I can’t lift my head. This headpiece he’s put on me is too heavy. I feel him pull out, feel his come—no, our come. I came too. I came. And I feel it gush out of me.
My legs dangle off the edge of the bed. I’m lying facedown, unable to move. Barely able to breathe.
He doesn’t speak, but I hear his breathing. It’s ragged like mine. He’s spent. Having my sight taken away makes my other senses work harder. They have to pick up the slack, and I need to remain on my guard with this man.
This man.
He is your husband.
As if I didn’t know.
I think he’s getting dressed. I hear a zipper. I still don’t move. My eyes are open, but all I see is black, and all I feel is a throbbing pain between my legs.
He took me violently.
And you came.
Violently.
He shifts my weight, lifting me to lie farther up on the bed. My head lolls as I try to manage the weight of this thing. I put my hands to it, but he takes my raw wrists and untangles the rope, freeing me of it before setting my arms on either side of me with a single-word command. “No.”
“Please.”
“Don’t make me bind you again.”
“I can’t breathe.”
“You can breathe. Just relax.”
He tugs something out from under me, then pulls one leg open.
I gasp, try to scoot away, but his fingers dig into that thigh as he wipes between my legs.
“I wonder if Eli will be pleased to see how I bled his daughter,” he says.
“What?” I ask, not sure I heard right.
Is he satisfied with the blood? I wonder. I know there’s much of it. He’d be happy to see my tears too, I’m sure, and I’d happily give them to him if he’d only take this damn thing off me.
“Stay,” he says like he’d command a dog. I guess he’s finished cleaning me.
I stay. I can’t move anyway. And as my body settles, I become aware of every ache. I hear him walk, hear a door open, water run. He’s back a moment later, his hands around my arms lifting me. I hold onto his biceps, feel his strength beneath my hands, my forehead almost falling into his shoulder.
“You’ll learn to carry it when you’re on your knees.” He deposits me on the floor, carpet rough beneath my knees. I sit back on my heels and place one hand on the floor to support myself.
What more does he want from me?
“Close your eyes.”
I do. I don’t even know why. It’s not like he can see. But I’m tired. I’m so tired. This day and this night have drained me.
He lifts the thing off me, and I reach up to touch my face, dry my cheeks with the backs of my hands.
“I’ve seen your face,” I say and when I feel him move away, I open my eyes and watch him. His shirt is undone. I see his jacket strewn over a chair.
I watch as he puts the ornate mask into a glass case like it’s something sacred and it takes me a moment to realize he’s watching me in the tarnished mirror. Our eyes meet but it’s so dark with just the candles and the black walls that I can’t see him clearly.
“And you’d like to see it again?” he asks. “I doubt that. Bow your head and lower your eyes. Now.”
“You don’t know me,” I tell him but do as he says.
“Don’t I?” He crosses the room to the door. I watch him from behind my lashes. “This will be your room. You’ll stay in it until I come for you.”
“When will that be? When you need another fuck?”
He puts his hand to the doorknob, and I see him cock his head. He turns a little. It’s the skull side.
I lift my head. I can’t not look at the shadows of the flickering candles playing across his face.
“You should be more careful, Ivy.”
“Or what? You’ll put that thing on me again? Tattoo me again? Brand me this time? Make me marry you all over again? You’ve taken everything. Done everything there is to do.”
“I’ve only just begun.”
I snort.
He walks back into the room, back toward me and I find myself leaning away. Watching him come to me, his face uncovered, a half-living-half-dead man, it’s a little terrifying.
“Lower your gaze. I won’t say it again.”
“No.” My heart pounds against my chest like it wants out before the attack that is surely coming.
“No?”
I shake my head.
He raises his eyebrows. “I’m not sure if that's bravery or stupidity.”
“I’m not scared of your face if that’s what you mean.”
He laughs outright. “You think I’m worried you won’t like my face?” He crouches down and it takes all I have to keep my eyes on his, but he must see me lean away and he leans closer. “You want to see me, Ivy?”
I just swallow as I take him in, trying to focus on his eyes, just his eyes. But it’s too much and I blink, turning away.
“Didn’t think so,” he says, standing, crossing the room again.
“It’s not…I don’t…” I trail off, not sure what I want to say. He was beautiful once. I can see that. Now he’s something else. Something most would sneer at. Run from.
“You’ll remain in your room until I come for you.” He opens the door.
“I won’t.”
He stops. “No?” he asks, turning. “You’ll rebel?” He waits for me to answer but I don’t. “Look at you. Still on your knees before me, my mark etched into your skin, my come leaking out of your pussy. I think you’ll do exactly as you’re told. But you’re welcome to try to prove me wrong. I will enjoy punishing you.” He walks out into the hallway.
“Why?” I call out. “Why did you choose me if you hate me so much?” I have to wipe my eyes again.
He stops. It’s quiet for a long moment and I realize how silent this house is. How still. Does anyone else even live here? He studies me, eyes sharp and intent on me. He has an agenda. A purpose. And I am so far out of my league.
“Your tears won’t move me. I thought you knew that.”
“Just at least tell me why.”
“Do you love your father?”
“What?”
“Do you love him?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“And he loves you.” It’s not a question.
“My father has nothing to do with this.”
“No?”
My tears turn into sobs as everything becomes too much, too heavy, like this rosary around my neck. Like his hands are still around it.
“Christ, get a grip,” he snaps.
“Fuck you,” I tell him but it doesn’t have the force I want, not when said through the sobs. But I think for a minute I shouldn’t have said that. I think he’ll come back in here. Punish me again. I don’t think my body can take any more. Not tonight.
But he doesn’t. Instead, his lips just curve upward, a skull on one side the monster on the other and I feel my shoulders slump, my body curl in around itself as I cringe away a little.
“You belong to me.”
“I don’t.” He’s right though. In our world, I do belong to him.
“Do you understand what that means for you?” he asks as if I haven’t said anything.
I don’t reply. I don’t know how.
He shakes his head, gives a little snort like he’s bored. “You’re weak, Ivy. And you’d better toughen up because you’re going to need all your strength to survive me.”