Bound By Desire

Chapter 8: Crime and Punishment

Rosalia’s POV:

Why? Why do I get the feeling he cares? What happened? Who is he? Does he? Am I just perceiving the situation wrong? As Mara drags me down the corridor, my mind swirls tempestuously, my attention still lingering on the confrontation in the hall. Bloody hell. I thought I was dead for a second there, unable to stomach the idea that he could’ve killed me right there. Right f*****g there. s**t. I need to calm down. Sighing deeply, I feel a tug on my hand and look up to see Mara shooting me a quizzical look. “What, Mar?” I ask, snapping slightly from the swirling emotions raging around inside me. Seeing her expression, I immediately feel guilt wash through me. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Her reply is soft and I glance at her with a puzzled expression. “What?” Her question echoes mine and I shrug, shaking my head and looking ahead as she continues to lead me through the labyrinthine corridors deeper into the palace.

When she doesn’t try to talk to me again, I let my mind wander back to the strange scene that had played out moments before. Who was it that I bumped into– or more accurately was thrown into by Mara’s exuberance. And why did I get the strong feeling that he cared about me? We’ve never even met?!

It occurs to me then that there are two ways that I can read what just happened. One, I am completely misreading the care in his eyes and he doesn’t give a s**t about me and I am just deluding myself into thinking that someone actually cares about me for once. Or two, this mysterious figure actually does care about me and I’m not going crazy.

At this point, I can’t tell which is the better outcome.

Groaning to myself with frustration, I hear Mara’s soft laugh and shoot her a fake angry expression to which she holds up her hands in mock surrender and I giggle, despite my anger. As time passes, I realise that I never told Mara where I was going and am surprised when she leads me to a set of oak doors. “How did you know where to go?” I ask, not even knowing myself. My curiosity is evident in my tone. Mara laughs. “What?”

“You really don't know a lot about witches, do you, Rosa?”

I look away and glower silently in the direction of the wall. “I know enough non-flattering information,” I mutter darkly, for some reason put out by her teasing. She must have noticed my anger as she softens and places a hand on my forearm. I think about shrugging it off but decide against it when she rubs my arm comfortingly. “Sorry,” I mutter, sensing I’m in the wrong. She smiles wryly in my direction before also apologising.

“No, I’m sorry, Rosa. I sometimes forget how little you know of this world.” She smiles again and I grip her hand, glad to have my friend back. “As for how I knew where I was going, I just followed my instinct. It’s never led me wrong before.”

“Seems like you can add another score to that perfect record.” I joke, trying to push down the fear suddenly bubbling up inside my chest. “Mar, what time is it?”

“Um…” She looks around for a clock and shrugs. I mentally curse myself for forgetting my phone in the room I was sleeping in, tucked inside my bag. “Sorry, no clue.” She mutters and I shrug, telling her it's no big deal.

Embracing Mara, I rest my head on her shoulder as she pulls me close, whispering words in my ear too fast for me to understand. I think about asking her what she’s saying but instead allow the comfortable feeling inside me to spread and choose to ignore what she’s doing. Taking deep breaths, I try to steady my suddenly erratic heart enough to convince myself that I won’t give myself an accidental heart attack. Hopefully. However, that calm is shattered moments later when the huge doors bang open and a hand snakes out of the darkness to pull me away from Mara.

“RUN!” I scream when she refuses to move. She blinks twice and I see a scarily calm look settle in her expression. Terror grips me and I pull against my captor. “MARA! RUN!” I scream the words at her with all the power I have and finally see her snap out of the trance. Fear replacing the calm and complacent look she had worn only seconds before. She nods at me and runs back down the corridor we had walked together. I push down my lingering sadness at her departure, my relief stronger as I watch her run from the danger that clearly made a home in this room. Swallowing down my fear, I feel a dormant fury rise up and replace it, causing me to clench my hands into fists at my sides.

“You’re late, angel.” My Master’s soft voice seems to ring through the empty room as the doors shut behind me. Locking me in the dark room.

“Sorry.” I spit venomously when my mysterious instincts don’t prompt me on how to respond. “Didn't mean to.” I can hear the acidic mockery in my tone and smirk into the darkness, knowing that if I went too far my instincts would pull me back. Tension ripples through the dark room and I find my eyes shifting restlessly in the dark to try and find a way out.

My Master seems to have other ideas though, as he suddenly lets go of my wrist and pulls me back by my hair, so I fall to the floor, crashing into a heavy piece of furniture on the way. Grimacing in pain, I mumble a string of expletives and feel myself being slowly pulled deeper into the darkness. Trying to pull away, my Master tightens his grip on my hair until I have to stop, fearful he’ll pull it out. He leads us along a corridor and then up a set of stairs. Along a room. Down some stairs. On and on. He continues to drag me and I try to pull away when he slightly relaxes his grip on my hair.

Eventually, he stops and I feel the grip on my hair vanish. The room is still blanketed in darkness, so I can’t hope to run that way. Mentally cursing, I try to think back to where he pulled me, but all I remember is the rough feeling of the stone against my bare skin. Sitting up slightly, I run my hand through my thick hair and was relieved to find no tangles, despite Master’s rough pulling. Shivering with the cold, I hear a low laugh resonate throughout the room and my fear momentarily spikes as my instinct for self-preservation snaps on. Scrambling to my knees, I lurch away from the floor and turn to run back up the stairs.

Hindered slightly by the lack of light, I run as fast as I can along a narrow corridor, my hands feeling along the stone walls to guide me. The cold from the floor numbs my bare feet but I keep running, my sole thought being to leave. I keep running, the dark causing me to slip several times until I have bleeding palms and knees from constantly falling down. Panicking, I still keep running until my foot catches on the edge of a staircase and I tumble down, my head hitting the stone steps with enough force to generate a feeling like a cannonball going off inside my head. Moaning once, I stagger to my feet and continue to run.

Up stairs. Along corridors. Down more steps. Along another corridor. Eventually, I stop trying to map where I’ve been and instead choose to let my feet guide me. Eventually, the arctic cold disappears, replaced by a warmth that has me shivering with the bliss of it. Looking around, I notice a large fireplace set in the west wall of the room I ran into and race over to it, looking at myself in the mirror set above the mantel.

I look awful. Blood runs down my face from a gash over my hairline from one of the many times I tripped and fell down the stairs. My skin has an unhealthy blue shade to my naturally olive complexion and my hands and feet are numb. Even to the crackling warmth of the fire. Bruises cover my arms and legs from bumping into things in the dark and I can see I have scraped my hands and knees when I have fallen repeatedly onto the stone floors. Worse was the state of my dress. Ripped and torn, I could see it had almost fallen apart from all the running I had done to.. wait. There. A door.

Elated by my success, I move to turn away from the mirror only to hear the distinct snap of a light switch and for light to suddenly illuminate the room, blinding me. I raise a hand to shield my eyes only to feel a cold pair of hands grab my wrists, followed by a click as something locks in place. Blinking behind my hands, I feel a cold, metallic, sensation around my neck before a similar clicking sound of a lock sliding into place. When I open my eyes, Master stands between me and the door and I know I’ve failed.

“Naughty angel, you should know better than to run.” Master laughs cruelly and I feel the impossibility of my situation slam into me instantly, causing my shoulders to droop and I hang my head, hoping to hide the tears in my eyes.

“Sorry, Master.” I hear myself reply. Clearly, it was my instinct, as there was no way I was sorry for trying to escape. “It won’t happen again.” Stupid instincts, of course it will. I’m not staying here. I can’t.

A sigh. “Oh, angel, what am I to do with you?” I feel his finger stroke across my collarbone and I force myself not to flinch. He pauses. “I suppose I must punish you.” He sounds thoughtful and I swallow, fearful of what is to come.

He grabs my wrist after a moment, above whatever he placed on it, and leads me back the way I came through. This time I have light to see where I am going. Odd sections of the wall and floor are spotted with a dark red and I shiver, knowing it’s my blood that paints the walls of this torture chamber. Torture chamber. I shiver mentally, my exhausted mind plagued with images of what awaits me for my ‘punishment'. Pushing down my fear, I feel my old confidence and anger rise. He wouldn’t break me. I won’t cry. Not again.

Strengthening my resolve, I follow behind my Master, back down to the seemingly subterranean levels where the arctic cold wind licks at my skin. With the light illuminating the room, I look around and swallow once out of shock. s**t. It really was a f*****g torture chamber. Narrowing my eyes with disgust, I stand still when my Master lets go of my arm, already knowing that it’s futile trying to escape. For now.

“Stand by the wall.” Master’s command is simple but I still refuse with every fiber of my being until a phantom feeling inside me causes me to put one foot in front of the other until I am standing facing the wall. “Good.” I glower and mentally curse at what or whoever put me in this position. “Now I want you to count. Can you do that?” Master phrases it as a question but I can hear the dangerous tone. Huffing a sigh, I scoff to myself. Course, I can bloody count. How old does he think I am? Two? I snicker and answer his question. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve…” I keep going until I feel the biting sting of a leather whip crack across my back.

For a moment, I feel nothing beyond the breaking of my skin and a warm, wet, liquid dripping down my back. Then the whip cracks again and I feel my skin split and the pain rages inside me. I bite down on my lip and struggle not to scream as I feel the same sensation repeatedly. Eventually, I bite my lip hard enough to make it bleed, causing me to gag when the metallic taste of blood floods my mouth.

“You are supposed to be counting, angel. Don’t make me start again.” My Master’s voice is laced with threat and I release my lips enough to speak. “One.” My voice shakes but he seems satisfied and keeps beating me. Waiting each time for me to continue to count. Once we pass 40, I begin to feel lightheaded and once he reaches 50, I feel myself passing out. Whether or not he continues after I pass out, I don't know.

When I wake up again, after I black out, I can see I am no longer facing the wall but rather curled in a ball on the floor, my arms wrapped around me. Groaning my whole body feels like one giant bruise and I struggle up to my elbows so I can see how my Master left me. Raising my head, I bang it against a metal surface and feel a ripping sensation along my parting line before a warmth spreads over my hair and drips onto my shoulders. Blood.

Looking up in shock, I can see I was curled on the bottom of a small metal cage. Panicking instantly, I grasp the bars closest to my face and rattle them, hearing the sound echo through the room. “HEY! LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT!” I’m sobbing as I try to bend the bars or break the lock. Anything to get out. See, I’ve always been slightly claustrophobic. Small spaces just don’t agree with me. Never have. Never will.

Forcing myself to take deep breaths, I slowly run my hand along the top of the cage to feel small spikes embedded evenly along the metal surface. Thinking it through, I must’ve caught my head on one and torn the skin, hence the blood I can hear monotonously dripping onto the floor of my own miniature prison. I hear my Master’s laugh before he comes into view. I huddle in the middle of the cage and glare at him through the bars, hissing with anger. He merely laughs and bends down to my eye level. “What do you want?” I ask, my tone cold enough to put a winter’s frost to shame.

“For you to behave, angel.” God, I hated him calling me that. Like some sort of f****d up pet name when all he does is abuse me and run me ragged. I snort sarcastically and turn my head so I can’t see him anymore. Eventually, he gives up and moves away. I hear him move about in another area above me before the sound of the old oak doors is heard opening and closing. Glancing down at myself, I can see the dress I had been wearing was long gone, leaving me in my underwear. I cry in mute horror as my mind registers the assortment of deep slashes caused by the leather whip. I know most will scar and for some reason that has me in tears. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not vain. It’s just I don’t want to have to carry around the memories of this place if - no, when - I manage to escape. I wanted to be able to leave it all behind. But now I guess I never will. Most have closed to scabs but a few are still bleeding slowly so I guess I must have been out for hours. My whole body feels sore, so I know my scars aren’t confined to the ones I can see.

Sniffling softly, I move my arms only to notice the silver cuffs adorning each wrist. It must’ve been the clicking sensation I heard earlier. Remembering the cold feeling around my neck, I reach a tentative hand and feel a cold metal collar. Sobbing once, I put my head in my hands and cry silently, the inevitability of my situation hitting me. As my sobs fade, another small tidbit of information shakes loose from one of the many black holes in my memory. Collars and cuffs were used for the most disobedient slaves. Usually, those didn't last long - since they were dead soon after. Unfortunately for me, however, I get the sense that Master Asher intends to keep me around. Just to abuse me.

Screaming into my hands, I let the misery and pain overwhelm me for a moment before I hear footsteps. Then his voice.

“Are you ready to talk now, angel?”

I sit in the shadowy back corner of the cage, my knees drawn into my chest. “f**k you.” I snarl, my anger building as my sobs subsided. He’s silent. Then I hear the door again. Then he’s gone.

***

Hours pass. Maybe even days. Stuck alone in my cage with my own misery as my sole company, I feel restless and eager to leave. Though my hatred for my Master is still dominant inside me, I can still feel the fear of some repressed instinct and confusion over what happened before I was pulled into this lair of misery and suffering. f*****g great. I was being kept captive by a sadistic and depraved Master and I couldn’t even shut off my thoughts long enough to sleep.

As I’m about to, I hear the door and then his voice. “Ready now?” The voice returns and I feel hatred rise in my chest.

“Go f**k yourself. Asshole.” A moment of silence stretches and I slide my legs, so I sat with my back to the wall and my legs laid flat. For a second, I think he’s left, before I feel him grab my ankles and haul me out roughly. “LET ME GO!” I scream, hoping to god that someone will hear me. Nothing. He drops me to the floor and I attempt to scramble away, only to feel him pull me upright and grab my wrists in a vice-like grip. I pull my arms to try to evade his grip but he twists them high above my head as he pushes me face-first onto the floor.

Silent I wait. The room feels hotter for a moment before I sense my Master coming over to me and holding me down. I wriggle under his cold hands before I feel a white-hot agony explode over my back. But the pain’s strangely familiar. Whatever he’s doing now must’ve been how he kept me awake enough to elicit the continual beating when I could no longer count. Whimpering from the dull pain, I hear him throw something into a corner and pull me up by my hair.

“You will learn to behave and obey me. Slave.” He spits the last word out and I glare, pulling away.

“I don’t belong to you. I never have and never will.” I twist in his grasp but he only holds me tighter and I struggle to breathe after a moment, the godforsaken collar clearly enhanced to allow him to control me.

“Learn the proper respect.” Is all he replies, but I shake my head and try to pull away, my earlier rebellious fire raging through my body and powering me on. Oblivious to my injuries. After a while, I stop struggling and feel his grip on my hair loosen slightly. “There now. Have you learned?”

“Never,” I glare at the wall, my anger simmering. “Never, because I will never swear myself to you, never bow down to you and never let you–” I have more to say but he clamps his free hand over my mouth and forces me to be quiet.

“Oh, angel, that's the wrong answer.” He traces a finger down my neck and over my collarbone, moving my heavy hair over my shoulder as he did so. “I don't want to have to punish you again, but it appears you give me no choice.” My muscles tense involuntarily and as soon as he releases his grip on me I race over to the steps where I know I will eventually reach the room with the door.

As I start to run, the lights switch off and I trip on the step I had been running on. Catching it with my hands, I end up on my knees and struggle to stand up. Fueled by adrenaline, I keep running, sensing his love for the chase, since he could easily have caught me many times but chose to let me keep running. Sick bastard. Breathing heavily, I keep running but soon end up lost inside the complex layout of rooms that I am now certain to have been designed that way specifically to confuse the lost and panicking. Refusing to submit to fear, I push down the instinct inside me that clamors for me to obey and go back to my master. Stupid instinct, fat lot of use you are. I roll my eyes and keep running, my feet soon turning numb and blue with the cold. I shiver but refrain from rubbing my arms for as long as possible, since I know I will only break open the scabs over the already healing scars.

“Stop running, angel, you can’t hide.” Master’s voice seemed to reverberate throughout the space and I found myself running with hands over my ears to keep the sound from also echoing inside my head. Closing my eyes against the pain of running in my condition, I trip and fall headfirst down several flights of stairs before rolling to a stop and hitting my head on a stone wall, causing more blood. Moaning, I curl into a ball, even when I sense my Master finding me and pulling me up.

Glancing up at him through half-closed eyes, he asks. “Are you sorry?”

“Never.” I scowl and feebly attempt to pull away. “I’ll never be sorry. And you can’t make me.” I glare at the wall, knowing that if I move my head it’ll make the pain worse. Besides, I have the feeling that Master Asher isn’t done with me yet.

He sighs, clasping me close so his head rests above mine and I’m imprisoned in his arms as he moves my hair even further away from my neck. I shiver internally, hating the feeling of pain that came from his bite. But I’m powerless to stop him. As he moves his mouth to my neck, I see the dim light bounce off his fangs, making them appear seemingly pearlescent in the dim light and my hazy vision. Still struggling, I attempt to move away. Until he strikes.

Holy f*****g hell. Before the bite had stung, but now.. now the pain started at my neck and then rippled through my whole body, as if running through my blood. I try to keep the scream inside but eventually, I can’t hold it back anymore and it rips out of me in a hair-raising howl of misery. Pure agony seems to flow out from where he bit me and infuses every cell of my body. Anguish. Pain. Fire. I scream, again and again, my voice shooting up each time as the pain increases.

Eventually, my vision starts to fade and for a split second, I’m afraid he’ll kill me. I know I must be close. Although just before he would have killed me, he releases me and throws me out the wooden door and along the stone floor until I hit a wall and pass out. Finally.