Number Thirteen
Page 9
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Before I know what’s happening, a man is behind me, placing a blindfold over my eyes. I whimper, and try to duck my head out of the way. This earns me a hard shove and a snarled “stop moving.” I stop moving, though my legs feel as though they’ve turned to jelly. I’m terrified. This man doesn’t want us to see him. Is he that bad? Is he a monster? A beast? Maybe he’s someone very rich and important. I don’t know, but there’s most certainly a reason our eyes are never to fall on him.
I hear the door creak open, and I know I step into a darker room because everything seems to blacken. I swallow over and over, trying to control the desperation flooding my veins. My hands are shaking wildly, and my mind is spinning with possibilities. Will he rape me? Kill me? Sell me to someone else? I don’t know what’s about to happen to me, and that thought alone is enough to make me feel like my world is closing in on me.
The door shuts, and suddenly I feel alone. I listen for a sound, something to indicate it’s not so, but I hear nothing for the longest moment. Then I hear a shuffling, and I know there’s someone else in here with me. Tears soak the blindfold on my eyes, and I try frantically not to make a sound as I sob. I don’t want to beg; I don’t want to come across as feeble. I saw what happened to Number Six when she let herself give in to her fear.
I feel as though I’m standing in that spot for hours before a hand curls around the top of my arm. I flinch, not wanting him to touch me. I hear a hushing sound, and then I feel my body being pulled down. This is it; he’s going to rape me. I’ve got not escape. I can’t even fight. I’m bound. I let out a ragged plea, and squirm harder, not wanting to give any more of myself over to these people...these monsters.
I’m pulled onto a lap, and I feel one hand land on my leg while another presses against my back. The man I’m sitting on is large, that much I know. He’s got to be quite tall, and the parts of him I can feel are pure muscle. His legs are resting against mine, and they’re solid. His chest is against my shoulder, and I know there’s a great deal of strength there by the way his muscles jump and move when he does. The arms around me are strong and commanding. The way he’s holding onto me, it’s controlling. He’s got me in a position I can’t easily escape from, and he’s put me there effortlessly.
“Please,” I whimper, and in my current state of despair, I don’t really know what I’m pleading for.
He doesn’t answer me. He just holds me there, as if I’m some sort of child. His arms rise up and wrap around my waist, securing me, and I can feel his chest rising and falling deeply with each breath he takes. I close my eyes, trying to take myself away, trying to control the fear that has my body trembling in his arms. Think of something else, anything else. I try to muster up a memory, only there are none. I try to think of the ocean or the forest, but I do hust, butn’t really remember clearly what they look like.
I only realize I’m sobbing when his hand comes up to my hair, and he strokes his fingers down the long, thick layers. I catch his scent when he moves, and he smells clean, like soap. I also get a hint of whiskey. I stop sobbing as he continues to glide his fingers down my hair. Who is this man? Why is he holding me like this? Why won’t he speak to me? Why won’t he let me see his face? I try to jerk free from his hold, but it’s no use. He’s got me in a vice-like grip, and he’s far too strong for me to break it.
“Who are you?” I whisper hoarsely.
He doesn’t answer; he just continues stroking his fingers down my hair. Is he trying to soothe me? Comfort me? Or is he just trying to mess with my head? My mind is swimming with thoughts, and no matter how long he sits, patting my hair, it’s not going to change the panic I’m feeling right now. But the more I squirm, the longer he holds me. I stop moving after ten minutes or so, and I clench my eyes shut, letting him continue, praying with every passing second that it’ll be over soon.
I bite my lip so hard blood fills my mouth for the second time today. The idea of having a stranger’s hands in my hair makes me feel ill, especially a stranger I can’t see. There’s a reason they won’t let me see him, and that makes me fear him more. My eyes are clenched shut, and my breathing is still deep and rapid. I’m trying to calm myself enough to have him believe he’s soothed me, but it’s not happening as well as I would have liked.
So he continues to stroke.
In the distance, I hear music playing, and I put all my energy into focusing on the sound. It’s elegant music, with a deep, soulful sound that only makes my heart ache more. I wish I could drift off right now, take myself to a happier place, only I don’t know if I’ve ever had a happier place. His hands suddenly stop moving, and I realize I’ve managed to calm myself enough to make him believe he’s settled me.
He lifts me off his lap, and places me on wobbly feet.
I stand like that for a long moment, listening, waiting. Then I hear his husky voice break through the silence as he rasps something into my ear in a different language.
“Încredere în întuneric, frumuseea.” Trust the darkness, Beauty.
I don’t know what he says to me, but the sound is so masculine, his voice so captivating and smooth, it has me standing transfixed until the door swings open and a guard walks in. I catch only a brief glimpse of long, dark hair swishing around broad shoulders before the man disappears into the darkness.
Who is he?
CHAPTER FIVE
I hear the door creak open, and I know I step into a darker room because everything seems to blacken. I swallow over and over, trying to control the desperation flooding my veins. My hands are shaking wildly, and my mind is spinning with possibilities. Will he rape me? Kill me? Sell me to someone else? I don’t know what’s about to happen to me, and that thought alone is enough to make me feel like my world is closing in on me.
The door shuts, and suddenly I feel alone. I listen for a sound, something to indicate it’s not so, but I hear nothing for the longest moment. Then I hear a shuffling, and I know there’s someone else in here with me. Tears soak the blindfold on my eyes, and I try frantically not to make a sound as I sob. I don’t want to beg; I don’t want to come across as feeble. I saw what happened to Number Six when she let herself give in to her fear.
I feel as though I’m standing in that spot for hours before a hand curls around the top of my arm. I flinch, not wanting him to touch me. I hear a hushing sound, and then I feel my body being pulled down. This is it; he’s going to rape me. I’ve got not escape. I can’t even fight. I’m bound. I let out a ragged plea, and squirm harder, not wanting to give any more of myself over to these people...these monsters.
I’m pulled onto a lap, and I feel one hand land on my leg while another presses against my back. The man I’m sitting on is large, that much I know. He’s got to be quite tall, and the parts of him I can feel are pure muscle. His legs are resting against mine, and they’re solid. His chest is against my shoulder, and I know there’s a great deal of strength there by the way his muscles jump and move when he does. The arms around me are strong and commanding. The way he’s holding onto me, it’s controlling. He’s got me in a position I can’t easily escape from, and he’s put me there effortlessly.
“Please,” I whimper, and in my current state of despair, I don’t really know what I’m pleading for.
He doesn’t answer me. He just holds me there, as if I’m some sort of child. His arms rise up and wrap around my waist, securing me, and I can feel his chest rising and falling deeply with each breath he takes. I close my eyes, trying to take myself away, trying to control the fear that has my body trembling in his arms. Think of something else, anything else. I try to muster up a memory, only there are none. I try to think of the ocean or the forest, but I do hust, butn’t really remember clearly what they look like.
I only realize I’m sobbing when his hand comes up to my hair, and he strokes his fingers down the long, thick layers. I catch his scent when he moves, and he smells clean, like soap. I also get a hint of whiskey. I stop sobbing as he continues to glide his fingers down my hair. Who is this man? Why is he holding me like this? Why won’t he speak to me? Why won’t he let me see his face? I try to jerk free from his hold, but it’s no use. He’s got me in a vice-like grip, and he’s far too strong for me to break it.
“Who are you?” I whisper hoarsely.
He doesn’t answer; he just continues stroking his fingers down my hair. Is he trying to soothe me? Comfort me? Or is he just trying to mess with my head? My mind is swimming with thoughts, and no matter how long he sits, patting my hair, it’s not going to change the panic I’m feeling right now. But the more I squirm, the longer he holds me. I stop moving after ten minutes or so, and I clench my eyes shut, letting him continue, praying with every passing second that it’ll be over soon.
I bite my lip so hard blood fills my mouth for the second time today. The idea of having a stranger’s hands in my hair makes me feel ill, especially a stranger I can’t see. There’s a reason they won’t let me see him, and that makes me fear him more. My eyes are clenched shut, and my breathing is still deep and rapid. I’m trying to calm myself enough to have him believe he’s soothed me, but it’s not happening as well as I would have liked.
So he continues to stroke.
In the distance, I hear music playing, and I put all my energy into focusing on the sound. It’s elegant music, with a deep, soulful sound that only makes my heart ache more. I wish I could drift off right now, take myself to a happier place, only I don’t know if I’ve ever had a happier place. His hands suddenly stop moving, and I realize I’ve managed to calm myself enough to make him believe he’s settled me.
He lifts me off his lap, and places me on wobbly feet.
I stand like that for a long moment, listening, waiting. Then I hear his husky voice break through the silence as he rasps something into my ear in a different language.
“Încredere în întuneric, frumuseea.” Trust the darkness, Beauty.
I don’t know what he says to me, but the sound is so masculine, his voice so captivating and smooth, it has me standing transfixed until the door swings open and a guard walks in. I catch only a brief glimpse of long, dark hair swishing around broad shoulders before the man disappears into the darkness.
Who is he?
CHAPTER FIVE
