High Pointe

High Pointe - Episode 11

My body ached as I rolled onto my side and sat up in bed. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and the chain around my wrist jangled a sharp reminder of exactly where I was. I swallowed hard, pushing down the panic that tried to claw its way up my throat as I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and stood, stretching gingerly.

I had expected to be sore after yesterday, but the dull ache in my ass was more intense than I had anticipated. The skin was tender to the touch, and my legs and thighs weren't faring much better.

Even worse, I desperately needed the bathroom.

Biting my lip, I glanced around the small space. Cantrell was a methodical man and it was clear that taking me was part of a well thought out plan. He'd built this room to be secure, but had he built it to hold someone long term? I stood, turning in a small circle as I took in the studio again.

My eyes landed on a shape in the shadows behind the bed. A simple closet door, one that was probably used to hold extra blankets or cleaning supplies before Cantrell's updates. I rushed towards it, the chain clattering noisily as I maneuvered through the narrow space between the bed and the wall.

I opened the door and pulled on the string dangling in the center. A dim light bulb flickered on, illuminating a tiny bathroom with a sink, a toilet, and a small shower head that pointed towards a drain in the floor.

Relief coursed through me, and I stepped inside.

The door wouldn't close all the way with the chain threaded through, but it offered a semblance of privacy and I was desperate enough not to care about the quarter inch of space that left me feeling exposed.

After I relieved myself and washed my hands and face, I was starting to feel better. More like myself. While I was trapped in this strange, underground room, at least Cantrell had left me with some dignity. And if I was lucky, he might even bring me something to eat that wasn't pre-packaged garbage. 

Though, I thought to myself as I exited the bathroom and returned to sitting on the edge of the bed, that would leave me open to being drugged again.

My stomach twisted and I closed my eyes, shoving down the truth that was swimming at the back of my mind. I was used to using sex to get what I wanted, to further my career. Using drugs to block out the experience was something I'd done dozens of times, and this was no different. I couldn't let it be different, or I wouldn't have the strength of will to follow through with my plan.

Cantrell would not get the upper hand, not in this.

I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders.

Then, I stood up and began to stretch.

There were no windows, and without a phone or watch to keep track of time, the best thing I could do was follow my usual routine and stay focused on the only thing that mattered - ballet.

I started with simple plies and battements, focusing on the burn in my legs and the strain in my lower back. Soon, the ache in my ass had faded into the background. By the time the door to the studio opened, I was sweating and out of breath. I stopped mid-movement and straightened, wiping the sweat from my brow.

Cantrell was standing in the doorway, dressed in the same white button up shirt and black slacks he had worn the day before.

He was holding a tray.

My stomach growled at the sight and scent of eggs, toast, and something sweet and fruity, but I didn't move towards him.

"Good, you've warmed up already," Cantrell said archly, "Are you going to behave yourself?"