he’s testing me on what my expectations are maybe. I’m not sure and anxiety starts creeping in.
I set down the bag I was emptying and swallow before answering, “I didn’t see anything to wash with. If that’s something you’d like me to do.”
He looks at me for a moment and then down at the bags with his brow furrowed. “Must’ve left it in the car,” he mutters after a moment. He starts to walk to the door, but then turns around. He looks at me and then the bathroom door, like he’s not sure about something. I feel frozen in place, waiting for an order. I give him my attention, but every second that passes without me unpacking a bag or doing something makes my anxiety peak. After a moment he finally says, “Stay here and be a good girl for me.”