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It is no use. I can’t do it and he just gets angrier each time I drop it. He pushes his chair out again, and fear chokes me before I feel something wet run down my legs. A whimper leaves my lips when I realize I have just wet myself. Sam’s boots stop next to my chair.

“Fucking disgusting,” he says as I try to stop myself from urinating.

He walks off, grabbing a towel before dropping it next to me on the floor and using his foot to mop it up.

“You are deliberately trying to irritate me,” he mutters, and I flinch away from his hand as it grabs the table next to my arm.

I gulp, fear flooding me; I am completely at his mercy. He grabs the spoon, shoving it in my hand.

“Last warning, Ada. Now, fucking eat,” he says.

“I can’t,” I sob, and he jerks my head back by the hair again.

“What?” he snaps at me, his face barely an inch off mine.

“I can’t feel my fingers,” I try to tell him.

He stops, looking down at my hand that has fallen in my lap.

“Oh, you should have told me, baby,” he says as I look at him with my one good eye.

Is he insane? He’s fucking drugged me; he should know I can’t move.

He pulls his chair over to me before turning mine to face him. He grabs my plate, putting it on his lap before holding my chin up, scooping some food with the spoon, and bringing it to my lips. I open my mouth accepting the food, not wanting to anger him and he continues to spoon-feed me. I try not to erupt in tears at the humiliation.

When he is done, he gets up and walks into the kitchen before coming back with a wet cloth and washing my face that is sticky with dried potato and peas from him nearly choking me to death.

“You really made a mess of yourself,” he says, cleaning my face.

“I will run you a bath,” he says, getting up and walking away, leaving me sitting there.

My arm is aching from being held awkwardly behind me stuck to the table leg. I hear the water running, and he returns a few minutes later, unlocking the handcuff and releasing me, my arms falling heavily by my side. He grabs me, carrying me into the bathroom, before setting me down on the toilet. He undresses me awkwardly as he slides the lace panties off and the see-through cami. He puts me in the bath before walking out. I watch the water rise higher and higher as it reaches my chin.

“Sam!” I call out when it is nearly to my lips.

I hear the front door open and my body is slipping down the tub from the slippery surface covered in soap from the bubbles.

“Sam?” I choke out, coughing on the water, my fingers trying to push me up when I find myself sinking lower into the water; the temperature is burning my face. I suddenly feel hands grip my arms, pulling me up above the surface.

“Shit, Ada, sorry. Went to put your clothes in the fire pit,” he says as I cough and sputter on the water.

“Don’t worry. I have another red set, you can wear,” he says, grabbing the soap.

His hand holding my arm is the only thing stopping me from slipping under the water’s surface again. I suddenly wish I did drown. He pulls the plug after washing me before grabbing a towel. He dresses me in disgusting red-lace lingerie, jerking my limp body around as he pulls the panties up. He walks out before returning with a syringe. I choke on the sob that escapes me.

“Can’t have you putting up a fight now, can we?” he says grabbing my arm.

“I won’t fight. Please, no more,” I blurt out.

He stops, looking down at me. “It won’t knock you out. It’ll just make sure you do your duty.”

“My duty?”

“Yes. How do you expect to carry our children without us having sex?” he says.

This isn’t sex. I don’t know what delusional world he is living in but to me that is called rape. He knows I don’t want this. How can anyone after what he has done to me?

He stabs the needle in my arm.