A Starr is Born

It’s dark. Very dark, until I feel a sudden brightness against my closed lids, along with a sharp pain in my head.

“Rise and shine, sweety!” A voice sings, sourly.

Please tell me I’m still sleeping. Please tell me that’s a voice being fabricated from the depths of my subconscious. When I open my eyes, I swear I’ll be back in my room where none of this ever happened. Maybe even Joe Schmo’ was an unfortunate nightmare of my fabrication, a warning against making the wrong decision-

“I said, rise and shine!” The voice bellows.

My eyes shoot open.

Oh, god, it wasn’t a nightmare. None of it, not even Joe Schmo’.

There he is, standing at the foot of my bed, beaming down at me, his smile just as painfully blinding as the sunlight.

“Your door was open, so I let myself in.” He indicates towards the door, and I follow his arm to where it leads to rediscover that it’s been broken off its hinges, “I hope you don’t mind,” he laughs, wildly.

Then it all comes back to me at once, in the form of a splitting headache and the still burning scratches in my back.

I prop myself on one of my elbows, being mindful of the fact that I’m not sure if I’m clothed, so I use the blanket to shield my private areas. I look down at myself to see that I am still dressed, so my already questionable virtue is in tack. That I can trust because if he violated me, I’m sure he’d want me to know. He wouldn’t pull a fast one and re-dress me before I woke up.

I look up at him to see he is eyeing me carefully.

“I told you I wouldn’t touch you unless you let me.”

“That hasn’t stopped you yet-“

“You know the rules,” he cuts me off, picking his words very delibaretely. “Besides, it’s like slaughtering an animal. There’s no fun in just killing something that can’t defend itself.”

I flinch at his metaphor. I have no idea what he means.

“ I’m starting to get the, hmm, sneaking suspicion that you don’t trust me.”

I look back at him. Like, duh.

“Have I deceived you yet? I’m a man of my word, and I gave you my word that if you attempted to escape, you wouldn’t like the consequences, unless-“

And he sits at the foot of my bed, and throws the sheet off my body. My legs recoil from the sudden brush of cold air. His gloved hand snakes it’s way up my thigh, stroking it, “tenderly”, but within reason considering his character.

“…Unless, you enjoyed last night.”

I look him square in the eye, and he looks back, challengingly, but already aware, at least to himself, that he had won the battle. He smirks back devilishly. My peripheral focus is still on his touch, which, with every stroke, is snaking its way closer and closer to my more sacred parts…

I continue eye contact, hoping my demure behavior will temporarily distract him, and I go to kick him in the chest, but his reflexes are faster than mine. This man can’t let his guard down, not even while he sleeps, if he sleeps. He holds onto my leg, by my ankle, a warning now in his eyes, but still retaining that satirical leer.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

I chose to heed the warning and remain calm. He runs his hands to my foot, holding it firmly. To my surprise, he begins massaging it.

“Because first of all, it’s futile, second of all, I wouldn’t want to break all of your toes.”

He pauses, only half of his face contorting into a grin.

“It would make it harder for you to cook and clean.”

I gulp, audibly, and he smiles, repressing a chuckle. He grabs at my pinky toe, and I try to recoil my limb, but his clasp on my foot is firm.

“Hey! Calm down.” He jerks my foot, as a warning. My body shivers all over. He’s examining my toes, carefully. He latches onto my big toe, and my body braces itself for the sudden SNAP, but instead of snapping my toe, I feel a totally different sensation.

The creep is actually sucking it.

I almost melt from the warm touch, but I keep my senses with me. Before I can stop myself, I speak, “I know what you’re trying to do.”

“Mmm?” He continues sucking.

“You’re trying to fuck with me,” he laughs with my big toe in his mouth, sending a subtle vibration through my entire body.

“You’re going to beat me into submission, and then make me think I can trust you, but that’s when you’re going to pull the rug out from under me and do something real horrible.”

“Oh, you’re so smart,” he says, mockingly, between sucking.

“Well, why else would you do this? You could just rape me, and get it over with, but you want to fuck with me even more.”

“It sounds like something you’re used to,” he looks up at me, with mocking concern, “Have you been hurt before? Do I remind you of an ex-boyfriend. Well, Auburn, I want to tell you that I’ll never hurt you,” he cocks his head to the side, laughing.

Blinded by his laughter, I take the opportunity to kick him in the chest with my other foot, but this makes him laugh even more.

“There’s no rule against me kicking your ass!” I scream.

Now, he’s practically fallen over. He really liked that one, apparently. He braces himself to get up.

“Well, it’s been fun,” he lifts himself off the bed, straightening himself out, “but I’ve got places I’ve got to be.”

He goes to leave and turns back, “I expect dinner tonight. I’m a man of impeccable taste, so make it good.”


----


The house is once again my own, and I slave in the kitchen, fantasizing about ways to escape. Part of me wants to believe that maybe Batman will come and save me. Yeah, that’s it. Stay alive until Batman comes. Batman always wins in the end. Good always triumphs over evil, right?

I continue these dialogues with myself as I strain noodles. I’ve decided to prepare something with some pasta and tomato sauce and basil and wine or something. The man can’t have taste buds considering it looks as if he’s eaten nothing but candy for the past ten years.

So, yeah, the Batman will come and save me cause he has to. He just has to, he-

I hear the door slam, belligerently. I focus back on my food. The master seems to be home earlier than usual. I hurriedly throw the thing together as he comes storming into the kitchen. Not that I’ve gotten used to the energy of this psychopath, but something seems incredibly off. It was as if all mirth and optimism were drained from the room when he walked in. I don’t dare turn around to look at him. My eyes look down and I notice his trousers are stained with blood. My insides turn at the thought of him butchering flesh. I hear him take a seat, but keep my eyes averted.

“Eh-hmm,” he clears his throat. I look over at him. He stares at the blank spot in front of him, and he gives me the “well?” motion.

I quickly put some pasta on a plate and serve it quickly. I turn away-

“A fork?” I stop in my tracks, bring him a fork, and go-

“Spoon.” I put a spoon on the table and turn to go-

“Water.” I rush to fill his glass, trying to stop my hand from shaking, He stares forward this whole time, and I can feel him inwardly seething at something. I drop the glass by him and go-

Salt?”

“You haven’t even tasted it yet-“I say as I turn to face him, but when I’m turned, I’m met by a switchblade, two burning eyes, and a gloved hand that won’t let go.

I stare at the knife. It’s covered in blood. He puts the knife in my mouth. My eyes water, my body betraying me in revealing my terrified state. He presses the flat part of the knife on my tongue, my taste buds have no choice but to absorb the taste of human blood. I try not to breath.

“Clean it.” He says. My eyes dart to look into his.

I can’t move, too afraid of his sharp appendage in my mouth doing damage.

“I said clean it!” and with that, he runs the knife down my tongue. I repress my gag. I can feel the dry blood being absorbed by my saliva. He flips the knife in my mouth. I dare not flinch, and he brings it down the other side. I close my eyes.

“Look at me, Auburn!”

I can’t look at him.

He brings the knife to my throat. My eyes open to look at his once more. I close my mouth, trying to not to taste the liquid, my insides turning.

“Swallow.”

My eyes widen. I nod “no” frantically. He shakes me, “Swallow it!”

I can’t hold it in any longer. I gag everything out and the next thing I feel is the back of his hand against my face and my head flying into the cupboard.


----


My eyes flutter open. It’s daytime, again. I go to get up, but there’s a vice like grip attached to me, and I realized it’s his arms from behind me; one around my neck, the other around my stomach. His head is resting on the crook of my neck, breathing softly. One might think we were lovers, but the sad truth dawns on me. Another night here I wasn’t conscious to experience. The second time I’ve ended up in bed without knowing how I go there. The body pressed behind mine stirs, and I feel his breath against my ear, “Hmm, make me breakfast.”