6. Chapter 6

Something is tickling my nose.

The feeling of fabric against the side of my face has confusion rushing through me.

I try to bring my hand to my face to scratch at the itch, but when I tug at my arm, I'm met with resistance.

Turning my head, I push my face into the fabric, which must be a pillow, and rub it back and forth to satisfy the need to scratch.

Wait.

Pillow? The last thing I remember was finding a bottle of water underneath the bed.

Assuming it'd been forgotten there and desperate with dehydration, I'd guzzled it down.

Everything after that is a blank.

I don't remember falling asleep; even if I had, it would never have been in this bed.

Nevertheless, as I try to open my eyes, my lids feel like they weigh a thousand pounds.

That mother fucker put something in the water.

He must have.

It's the only thing that makes sense.

He planted that bottle there and fucking drugged me.

Fury rising by the second, I finally manage to crack my eyes open, but it takes several seconds for my vision to adjust to the bright light in the room.

Tugging at my hands again, I look up to find them tied tight to the bedposts with thick silk ribbon.

Panic liquifies my insides into soup, and as I crane my head around to see that my ankles are also tied to the opposite corners of the bed, the urge to vomit has my mouth watering.

Lifting up slightly, it dawns on me with horror that I'm naked.

Spread-eagle upside down on the same bed that I've refused to sleep in since I got here.

Hysteria threatens to take over when my brain finally registers the music.

That fucking song! Pulling fruitlessly on the ties, I desperately yank and yank until blood begins to trickle down my wrists.

The thought crosses my mind that even something as soft as silk can be weaponized if done by the right person.

Or, in this case, the wrong person.

Even as the silk rubs my wrists raw, I pull, trying to free myself.

When I've exhausted myself and still made no progress, I open my mouth and let out a scream full of frustration, pain, and anguish.

It's happening again.

and I'm helpless to stop it.

The sudden sound of a deep laugh cuts through the music playing from an old fashioned record player in the corner of the room.

Trying to turn my upper body around enough to see him, I can barely make out the figure sitting in the chair near the bed.

The red tip of his favored cigar glows as he puffs, and clouds of smoke waft over towards me, making the sick feeling in my stomach infinitely worse.

Bile rises up my throat but I manage to swallow it back down, along with the lump that's suddenly formed there.

The urge to cry is nearly overwhelming, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction.

No matter what happens next, I'll hold out for as long as possible.

I won't break as easily as I did the first time.

I like the new me and refuse to give her up without a fight.

Between panting breaths, I say, "I'm gonna fucking kill you, you bastard! Not just try but actually succeed this time! "

Standing from the chair, Dante slowly walks over to the side of the bed.

I try to recoil away from him, but it's impossible, and based on the smile that spreads across his face, he knows that.

Reaching down with the hand still holding the cigar, he trails a finger down the length of my spine.

The touch causes every hair on my body to rise in alarm.

I jerk as hard as I can in the opposite direction, but before I can dislodge his hand, he's flipped the cigar over and pressed the lit end against the skin at the base of my spine.

I grit my teeth to keep from crying out.

"I told you, Sirena.

It was a mistake to cover my marks with all this ink.

Do you think I want to have to hurt you again?"

I puff out great gusts of air around the pain he's causing and say, "Yes.

I think you're a sick fuck that gets off on causing other people pain."

As I say it, I can feel the burning sting from the cigar radiating outward.

A fresh wave of anger pulses through me, nearly as hot as the fresh wound.

Even knowing I'll pay for it, I turn my head to face him, craning my neck as far as my bonds will allow, and spit in the general direction of his face.

Ever so slowly, he reaches up and wipes the side of his bearded cheek.

Staring at the tip of his finger for a moment, he meets my eyes before bringing the finger to his mouth and sucking it clean.

Just when I have the thought that the sick bastard actually liked that, a powerful hand grips the back of my neck, pushing my face hard into the pillow.

I can't breathe.

My moment of defiance quickly morphs into one of terror, and that moment seems to last hours as I struggle desperately to twist my head around enough to get to the air hovering just out of reach.

Bright colors burst behind my closed eyelids, and there's a ringing in my head that starts off so loud, but as the rest of my body flails, trying to buck his hand off, that ringing begins to drift away, fading into a blissful silence.

Just when I'm sure that I'm about to suffocate to death, the pressure on my neck lessens, and I jerk my head to the side, taking great pulls of air into my lungs, all the while coughing and trying to see past the spots swimming in my vision.

He doesn't remove his hand from the back of my neck, but instead of pressing downward again, he squeezes it tightly, bringing his mouth close to my ear as he speaks his next words.

I can tell that he's breathing nearly as hard as I am, but I know that it's not from the effort of holding me down.

It's from excitement.

"I want to be angry that you seem to have forgotten all the lessons I taught you, but I'm not.

Before, you were like unmolded clay.

Mine to shape and so easily manipulated.

You're like a wild horse now, and I will take even greater pleasure in taming you."

Hot breath fans my ear, and I grit my teeth to keep the retort that's on the tip of my tongue inside.

I know I have to pick and choose my battles.

Voice dropping an octave, he hisses, "You will submit to me, Sirena.

Neither of us has a choice in this.

You were mine from the moment I laid eyes on you, and you will be mine until you draw your last breath.

Whenever that may be…"

He trails off, but the threat is clearly implied.

Before I realize what he's doing, he's sat the cigar in the ashtray on the bedside table and is straddling me.

I know what's coming before I even hear the quiet swish of the barber's blade being flipped open.

"AHHH!! Don't you fucking dare!!"

I scream, but my words fall on deaf ears.

Within seconds, I feel the sharp stab of pain as he drags the blade over the skin of my right shoulder blade.

As crazy as it sounds, I can feel every movement of the razor.

It's a heart.

He's cutting a heart into my skin.

Soon, the pain becomes unbearable, and I can't stop the scream that tears from my lips, echoing around the room, effortlessly blending in with the rising swells of the music.

The sliding of the blade in and out of my skin seems to last for hours.

With every cry of pain and every tear that manages to slip through my closed eyelids, I can feel the length of him hardening against my lower back.

He's loving this.

Even knowing that I can't help the sob that's muffled by the pillow as I bury my face deep into the soft cotton.

Sliding down my body like the snake he is, I hear the sound of a zipper being pulled down seconds before I feel the thick weight of his erection sliding up and down my backside as he grinds himself against me.

All of my resolve to be strong and not allow him to take what small parts of me I still have left fly out the window.

I'm prepared to beg, even knowing the effort is futile, so I say, "Dante, please! Please don't do this.

I'll behave, I promise."

It's a lie, but one that falls easily from my lips because, at this moment, I'll tell him anything he wants to hear to keep him from what he's about to do.

"I know you will, Sirena.

You'll be my good girl now, and eventually, when I feel you've earned it, you'll be my wife.

I'll give you the world.

All you have to give me in return is this: your body, your pain, and your music.

Your cries are better than any symphony could ever be.

You'll sing for me now, then later I'll get your violin, and you can play for me too."

Without warning, he pulls back his hips, positions himself, and thrusts to the hilt inside me.

Crying out at the searing pain, I can do no more than break down as he leans in and runs his tongue over one of the cuts on my back.

As the revolting sound of a groan releases from his throat, he pulls back and shoves into me again and again, all the while cleaning up the bloody mess left by his blade.

Soon, agony turns to numbness, and my voice goes horse from all my screams.

As the tears pour from my eyes, soaking into the pillow beneath me, I turn my head towards the wall adjacent to the bed and stare at nothing.

Because that's what I'll be when he's finished.

Nothing.

And right now, I'm okay with that.

I want nothing.

I pray for nothing.

No more Siren, no more music, just … nothing .