A Starr is Born

Morning, almost.

I find myself pinned to the bed, voluntarily, gripping to the sheets, paralyzed by fear. My eyes dart to the doorframe anytime I think I hear a noise.

Of course I couldn’t sleep that night. My mind was in instant replay mode playing back the event of the previous night. Even when I technically fell asleep from just being too exhausted to keep my eyes open, the dreams were so emotionally disturbing that I can’t even begin to recount the horror.

This prison is starting to get to me. Has it already gotten to me? Am I over?

It’s hardly in the AM and the sun has barely pushed over the horizon. This is one of those hours no one should be awake for, but trying to sleep is futile. I can’t sleep, and I’m getting restless. I haven’t heard anything from his end of the hall, so I feel I should do something productive

I should change the sheets…now. I’ve been lying in poison.

I go for the closet in my room, but there’s nothing in there besides old man smell. I look out into the hallway, eyeing the closed door of the master bedroom specifically. I tiptoe carefully to the hallway closet located conveniently next to his room.

Shit.

I tiptoe even more cartoonishly and go for the knob. The door gives a nice squeak as it opens. I stop and listen.

Nothing.

I finish opening the door. Towels,…washcloths,…SHEETS!

“Good morning,” the all too familiar hand falls on my shoulder, and I jump at his touch falling back into the closet. He’s looking down at me, smiling, satirically, as if making fun of all my ideals with one expression.

“Oh? Did I scare you? I didn’t mean to,” his smiling is even more pronounced now.

I just stare back. I wasn’t ready to face him head on.

He extends his hand out to me…

So I stare at it. What? Does he want me to take it?

His smile drops, slightly. While I don’t like him, ever, I especially don’t like him when he’s not smiling. To my slight “relief,” he shakes his head, “You’re such a silly girl,” he says while laughing at my “silliness.” What sick game is he playing now?

He grabs me by both of my arms, bringing me close to his body. His hands press firmly at my lower back forcing my pelvis into his, so I compensate at this attack on my personal space by trying to lean my upper body away.

“Oh, you!” He goes in to nuzzle with me, but I desperately lean away. Considering his vice like grip on my back, it’s nearly impossible, but he grants me the respect of retreating, so I don’t have to go into a complete backbend to avoid him. This would probably force my pelvis even more into his, and we wouldn’t want that, well, he might.

“What are you looking for?” he asks so innocently that I’m about to punch him.

I only stare back, trying so hard to not concentrate on the closeness of our pelvises for fear of feeling a surprise.

“Hmm?” he grips harder.

“Nothing!” I shout back.

He turns his face to the side and looks inquiringly, “You remember the rules, right?”

“Uhhh…yeah?”

“Then you remember no lying.” He pushes me more into the closet, my back presses against the shelves giving me no option to retreat, flushing my entire body against his.

“I asked, what are you looking for?” His hands kneed my spine carefully, “I wouldn’t want to punish you for breaking the rules…”

“Sheets!” I scream back.

“Sheet?” He cocks an eyebrow, “Now why would you need sheets?”

“I…uh…I…”

“The rules…” he squeezes even tighter.

“My bed is dirty!” I shoot back trying not to say or think about why I really need to change my sheets.

“Oh,” he lessons his grip, “What are they dirty from?” and he flashes a toothy grin, “Did you wet the bed?”

Oh, he can’t be serious.

“Hmm?” he squeezes.

He is serious.

He squeezes even tighter. He’s really serious.

“Your cum, you asshole!” I shout back, and I immediately regret my decision.

He considers me for a moment and leans in, “changing your sheets won’t be necessary. I’m moving your room.”

“To where?”

He indicates the master bedroom, “to there?”

“Then where will you sleep?” I ask back.

“In there,” he responds.

My jaw drops.

He releases me, but brings both of his hands on either side of my head pressing me once again into the closet shelves. His face leans dangerously into mine, “And I thought we were finally getting closer.”

He breaths into my face, and I turn away, partly because I don’t want him to assault my lips therefore giving him permission to enter, and partly because I don’t want to find out what his breath smells like. He leans into my hair, and takes a big old sniff.

“Hmm, I don’t like the shampoo you’re using.” He whispers in my ear. The vibrations of his voice gives me goosebumps, “You smell like an old man.”

“Yeah?” My voice trembles as he traces his nose down my neck, “Well, I don’t like anything you’re using. You smell like shit.”

Was that too bold?

He steps away from me, “I’m out. You don’t have to worry, precious, I never sleep anyway.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That day I was completely alone, and I slept in my new room undisturbed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day.

The day goes on undisturbed again. I take it upon myself to throw the cake away before he tries to make me eat the whole thing in one sitting.

The day goes by without a hitch. I try to do things to keep myself entertained, like push-ups. I’m realizing how deteriorated by body has become lying around doing nothing for so long.

Nothing. Not even a note threatening to spend 48 hours torturing me if I try to escape, so I go to bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The door bursts open. My eyes shoot open in the darkness. I can see his all too familiar silhouette coming through the room. I try to remain still, only opening my eyes a crack to follow his actions. I realize I’m in the middle of the bed, having gotten comfortable with him not being around. I’m once again paralyzed not knowing if I should get up and leave, which is what I really want to do, or stay still. He’s coming towards the bed, and I keep my eyes shut.

He flops facedown onto the bed, and he lands partially on top of me. I let out an involuntary yelp, and the next thing I know he’s straddling me with a knife against my throat. He’s looking down at me, with a serious threat in his eyes, but the threat lessons a little.

“Oh, it’s you.” He withdraws his knife away from my throat, but he’s still on top of me. I brace myself to get up.

“I’m sorry, I’ll leave-“

“No, no, no,” he pushes me down into the bed with one of his hands. He looks at the knife in his other hand, and then he looks back at me, considering something, I suspect.

My heart is pounding out of my chest, and I know he can feel that too because he looks down at it. He sighs, putting the knife back into a coat pocket, “Never mind. I’m too tired for any bullshit tonight.” He flops down next to me on his belly.

I lift myself up, “I can still leave if you want me to-“

“I said ‘stay!’” and he pins me against the bed with one of his arms, apparently still powerful enough to overwhelm me even when he’s sleep deprived, and I’ve done so many push-ups.

“Sorry,” I whisper.

He yawns. “I got you some new stuff. I expect you to wear it. We’re having dinner tomorrow. Do what I say, or I will do what I was thinking about doing just now”

And then I hear his light snoring.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s the evening, and I know he’s going to be back soon, so I frantically make sure everything is prepared. He had actually bought things for me: new shampoo, new conditioner, a new dress. A big part of me is wondering why he’s suddenly being so kind-of nice to me. He hasn’t hit me once in the past few days or tried to make me kiss him. I didn’t even receive a threat this morning, though I do have to say, seeing the way he eyed that knife last night was enough of a threat for me. I have ideas about what his motivation is not, but very few guesses as to what it is. Whatever he’s doing, I’m being sure not to let my defenses down.

I hear the front door open, and luckily I have everything out just in time. I wasn’t about to let him have an obvious reason to play with the knife and me at the same time.

He comes into the kitchen holding roses in one hand and what appears to be yet another cake in the other. Aside from “why the fuck does he have these things?,” my other question is, “did he really go into a store himself to get that shit dressed like that?”

“Auburn!” He smiles at me opening his arms.

I stare back at him, “hi?”

He puts the new cake down on the counter. He comes towards me extending the roses, “These are for you?”

I take them out of his hands, “thank you?”

“Do you like the dress?”

“Yes?” I feel I can only answer him in questions.

“Oh, Auburn,” he runs his hand around the back of my neck, and I go to move away, but he grips firmly. He brings his face to the side of mine, smelling my hair. “Hmm, well, I do like this one better,” and then he kisses me gently on the neck. Why is he acting like we’re in love? I’m not in love and neither is he. He lets go of me and gives me the look over in my dress, “and you do look nice tonight.”

“Uh, thanks?” I have no idea how to take the compliment considering he told me he implied he would carve my face if I didn’t wear the dress tonight.

“Let’s eat.” He goes to hold out the chair for me, and I go to sit, watching him very carefully to make sure he doesn’t pull it out from under me.

He doesn’t.

And he goes to sit directly across from me, tucking into his food. I go to eat as well, considering that I have to admit I know what I’m doing in the kitchen.

“So, Auburn, tell me a little about yourself?” He says between bites.

“Uhh, what do you need to know?”

“What I don’t know already.”

I stop eating, “What do you know already?” I don’t like where this is going….

“Well, I know your name is Auburn Starr, you just graduated from school with a degree in writing, you’ve worked at Joe Schmo’ on and off since you were sixteen, you have two little sisters, your parents are still together, your hair was much redder when you were little, you have a pet dog, you were top of your class in high school, your favorite color is green, you’ve had your heart broken on, I believe, three different occasions all for the same reason, and the reason you are, I mean were still working at Joe Schmo’ was because you have no idea how to start your life, and you daydreamed every day about the man who’s going to come through the drive-thru, fall in love with you, and take you away,” he smiles.

I drop my fork. I feel like I’m about to vomit everything.

He gets up and sits in the chair directly next to mine. He puts his arm around me, “but tell me about you!” He grabs me by the chin and forces me to look directly at him. “People think you’re so in control, don’t they Auburn, but deep down you’re fragile, and you’re lost. You like having someone to tell you what to do, don’t you? You know what? I think I'm that man you were dreaming about.”

We stare one another down, me glaring, him smiling, self-satisfactorily. He releases my face and goes for the cake. “I also know you love chocolate." He grabs his more modestly sized box. He brings it over and reveals the chocolate cupcake inside placing it in front of me.

I look at the cupcake. The whiff of chocolate hits me and I feel like fainting and suffocating in its glory. I look back at him, “Actually, I prefer vanilla.”

His eyes get dark and he grabs me roughly by my hair, “That’s a fucking lie!” He takes a fork with his other and grabs a big forkful of the chocolate. He brings it to my mouth. I refuse to open up. “What? Do you think I poisoned it?” He growls.

My eyes narrow.

He takes the spoonful for himself and smiles back at me with his chocolate covered teeth, “See, no poison. Your turn.” He takes another forkful and brings it to my mouth. I open it very hesitantly, not sure why, perhaps driven by the smell of the wonderful thing. He puts the forkful into my mouth, and I close my mouth as he removes the fork.

“You see, that wasn’t so bad.”

I let the moist heavenly goodness melt in my mouth. The chocolate covers my taste buds and sooths my entire body, and after all these weeks, I feel like I can say I’m happy again. I close my eyes to truly savor the sensation. My heart is racing. I want more. I open my eyes, slightly, and I turn to look at him. I realize my breathing is heavy, and I realize his breathing is heavy too.

His hand lets go of my hair and falls down my back and arm. We’re now just starring at one another, breathing in unison, it seems. I really just want more chocolate, but he wants something else because he grabs me by my shoulders, throwing my chair off the floor, and he pins me against the wall. I go to push him away, but he takes both of my arms and pins them over my head. He goes to kiss me, but I push my head to the side, and his forehead rests on my cheek.

“You little bitch," he whispers into my ear, "What are you doing to me?” It’s not until now that I notice his pelvis is against mine because I can feel the bulge in his pants growing harder. He rests his head on top of mine. “What are you doing to me?” and with that, he presses his hardness into my pelvis.

I gasp.

He lets go of my arms, but keeps me in place by pinning my shoulders against the wall.

He keeps on rubbing his pelvis into mine, and I let out involuntary gasps, no longer in control because whether I want to admit it or not, he’s hitting the spot. He’s gripping my arms tightly, and I go to grip his tightly, trying my hardest to push him away, but it’s going to take a lot more push-ups to accomplish that.

He begins gyrating his hips against mine, and now he’s hitting more than just “the spot.” He’s hitting many more of them. I cringe and bite my lip, trying not to allow myself to feel this way, but my body is getting the better of me. His breathing is getting even heavier and so is mine, and his gyrations are becoming faster and harder. I tell myself I am gasping at the pain of his pressure, which is increasing, but I have no idea what to think anymore, especially since I can feel my own pelvis going in time with him. His rubbing becomes even more frantic. He’s growling into my ear in time with his humping. I can feel he’s getting close. His breathing hitches, and he growls loudly with his final climax rubbing his pelvis more into mine. He lets go of me and braces himself against the wall with one arm by my head.

“Go upstairs,” he says without looking at me.

My breathing is still fast, my heart still racing. I look at him, expectantly.

“Go!” He growls.

I run upstairs and go straight for the bathroom, being mindful to lock the door behind me. I fall down to my knees on the floor, and lift my dress up, bringing my hand to my own pelvis, kneading my mound frantically and deliberately. I close my eyes, and try to not to think. I just try to do, and I bring my finger down to my clit and stroke it in circles, going back to my mound to knead it as well. My hand becomes more frantic and I move with it in desperation to find my own climax. I use my whole hand, my fingers placing pressure on my clitoris, while the palm of my hand massaging everything else. I can’t bother to care if anyone is listening in on me. I need this, now.

I finally cum, collapsing onto the floor. My breathing slows, and I begin to weep knowing the only reason I’m doing this is to finish what he started.