… solipsubmissive …

This is a continuation; you might wish to follow this link to the beginning:  Part 1 

“Bastard,” she hissed. 

The instant the word slithered past her lips, she felt better.  A foolish move, possibly, but it gave her something to grasp, a piece of herself upon which to focus in this nightmarish situation.

So she sat there, enjoying the word that hung between them in the darkness.  She did not know him, couldn’t guess at his reaction.  All of ten minutes had passed since she’d awakened and realized she wasn’t alone.  Hardly time to get to know one’s captor, even if one chose to observe all the proprieties.  An unbidden giggle rose within her as she wondered what rules of etiquette she should follow, having found herself the unwilling guest of an unidentified man. 

Strangely, he reacted to the realization that she was on the verge of laughter, but not to the epithet she’d hurled.  “Do not even consider becoming hysterical.”

The giggle faded and she stood, intending to brush past him back into the bedroom.  He wouldn’t move out of the way, however, and she found she was reluctant to allow herself to touch him in any way that could possibly construe intimacy.  If she faced him as she passed, her breasts would come into contact with him.  If she turned away…well.  So she stood there, growing more and more furious with each passing second.  “I have some questions,” she said, finally, her voice carefully bland.

He turned and walked from the bathroom without a word.  She followed him.  “Tell me why i am here.”

“Get some sleep.  You’ll want to be well rested tomorrow.”

“Why?” she persisted.  “Why am i here?  Why will i want to be well rested?  Who are you?”

He stopped by the door and knocked softly.  The quiet sound of a key turning in the well-oiled mechanism followed.  He looked at her quietly a moment more, then opened the door and slipped out.  The door closed and locked behind him.

The impulse to throw herself against the door gripped her, to beat upon it in the hope that someone, anyone, might hear and release her.  She controlled the urge with effort, closing her eyes and somehow summoning the strength of purpose to fight her instincts.  She knelt, picked up the sheet he’d removed from her body, and carried it back over to the bed, intending to strip and remake it so that she would be able to sleep comfortably.  Somehow, performing a normal function seemed important to her, and she busied herself doing just that, refusing to allow herself to think about her situation until she had finished this task.

***

Stephen sat quietly in the small room, watching Elizabeth make the bed.  Her movements were precise and deliberate, and he smiled.  He knew her.  This was typical.  She took comfort in ritual, and was busy establishing rules for herself within her new environment.  Her focus on making the bed was the first evidence of this.  Drugs had been used up until this point, both to keep her subdued and to disorient her.  She no longer had any idea what time it was, what day it was, how long she had been here.  Her sleeping patterns were off, and would be reestablished according to his orders.   Everything about her existence, in fact, would be controlled by him. 

His attention turned to the document open on the monitor to his left.  Her file.  He scrolled through the pages, stopping at various pictures as they passed.  Her eleventh birthday, celebrated with her paternal grandparents, her father an indistinct presence in the background.  Candid shots of her dance recitals, soccer games, school dances.  She had grown up, privileged and happy.  She didn’t miss not having a mother, because she couldn’t remember what it was like to have one.  His lips quirked in a humorless smile.  A blessing for her.  He had never been afforded such a privilege.

He glanced back at the security monitor.  The bed was now neatly made and she wandered around the room, examining everything.  He experienced a mild spurt of annoyance that she hadn’t listened to his directive to get some sleep, though he really hadn’t expected her to do so.  She stopped at the window, giving it a cursory inspection from the inside, realizing quickly that there was no mechanism for opening it.  She looked through it for even less time, something he found interesting.  Most people would stare out the window, trying to determine location, looking for landmarks, for a way to escape.  Elizabeth appeared to do nearly everything methodically.  No need to waste much time on what lay beyond the pane of glass if she had  no means of accessing it.

She opened the dresser drawers, discovering each of them empty, then did the same for the small nightstand next to the bed.  The furniture dispensed with, she began scanning the walls.  It would only be a matter of time before she discovered the cameras, though she couldn’t do anything about them.  They were out of her reach, recessed behind solid plexiglass, and the furniture in the room couldn’t be moved.  For the time being, her eyes skipped over them without registering what she saw.  She was tired, the drugs still working their way out of her system.  The darkness outside the window told her it must be night and that she should likely be sleeping.

She stood, for a moment more, in the middle of the room, then went to the bed, pulled back the covers and slid beneath them.  She pulled them up smoothly and turned on her side, closing her eyes and drifting off almost immediately.

Stephen pushed a button on one of the cameras.  It zoomed in slowly, until her face filled the screen, a face with which he had become reluctantly fond.  A small bruise was forming on her cheekbone where he had slapped her.  He stood and left the room, locking the door behind him.

It would heal quickly.  The physical marks always did.

Part 3