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“Kate said that you washed your hair in the bathroom sink.”
“How did she know?”
“Because you clogged it, and she noticed when she went to pee.”
“I’m just not ready to be naked yet.” My shoulders lifted and then fell.
“Okay.” His back became my view as he turned away, not saying any more about the situation while pulling a basic-looking cup from a unit on the wall.
He returned to me with a tub that didn’t say coffee. “What about this?” His fingers pulled off the lid, and an intense smell of chocolate rushed up my nose.
A flicker of a memory came back.
I sat on a man’s lap, cuddled beneath a blanket covered in stockings, with him sitting on an unusual-looking checkered chair.
“Pick your favorite one. You can go first.” His voice was deep and familiar, but his face was blurred, even in my vision.
The tiny hands of a small child—my tiny hands—hesitated above the cup filled with froth where little marshmallows rested.
“It’s not too hot, baby. You’re good.”
I selected the pink one, and the man—my dad, brushed back my hair and whispered into my ear. “Pick me one, too.”
My fingers moved back to the cup, but it disappeared. My father disappeared, and I fell from his knee to the hard ground.
I stared at my fingers, longer than they were seconds ago.
“You wanna behave like a slave, you’ll be treated like one, Cat. I’ve had enough of your shit. I’ve had enough of that boy thinking he fucking owns you. He doesn’t. You’re mine, baby.”
The endearment was the same term used by my father—but this man wasn’t him. He didn’t have the same accent or caring tone. He didn’t have the big frame that offered safety. And yet, I didn’t have the nerve to look at him right now. My head stayed low, eyes on the tiles as I ignored the scrawny shadow rushing around me.
Toenails came into view, jagged and poorly-filed and yellow. The sturdy legs I’d sat on in my last memory had been replaced in this memory by scrawny pins. The prominent knees were covered in much less hair than the skinny thighs leading up to the flappy leg holes of loose boxer shorts.
“Wipe that up.”
I wiped hot chocolate from the floor, where it had been intentionally spilled. I scrubbed with a dirty rag, wearing nothing but the outfit of a French maid, my ass exposed and admired by the man in the room as he slurped more hot chocolate from his dirty cup. His bare feet moved across the tiles, those overgrown toenails scraping at the dust.
“Cedric, please.”
“Well, doesn’t that sound familiar.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Sure, you are, Kitty-Cat.”
“Last night, you were begging him. Begging for his tongue inside you and his hands all over you.” He tipped the hot liquid over my skin, and my back bowed, feeling the sting on my ass. I hissed at the pain. His rough tongue followed, lapping up the chocolate.
My face twisted in disgust. Good thing he couldn’t see it.
Tears filled my eyes, and fought desperately to fall. My teeth bit down on my lip to stop myself from crying out any hatred that would prolong this nightmare.
His tongue dipped between the groove of my ass cheeks, and every part of me clenched and turned rigid when his tongue found my hole. His breath tickled me as he laughed, his white whiskers stabbed into my ass cheeks, and another tear splattered to the floor. He lapped and lapped, forcing his tongue inside me. I tensed harder, my body wanting him out. A finger replaced his tongue in my tight hole, and I edged away, only for him to crawl over me and follow each step like a sinister shadow. He forced in another finger, and I screamed.
He pumped, his sharp nails scraping my internal walls, causing me to sob.
My hands fell out from beneath me, and my face smashed against the floor, resulting in a golf ball-sized bump along my hairline.
He pulled back, leaving a red handprint on my rear that had me whimpering.
