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His lips lift in a smirk. “You don’t have to call me sir, but I can admit I like the way it sounds from my fiancée.”
His what now?
Crazy son of a bitch.
“Fiancée? The elevator doesn't reach the top floor with you, does it?” It’s out of my mouth before I can stop it, and I know I made a big mistake.
In two long strides, he makes his way to the side of the bed and lifts me while holding my hair at the nape of my neck, pulling hard.
I tense my muscles, prepared for the incoming punch or slap, but he doesn’t hit me like I expect. Nor is there crazed rage in his eyes. He’s still perfectly calm.
“They called Jesus crazy too,” he comments. “The filthy heretics, those who would see sin control the world, those who would rather rot in Hell in order to revel in their madness and wickedness on Earth. The liars, thieves, whores. There are more of them than ever, and the reason being is those of us who are holy no longer employ the methods of conversion that used to work.”
Now his eyes gleam, just a bit, but this is more religious mania than anything I saw before.
“However, here, we believe in a classic approach.” He half-drags me by the hair out of the bed and into the bathroom, turning on the water in the tub and letting it fill. He leans me over it, pressing my diaphragm into the hard edge. “Stay still.”
There’s a noise I can’t ever forget: the sound of a belt being undone. I squeeze my eyes shut, just praying it is over soon.
My body still remembers the feeling of a belt hitting my flesh, and I don’t even flinch when Thomas strikes straight across my back. And again. Over and over, but not the way Mike used to beat me, uncontrolled and angry, only wanting me to be cowed and under his thumb.
Thomas’ whipping feels more like he is trying to maximize my pain: he knows where to hit, how hard, how many times.
My skin is raw and tender, but I won’t cry. I stopped crying at this sort of treatment long ago. If he thinks he will break me by beating me, he is sadly mistaken.
He stops when the tub is filled a little over halfway and the belt clatters to the floor.
A strong hand is on the back of my head and before I register what’s happening, Thomas plunges my head under the freezing cold water.
I go to gasp air but it’s too late, and I wind up with a mouthful of water, choking on it. Drowning.
He lifts me out of the tub and I take in air after spitting out water. When I feel his arm move, I know this time to inhale deeply before my face is plunged back under water.
He holds me longer this time; maybe he knows I grabbed more air before he put me under. I can’t hold my breath much longer. I’m going to pass out and drown as my head gets lighter and my chest constricts.
Just as I am ready to give up, he lifts me back out again and I take deep breaths, gripping the edge of the tub to ground me.
Once more, and I am not ready this time, sure I accidentally signed my death warrant. But he doesn’t keep me under enough to kill me, once more lifting me as I am sure I will pass out.
My wet hair clings to my face and neck, an added weight; goosebumps pebble my skin from the freezing cold water. My lungs hurt, my chest hurts, and my head spins, even when I close my eyes.
“Let this be a reminder, little sinner, while you’re here and breathing, it is because God deems it worthy.”
And what if God decides to tell him it’s not worth it to keep me breathing?
Thomas lifts me, plopping me still clothed into the frigid water, which comes up to cover just half of me. My bent knees and my chest are exposed to air. And the shock of cold all over my body does nothing for the fact I already couldn’t catch my breath.
“However, right now, this is all you are worth.”
His zipper rasps and I close my eyes, sure I know what’s coming now. Or, rather, I know he’s coming now.
But once more his actions shock me, and definitely not in a good way as a warm stream of liquid washes over my exposed chest, breasts clearly visible through the thin white nightgown.
You have got to be fucking with me.
Now I truly want to cry; I don’t think I’ve ever been so demeaned as to be pissed on, but I can’t. I have to stay firm. This is day one. What the Hell will day two bring?
When he’s done, the zipper rasps again and he says, “Clean yourself up and get to bed. We have a long, long journey to go on, you and I.”
