Captive Bride, page 5
“I wasn’t sure how you liked your eggs,” I say as I reach back with my foot and close the door shut.
“Please tell me what’s inside that mug is coffee,” he says which makes me look up and see he has a smile on his face. He also has washed off the dirt on his exposed skin and has rinsed the matted blood from his hair.
“It’s black, but I can get cream or sugar if you want.”
I hope he doesn’t want sugar because I have very little of it, and I want to save what I do possess so I can make a cake later as a special treat. Papa Rich doesn’t make a supply run for a few days, and I doubt he will make any exceptions.
“Black is perfect. So is scrambled. I’m not picky.”
I let out the breath I’m holding, and hand him the tray. Not sure if I should remain in the room or not, I look for my cat. She has jumped up on the crate I sat on last time I was in the room. It’s like she is making the decision for me. So, I sit.
“I didn’t put anything in the food,” I inform, although I quickly regret saying it as I see his body tense. But I also don’t want him doubting every bite as he eats.
“What’s your cat’s name?” he asks as he drinks from the coffee first.
“Pine Cone,” I answer as I pet the top of her gray head, needing the sound of her content purr to ease my discomfort. I’m not used to sharing air space with another, especially during the day while Papa Rich is at work.
“I’m sorry,” he says with a mouthful of eggs. “I didn’t mean to snap at you like I did. I’m sure you can understand my frustrations.”
“I do. I was down here for a long time once. And… I sometimes have to come to the cellar and be very, very quiet during inspection times. My father wants to make sure that I’m not spotted by anyone during the yearly State inspections.”
“How long until they do another inspection?”
I know why he is asking, but I don’t blame him. “They were just here about a month ago. So, another year is when we can expect a visit. They don’t deviate from the schedule… or at least not since I’ve lived here.”
“While you were upstairs cooking, I was thinking.”
I don’t say anything but run my fingers through Pine Cone’s fur to soothe me. This man makes me nervous, and I need any help I can not to start shaking exactly where I sit.
“So, if we get married”—he takes a drink of coffee—“when we get married, I will need to still work and provide for our family.” He looks at me seriously, the steam from the coffee circling around his face as he sips. “I can’t do my job from here. My office is in New York, and I travel a lot to get the pictures I need. You understand that once we are wed, I can’t stay here. We can’t stay here. Right?”
My heart skips and the overwhelming… euphoria… nearly closes my airway. He wants to provide. He said the word family. He is talking marriage and our future.
“I’m sure Papa Rich has—”
“Let me tell you something about men. It’s in our nature to provide.” He bites into the bacon and pauses as I see his eyes search my face. “A strong man wants to lead his family. I understand that your father is the head of the household for you currently. But, when we get married, that role changes. I will be your husband. I will have to make decisions that are best for us. You understand that, I’m sure.”
Did I? I suppose it makes sense that Christopher would want to be the one in charge. Not my father.
“We don’t have to make a final decision right now,” he says, which puts my swirling mind at ease a little. “I just want to plant the seed. That we do have to discuss our future and my career eventually. I can’t provide for you financially and keep a roof over our heads unless I work. And I can’t do that here.”
“I don’t think Papa Rich will allow us to leave,” I say, scared that I will upset Christopher again because I like this new side of him I’m seeing.
But rather than his eyes darkening, and his jaw tightening like I am getting used to seeing, he smiles again. “We can plan all that later. It’s always hard for parents to let go of their children and allow them to go and spread their wings. I get that. We don’t have to tell him our plans yet. Let’s just wait on that. Let him get used to the fact that another man is about to steal his daughter away… so to speak. Even though he wants you to get married, this is still going to be really tough for him. So, we can keep all our marriage talk between us for now.”
“But what about Hallelujah Junction, and my mother?”
“I promise you that your mother will not be an issue. No matter where we go, she won’t be. I give you my word. I come from a family with a lot of money and a lot of resources. On top of all that, I make my own income and can hire the best security and guarantee that you never have to hide again. As for this town, well…” He takes the last bite of food and chews it slowly before continuing. “Just like the miners who built this town. They all had to leave their homes and their families to start anew. It’s part of life and has been happening since the beginning of time. I’m sure you’ve read about it countless times in all those books of yours.”
True. I have. He has a very good point.
“I’ve never been to New York.” I glance down at Pine Cone who is asleep by my side. I briefly remember simpler times when it was just my pet and me together in our isolation as we waited for the hours of the day to tick by. My face heats with shame as I add, “I’ve never been anywhere.”
“You’ll love it. It may take some getting comfortable to the idea since it’s so different than what you’re used to, but we could build a great future together. I’ll buy you a home, and you can decorate it however you want to.” He points to Pine Cone as he leans over and places the tray on the floor, keeping the coffee cup in his hand. “You can bring your cat, of course.”
“She’s my best friend,” I admit.
“Which is sad,” Christopher says, harsher than how he’s been speaking. He quickly smiles to conceal the momentary… judgment of my situation, but I saw it. I saw the flash in his eyes before he could hide it from me.
The euphoria I was feeling only seconds ago is suddenly suffocated by something much darker.
Skepticism.
Doubt.
Suspicion.
I tilt my head and examine how easily Christopher crosses his legs and leans back in the wobbly wooden chair. He cups the mug of coffee and appears so… calm. Night and day difference from the man this morning.
This isn’t real.
He isn’t real.
An act. And I should know all about acts. I have gotten very good at them.
“Why are you lying to me?” I ask, hating that the words have to come from my lips. I want to believe. So badly, I want what he says to be true. “I’m not stupid, Christopher. I know you must think I’m dumb, which I can understand. I can believe you hate me. I can believe you can’t stand that I’m sitting in this cellar and doing nothing to help you. But what I can’t believe is what you are telling me now.” I lean forward and bite the quiver out of my lip. “You don’t have to lie to me.”
For the first time since arriving with breakfast, I see an honest emotion in his eyes that he doesn’t bother to enshroud in false promises and impossible dreams.
Hatred.
I clearly see hatred.
“Ember, what the fuck do you want me to say?” He swallows the last of his coffee and glares directly into my eyes. “Do I have a god damn choice? Huh? Daddy Dearest has declared we’re getting married. So, it’s a done deal.”
“But you don’t have to lie to me. You don’t have to tell me I will someday have a home I can decorate, or how we’ll someday have a family. If you don’t mean it, you don’t have to say it.”
“Bullshit!” He throws the coffee cup across the room, and it shatters to pieces.
I jump and cower backwards but resist the urge to flee. He has the right to be angry. At least now, he’s being honest. This is what I want. I don’t want deceit. I want the real Christopher, no matter how awful the man could end up being. No matter how painful his words may be, I want them to at least be true.
He stands up and storms over to where I sit. The chain is long enough now. He can hurt me if he desires, but he stops inches from me with fisted hands.
“Do you want me to tell you I want to kill you? Because I don’t. Do you want me to tell you I want to hurt you? That would be a lie too. I’ve already told you the truth. You know I want out of here. You know I want your help… that I need your help. I’ve already told you the fucking truth. Where has that gotten me?” He leans even closer, but his hands remain at his sides. I can feel his warm breath on my face. I feel his inner demons rage out of control, but his composed demeanor keep them at bay. “Huh? Tell me!”
He’s shouting now, and though I want to run out of the room, scurry through the underground tunnels and retreat to my schoolhouse sanctuary, I feel I owe it to him to remain in place. I can’t ask for the truth and then flee from it.
“What’s going on here?” A voice I recognize well, slices through the tense air. Pine Cone snaps awake and darts behind the crates. She fears Papa Rich and has never warmed up to his presence.
Christopher remains where he’s at but turns his head to face Papa Rich who stands in the doorway.
“We’re just talking,” I answer softly. I don’t know why he’s home from work. He rarely leaves the lower level of the town during open hours.
“It sounds like fighting,” Papa Rich says, but he does not enter the room. His eyes are glued on Christopher as a stare down begins.
I’m surprised when Christopher breaks the tense connection and walks back to the chair and sits. “We were just discussing the future. You wanted me to get acquainted with my future bride, correct?” Venom drips from his words, but his body is casual and relaxed as he leans back and crosses his ankles as if he is at complete ease.
“I know the situation down here in the cellar is not ideal,” Papa Rich says. “I understand why you look at me with such hate in your eyes. I don’t blame you at all. But soon, you’ll see why I’ve done what I’ve done.”
“Is that what you think?” Christopher asks as he leans forward.
“It’s what I know.”
“You’re wrong, madman. Wrong. You’re going to have to kill me in here, you know that, right? Either that, or I’ll escape. Somehow I will. Death or escape are my only two options and there is nothing you can do to change that. You may think you have all the control, but you’re wrong.” Christopher glances at me and adds, “You can’t make me marry your daughter. You can’t force this plan on me. I’ll refuse. I’ll choose death over letting you get your way.”
“Tough guy I see,” Papa Rich says calmly, but I’m barely breathing as I wait for his explosion of rage.
Christopher shrugs which I know is meant to infuriate Papa even more. “I speak the truth. You might hate hearing it, but it’s reality. Are you prepared to kill me? Because that is what you’ll have to do.”
Papa Rich motions for me to stand by him, which I quickly do. I can feel something bad is brewing. I don’t know what, or how, or when, but the hairs on my arms stand on edge in warning.
“Have you ever heard of the phrase whipping boy?” Papa Rich asks Christopher as I stand right by his side.
“I suppose I have.”
“Good. But just to be certain you do, let me clarify. The whipping boy was used in the past to great effect. Corporal punishment was used on the unfortunate soul to keep a prince or a member of royalty in line who could not be disciplined themselves due to their status. To beat a dog before a lion. Watching another be beat for your transgressions would hopefully prevent you from doing the action again.”
Papa Rich reaches for the buckle of his belt and begins to unfasten it. I’ve seen him do this before, but I have always done whatever it takes to avoid this action. For the most part, I succeed, and I worry about why he is removing his belt while his eyes are pinned on Christopher who hasn’t moved an inch.
“Ember,” Papa Rich begins, “lift your dress, bend over and touch your toes.” He frees the belt completely, folds the belt in half, and snaps the leather.
My heart stops as confusion swamps my senses. “But, Papa—”
“Now, Ember.”
I know better than to make Papa Rich repeat himself. The punishment will only be worse if I resist or beg for him not to. I also assume since there is an audience, he will have to prove a point if I am to embarrass him with my disobedience.
I am to show respect at all times. I know this.
Closing my eyes so I don’t have to see Christopher as I bare myself, I do as directed. I hope the belting will be swift and not because of the pain but because of the embarrassment and shame of having to do such an act in front of Christopher.
“You are a strong man, Christopher.” Papa Rich’s voice is calm but stern. “I can see that in you. So strong that if it became a battle of pure brute strength between us, it’s likely you would win. So, there is only one solution to solve any issues between us. Ember will now be the whipping boy for you. If you break the rules, if you test my patience, or if you do anything I feel is worthy of correction, Ember will suffer the consequences as you watch. She will take the whipping you deserve for you.” Papa Rich repositions my body by turning me around so my bare bottom is facing Christopher. “How severe, and how often your whipping boy is utilized is up to you.”
I remain in position feeling the cool air of the room on my exposed flesh. I am not wearing panties and regret that decision. But the two pairs I do own are so tattered and thin they wouldn’t have provided much coverage anyway.
I desperately want the lashing to begin. Stinging pain would be far better than the intense degradation I am feeling now. I may never be able to face Christopher again after this punishment. What must he think?
“You are a sick, sick man,” I hear Christopher say.
“I am a man of conviction.”
“You’re insane for even thinking of this. And a coward. Who’s to say I even care what you do to her?”
“You care,” Papa Rich says. “No man would want to see an innocent girl pay for their crimes. I have a feeling it will just take a couple of lessons to truly keep you in line. Just know each whipping will be worse.” The leather touches my skin, and then I can sense the belt is being raised behind me to prepare for the first strike. “But just to prove my theory that you’ll make sure your whipping boy doesn’t suffer my wrath often, let us begin.”
9
Christopher
Jesus fucking Christ. What do I do?
Do I try to stop him? But even if I charge him, I already know the chain doesn’t reach where they stand. I’m also wise enough to realize storming toward them may help ease my conscience that I at least tried to stop this cruel act, but it will also only anger him more, and my whipping boy will pay for it rather than me.
“You want to whip someone, be man enough to try to whip me.” I attempt not to look at the bare skin of the woman bent over for my viewing. She’s owed her dignity, and I won’t gawk at the display, yet at the same time, I feel I owe her the respect of not ignoring the situation by simply looking away.
I want to close my eyes, cover my ears, and scream from the top of my lungs, but I know it will only intensify the situation. I can’t give this psychopath what he wants. He wants to break me. He wants me weak. He wants to see my fear.
The first strike lands firmly on her upturned ass. She squeals but holds her position even though her thighs quiver.
“I rarely have to punish Ember,” Richards says as he raises his arm to prepare for the next assault. “You’ll be a lucky man in that regard. You won’t have to discipline her often, if at all.”
This man…
He speaks as if it is completely normal to spank a grown woman.
This woman…
Remains in place and doesn’t put up a fight as if she too believes this is the way of society.
Although a quick glance around at my nightmarish surroundings makes it quite obvious I’m trapped in a morphed reality. This is their world. Their twisted and distorted ordinary.
He whips her again, this time a cry escaping from her trembling frame.
I can’t watch as he does it again and again, but I have to. I fear what will happen if I look away.
The whipping boy.
The cruelest torture imaginable.
I watch a poor girl get a belting that would have anyone pleading for mercy, and yet she remains mute. She whimpers, she cries out with each contact of leather against flesh, but she never begs.
I’m helpless. I can’t do anything to help her. I want to grab that belt and beat the living shit out of the monster. I want to wrap the leather strap around his neck and suffocate the life right out of him. With every wallop, my desire to kill the man grows. I want him dead. I want to murder another human being. I want to become the monster he is but even worse. I want to make him pay. Pay in the most agonizing way possible.
“Enough!” I shout.
Richard doesn’t stop. Instead, he looks at me with an evil grin and snaps the implement on her twice as hard as he had been doing. Ember howls into the musty air of the cellar but does not collapse even though her knees wobble.
“Stop! Stop! You cruel bastard!” I stand from the chair, though I know my actions mean nothing to this man.
His venomous smile grows. His whipping intensifies.
“For the love of God, fucking stop!”
I have to do something. Think. Outsmart. Otherwise he will beat the girl within inches of her life just to prove a point to me and make me suffer.
Ember screams this time as the belt cracks against her, and I nearly vomit.
“She’s mine!” I yell, which has him pausing mid swing. “She’s my fiancée, and I demand you stop touching her in this way. She’s not your concern to discipline in the eyes of God. She’s now mine!”
My words seem to work because he lowers the belt, and then pulls Ember’s dress back over her red and raw ass. He reaches for Ember’s midsection and helps her to a standing position.
