Chapter Nine

Diana

HE JUST LEAVES after that. No goodbye. No more threats. Remaining where I am, near the bathroom, I sink down to the floor, my knees shaking so bad I can't be held up any longer.

How did this happen to me?

Again?

No, not again.

Mike was cold and calculating, yes, and he planned my captivity and forced prostitution for a long time. Same as Thomas planned on kidnapping me. But the reasons are clearly different.

Will the methods be?

In the ten months since Mike set me free — if we can call it that — I may have remained a sex worker, but I had control. As long as I paid the landlord, I could control who touched me, how, when, and what I got in return. It wasn't ideal, but I was free.

Now once more a man has decided what to do with my existence, and I hate this. But this … I don't see a way out. If this is a "community", it stands to reason more cult members live nearby. Even if I could get out of this chain, someone would see me and bring me back.

I can't be raped again, forced. I can't go through it anymore.

Don't cry , I tell myself as tears well up in my eyes. Don't you dare shed a single tear because of a man again.

The door opens, and I jump, but my legs don't carry me and I flop onto my ass, hitting my back hard against the wall.

Thomas carries a tray, giving me a curious look.

"You need to eat, Diana. The sedative made you sleep through the night."

It's morning? Hell, I didn't even know. I didn't think to ask.

He places the tray on the bed and bends down by me, observing me. Studying me. He sighs. "I calculated based on your estimated weight — did you know you're severely underweight for one of your build? Anyway, it appears you are not accustomed to medications or even illegal drugs for it to have hit you this hard. That is my mistake, and I will atone for it. Here."

Before I realize what's happening, Thomas picks me up as if I really do weigh nothing and deposits me on the bed.

"Eat. I will return later. If you are still feeling severe effects such as dizziness, our community doctor will see you."

No. No. No private, community doctors. Not after my stepfather's "friend" happily removed my reproductive organs without my consent or proper knowledge.

"No," I say, hating how weak my voice sounds. "No doctor. I'll be fine."

Thomas nods, apparently seeing I'm serious. "Good. Because we have to begin your training, and I would prefer to do so immediately."

I glance at the tray; it holds a bowl of oatmeal with fruit, a cup of what looks like black tea, another of milk, 2 eggs, and some sort of meat. Maybe turkey sausage?

I don't usually eat this much, but what will happen if I don't?

I wonder briefly if he's going to drug me again, but he doesn't seem like that's on his agenda. That was only to get me here. Now that I'm here, it's clear he wants me alert for whatever he's going to do to me.

I manage to eat half the plate and finish the tea and half the milk when Thomas returns. My eyes follow him warily as he picks up the tray and glances. My body automatically tenses, sure he's going to be upset, but why would he give me so much food anyway? If what he said is true and he wants me as his crazy psycho-bride, wouldn't he be worried if I got fat? I already gained weight since I went on my own.

"Not fond of eggs?" he asks.

I shake my head.

"I expect you to speak when I am asking you a direct question, Diana." His voice is soft but stern. That's different. Mike preferred me to be silent.

"No, I just … it's been a long time since I could eat a lot. That's all."

"I see. I will lower the portions and bring you more slowly over your time here with me."

"Why?" It just slips out and I hate myself. Closing my eyes, I brace myself for a punch or a slap but it doesn't come.

"Why do I want you to eat ?" he says slowly.

Opening my eyes, he watches me as if I am a zoo exhibit he can't wait to write up a scientific report on.

I nod. "Yes. Why?"

"You are an interesting woman, little sinner. I will return later on." He turns and leaves without another word, quietly in control of everything.

Even me.

It doesn't matter if the end result is different, a man still wants to tell me what to do and how to eat, how to live.

What did I ever do to deserve this?

A noise jolts me; apparently the remainder of the drug made me doze off. Immediately I notice my head feels better now and I am no longer dizzy as I sit up.

Thomas has entered the room, standing at the foot of the bed, watching me. I'm not used to this. Not used to being clothed in bed, not used to a man not touching me as he pleases. This is not how I would expect being kidnapped to go.

"Your eyes are clearer," he comments, his voice soft and deep. "Dizzy?"

I shake my head.

" Speak when spoken to," he commands.

"Not dizzy anymore, um, sir." Should I be this polite? Should I call him ‘Pastor' instead? I just want this to be a nightmare, but since it's reality, I have to do what I can to make it bearable.

His lips lift in a smirk. "You don't have to call me sir, but I can admit I like the way it sounds from my fiancée."

His what now?

Crazy son of a bitch.

"Fiancée? The elevator doesn't reach the top floor with you, does it?" It's out of my mouth before I can stop it, and I know I made a big mistake.

In two long strides, he makes his way to the side of the bed and lifts me while holding my hair at the nape of my neck, pulling hard.

I tense my muscles, prepared for the incoming punch or slap, but he doesn't hit me like I expect. Nor is there crazed rage in his eyes. He's still perfectly calm.

"They called Jesus crazy too," he comments. "The filthy heretics, those who would see sin control the world, those who would rather rot in Hell in order to revel in their madness and wickedness on Earth. The liars, thieves, whores. There are more of them than ever, and the reason being is those of us who are holy no longer employ the methods of conversion that used to work."

Now his eyes gleam, just a bit, but this is more religious mania than anything I saw before.

"However, here, we believe in a classic approach." He half-drags me by the hair out of the bed and into the bathroom, turning on the water in the tub and letting it fill. He leans me over it, pressing my diaphragm into the hard edge. "Stay still."

There's a noise I can't ever forget: the sound of a belt being undone. I squeeze my eyes shut, just praying it is over soon.

My body still remembers the feeling of a belt hitting my flesh, and I don't even flinch when Thomas strikes straight across my back. And again. Over and over, but not the way Mike used to beat me, uncontrolled and angry, only wanting me to be cowed and under his thumb.

Thomas' whipping feels more like he is trying to maximize my pain: he knows where to hit, how hard, how many times.

My skin is raw and tender, but I won't cry. I stopped crying at this sort of treatment long ago. If he thinks he will break me by beating me, he is sadly mistaken.

He stops when the tub is filled a little over halfway and the belt clatters to the floor.

A strong hand is on the back of my head and before I register what's happening, Thomas plunges my head under the freezing cold water.

I go to gasp air but it's too late, and I wind up with a mouthful of water, choking on it. Drowning.

He lifts me out of the tub and I take in air after spitting out water. When I feel his arm move, I know this time to inhale deeply before my face is plunged back under water.

He holds me longer this time; maybe he knows I grabbed more air before he put me under. I can't hold my breath much longer. I'm going to pass out and drown as my head gets lighter and my chest constricts.

Just as I am ready to give up, he lifts me back out again and I take deep breaths, gripping the edge of the tub to ground me.

Once more, and I am not ready this time, sure I accidentally signed my death warrant. But he doesn't keep me under enough to kill me, once more lifting me as I am sure I will pass out.

My wet hair clings to my face and neck, an added weight; goosebumps pebble my skin from the freezing cold water. My lungs hurt, my chest hurts, and my head spins, even when I close my eyes.

"Let this be a reminder, little sinner, while you're here and breathing, it is because God deems it worthy."

And what if God decides to tell him it's not worth it to keep me breathing?

Thomas lifts me, plopping me still clothed into the frigid water, which comes up to cover just half of me. My bent knees and my chest are exposed to air. And the shock of cold all over my body does nothing for the fact I already couldn't catch my breath.

"However, right now, this is all you are worth."

His zipper rasps and I close my eyes, sure I know what's coming now. Or, rather, I know he's coming now.

But once more his actions shock me, and definitely not in a good way as a warm stream of liquid washes over my exposed chest, breasts clearly visible through the thin white nightgown.

You have got to be fucking with me.

Now I truly want to cry; I don't think I've ever been so demeaned as to be pissed on, but I can't. I have to stay firm. This is day one. What the Hell will day two bring?

When he's done, the zipper rasps again and he says, "Clean yourself up and get to bed. We have a long, long journey to go on, you and I."