HARDCORE: Storm MC(42)

I did. I wanted my arms back. I controlled my shit for a minute.



He untied the rope binding me, and I was able to bring my arms forward again. I felt painful pinpricks from my shoulders to my fingers as the blood began to flow again. The aching almost worsened, but in a good way, if that makes any sense.



I should have seen the next thing coming, but my mind was not thoroughly engaged yet. He grabbed one of my flailing wrists and cuffed it. The chain was attached to the back wall and left me only enough room to move from the installed cot along that wall to the toilet in the corner. The chain was not long enough for me to reach past the cage door, which was at least three feet from the wall adjacent to the hallway.



I was cuffed to a wall in a cage inside of a cell in a basement reachable from an elevator hidden in a closet in the master bedroom. I was totally fucked.



At this point, Mr. F (I was finally gleaning on to the sick aptness of his preferred nickname. The fact that he liked it bespoke both amazing and appalling self-awareness) sneered into my face. “You just try to get away from me now. You’ll learn, my sweet little sex bitch, that I am not to be denied. Now you are mine. Think on that for a little while.”



He straightened and sniffed, and he clenched his jaw. “You settle yourself in here. And don’t worry; your little noises can’t possibly travel far enough to reach anywhere. Feel free to scream all you want. It won’t matter. It might even give you laryngitis, which would ultimately only hurt yourself. Have at it.”



With that, and nothing else, he ripped the duct tape off my face, turned on his heel, and walked out of the cage to the door. Opening that with one hand and flipping both switches on the wall downward, he let himself out of the room, the steel door to the cage clanged shut, and the lights went out.



In an absolute freak-out, I think I must have screamed my head off for several minutes, to no effect. When it finally dawned on me that that was probably not the best use of my energies, I quieted and attempted to take stock of my new space.



It was dark and small. I was chained to a steel loop embedded in the wall a couple of feet above the thin cot, which featured a terribly thin futon-type mat, scratchy cheap sheets, and a very thin blanket. To the side of the cot in the corner was the toilet I had spied earlier. No seat, of course. No toilet paper, either. Awesome. No sink. No water, no cup. No fucking key for the cuff. No way to reach the fucking cage door, and obviously, no way to reach those power switches by the main door into the cell. But really, at this point, who gave a rat’s ass about the light? I only cared about the literal metal trappings.



I was so angry, I started crying.



I was wishing so hard for Dom to come find me. But I knew, rationally, that that was pretty much out of the range of real possibilities. I mean, no way would he find this hellhole. I just didn’t believe it. So I missed him, and I was angry, and I was lost, and I cried.



When I quieted, I heard it—a voice, singing. At first, I thought I must have been hallucinating; the sound was gorgeous. It was a female voice, a soprano. It carried in the air, but it was soft, and I couldn’t tell where it was coming from.



The song was unfamiliar; actually, it might not even have been a song, just a voicing of high pitches, unintelligible but audible. And it comforted me, just the tiniest bit.



By this time, I was in full-on fetal position on the cot, covered head to butt and knees to toes by the blanket I had pulled around myself.



And the voice, real or imagined, sang me into a wakeful dullness, as I waited for the next thing to happen.



# # #



All too soon, Fielding was back. The door had opened quietly with just a soft twist of the knob, and the horrible fluorescent beams above flickered on.



“I see I’ve given you enough time to acclimate. Stand up and face the back. It’s time to introduce you to your new reality.” He was practically rubbing his hands together. His face glowed with anticipatory glory. I was pretty sure he was completely psychotic.



I remained where I was, cocooned on the bed. Ostriching. If I didn’t see it, it couldn’t be happening, right?



“Now, now, Sienna, my dove. Where did my feisty girl go? Huh? Not so feisty anymore, are you? You see who has the power here. Good. Now, get—the fuck—up.”



Still, I held my place. No way was I going to help this guy do whatever he planned on doing to me. No way in hell.



Suddenly I was drenched in a forceful spray of cold, cold water. I gasped and scrambled off the cot, falling on my ass in a tumble of cold wet blanket and limbs, trying to escape the water that shot down from a pipeline positioned just over the cot in the ceiling. I had noticed it but hadn’t realized its purpose.