Angel

What the HELL. What is wrong with this man? He's fucking waterboarding me...why did he bother to feed me if he was planning to drown me like a naked rat? Please not again! C'mon, please. Please. Please?

He noted with some small measure of glee that her body went more limp and compliant with each succeeding cup of water. Her chin tucked down to her chest in an attempt to keep the water out of her eyes. With his free hand, he cupped her chin and pulled her face upward, just enough to ensure that it got a thorough washing as well. Her tightly closed eyes and accelerated breathing told him she was beginning to panic at the water cascading down her face, so after one more cupful, he relented and directed the flow into her hair instead. Once it was fully wet, he released her face and proceeded to lather up her hair.

Unused to washing long hair, his fingers tangled miserably, and more than once her whimpers through the duct tape made him ease up on the vigorous scrubbing of her scalp. Once her hair seemed passably clean, he again tipped her head back and poured water over her hair until it ran mostly clear of suds. Moving his attention to the rest of her, he scrubbed down her body with a rough sponge. He noticed her eyes remained squinted shut as she quietly submitted to his detailed cleaning. He spoke not a word, but directed her with his hands, and for once she stayed where he placed her, almost frozen in place until he moved her again.

Satisfied with his work, he pulled the plug on the drain, unhooked her wrists, and hauled her to her feet. He gave her a quick and halfhearted rubdown with a towel before having her step out onto the bare concrete floor. Noticing now that her skin was covered in goosebumps, even in the warmth of the August night, he circled behind her and gave her hair more attention with the towel, drying it as best he could.

Standing behind her, he found he could no longer resist the temptation to use her, the inspiration for all his hard work on this cozy warehouse home. The towel fell to the floor between them, as he turned her to face him. His hands slid down quickly to grab both wrists, and pulling her hands above her head, he clipped them to one of the many hooks hanging from the ceiling beams throughout the building. When he pushed her to her knees, her arms were pulled taut, but he silently balanced her obvious discomfort against the towel cushioning her knees from the cement floor. Life is balance, he thought.

In one swift motion, he pulled the tape from her mouth. She cried out once in surprise and pain. He unzipped his pants and offered her his cock, not expecting appreciation, not feeling disappointed when he didn't receive it. He pulled her face back towards him when she arched away, his thumb pressing against her stubborn lips and teeth until she had no choice but to open her mouth. He fucked into her mouth roughly with his thumb, finally using it to hold her chin down as he entered her mouth. Holding her head in both hands, he pressed himself into her throat, over and over, relenting occasionally to let her catch her breath, until with a final thrust he poured all of his years of anger at every girl who never gave him a second glance into the back of her throat, holding her head in place until he was spent.

He left her kneeling there, arms stretched high above, as he tidied up the table and rinsed the bathtub. When he glanced over, he saw her weight sagging against the cuffs. He noted with a wicked glint in the eye that this was the first time she had been without her duct tape gag, and yet she remained quiet. It was perfection.

Satisfied with his tidying, he walked slowly back to her, unhooked her wrists and brought them down. He pulled them behind her back and clipped them together, before nudging her firmly in the direction of the cage. Once inside, he snapped her ankle cuffs together again before lowering her gently to the pillows. He wrapped a thin strip of cloth around her mouth and head before applying a healthy amount of tape.

Standing over her as she lay on her side, naked except for her bonds, he spoke for the first time since before her bath.

"Goodnight, Angel."

And with that, he turned, locking the cage and leaving the warehouse in darkness as he drove home. That night, for the first time in a very long time, he slept deeply and without interruption, and wakened feeling like a king.

This is not happening to me. It may happen to my body, but it is not happening to me. Why aren't they finding me by now? I miss Mom, I miss Brain and Beth and Jesse. Why aren't they looking for me, dammit? I just want to go home.

The next morning he followed the routine: bathroom break, breakfast and water, then back into the cage, repeating it at noon, speaking only when absolutely necessary. He communicated through tugs on her restraints or her arms, through small shoves when she didn't walk quickly enough to suit him, and through the occasional grunt. These daytime visits were by necessity only, and there was no time to enjoy her as he would've liked, although he squeezed a great deal of pleasure out of her growing dependence on him.

He was extremely pleased that evening when he showed up to let her out of the cage for a longer period, and saw how relieved she seemed, how eager she was to climb onto the treadmill and stretch her cramped muscles. Her relief was temporary, however, for after her dinner and her bath, he promptly pulled her to the table, bent her over it, and took her roughly from behind.

From that point on, he used her whenever he liked, however he liked. He had not given her any more clothing, reveling in the fact that it was, for now, warm enough that she could be kept nude and available. In the back of his mind lurked the nagging thought that soon he'd have to give her warm clothing, or else find a way to heat the warehouse.

Maybe if I am just still, just let it happen...it will be over quickly and he will leave. Fuck it, I don't want him to leave...leaving means I'm alone in the dark, in the cage, all night again. How can I get him to stay here for a while, and not do THIS to me? Can't he just talk like a normal person? Can't he just fucking BE a normal person?

Days passed. He was intoxicated by his secret knowledge, moving through his mundane tasks in a happy daze. Work had never been so productive. Stopping on the way home to pick up groceries for the warehouse, he caught himself humming in the produce department. He had never hummed, he realized, never in a lifetime. He looked in the mirror and felt taller.

Then he forgot to lock the cage.

It was a Tuesday, late in September. On his lunch break, he had brought in supplies. He'd had to make three trips to the car to lug in bags of food and extra blankets. On his third return to the warehouse, he dropped his load of blankets just inside the door, closed and locked it, and turned to look at his captive. She was sitting cross-legged in the cage, staring at him. Something was off. Something in the way she was looking at him.

Several heartbeats passed before he realized what he'd just done. He had unlocked the cage, let her use the bathroom, returned her to the cage just long enough to allow him to bring in supplies. Forgot to lock it. The warehouse door had been propped open. The September sun and breeze were flowing through the wide doors. How stupid of him. His bird could have flown.

But she hadn't.

He felt nauseous. He dropped to one of the kitchen chairs when his legs threatened to betray him, leaned his elbows on the table until he could think. There was no plan for what he would do if she escaped. He thought he had covered all the bases, and escape had not occurred to him. He must come up with something, NOW, must think of something. He knew he was looking at some serious time on several counts if she got away and reported everything. Even more troubling, all his planning would be for nothing, if she got away.

If she got away....but she hadn't. His hands dropped from his face as he swiveled to look at her. She sat immobile in the same cross-legged pose, looking at him. He suddenly knew that what he did next would impact their future. If only he knew what to do.

Standing slowly, he went to the cage, opened it, and entered. Her hands were still cuffed behind her back, but the ankle restraints he had left off when he returned her to the enclosure. She watched warily as he circled behind her. He removed the cuffs, then the tape gag. Leaving the cage door pointedly ajar, he left it momentarily and returned with a bottle of water, an energy bar, and a book he'd selected from the stack on the floor.

Setting these items in front of her, he backed out of the cage, sliding the big padlock into place with a loud click. He was careful to lock the warehouse doors as well, and didn't allow himself a deep breath until he was seated in his car. Something had shifted, and he needed time to think, time to figure out what it was and whether he liked it.

I've gotten accustomed to the silence, that's all it is. That's why I didn't grab at the chance to get the hell out of here. In my old life I had to talk all day, stupid banal conversations with people I don't care about. It's such a relief to just be silent, not to be asked how my weekend was or whether it's supposed to rain. I'm not responsible for anything, in this cage. That's all it is.

By evening his guard was up again, back where it should be, and he wrapped the ropes a little tighter than necessary around her legs, her arms, her throat, as he used her body. It was imperative right now to show her that he was not growing soft. Sure, he had rewarded her for not bolting, but let that not be mistaken for weakness.

And he could read it in her response...she knew now how the game was to be played. The more brutally he treated her, the more compliant she became. And the more compliant she became, the more he spoiled her, bringing her another book when she finished the first one, allowing her another blanket when the nights got cooler. Without language, he tamed her. With whips and cuffs and duct tape, he owned her.

Through the winter he coached her, until she was lost in her new identity. The day came when he sat at the rickety kitchen table and called her by her old name, and saw no recognition in her eyes. But when he crooked a finger and said, "Angel, come," she unhooked her cage door and crawled to him willingly on hands and knees, settling at his feet and smiling up at him.

She was content. For the first time in his life, he had purpose. But inside all the cars rushing past on the highway outside, in a frenetic search for happiness, not a single person knew the simple joy that comes from being where you are supposed to be.

Even if where you belong is inside a cage.