Trapped In Silk

1. I only need you

                     5 years after kidnapping
 

Oliver woke up from only four hours of sleep, interrupted by the obnoxious 5:30 AM alarm. Sunlight poured through the window, annoyingly bright and shining directly into his tired face. As he sighed, he couldn't help but feel the twinges of pain in his head, eyes, lower back, and hips, a lingering reminder of Arlo's relentless activities the previous night. It had been five years since he was abducted and taken to the remote countryside, isolated from the outside world, and yet, he still hasn't grown accustomed to it.

Getting agitated by the alarm's sound, he slowly sat up in bed and hit it hard, turning it off. Arlo's empty side had his blanket, which had been on him but now isn't. He must've taken it when he was sleeping. Brushing his long hair aside, he peered down at his red nightgown, which was pulled up to his waist to reveal the bruises between and on his thighs. As his weary eyes scanned the alarm clock, he saw that it was 7:15 am instead of the anticipated 5:30 am.

"Please, no," he whispered in disbelief, rubbing his eyes and hoping that it wasn't really 7:15. But it was. He sprang out of bed, pulled down his nightgown, and began to tie his hair back into a low ponytail.

-

Oliver's heart raced as he rushed down the hall toward the kitchen. As he turned the corner, he spotted Arlo sitting at the breakfast table, immersed in the newspaper. Oliver's hands trembled as he reached for the apron and slipped it on, his gaze still lowered. With a shaky breath, he finally lifted his head and glanced at Arlo.

"W-what do you want for breakfast?" His pulse was beating faster as he questioned, fearing his answer. Arlo put the newspaper down on the table and looked up.

"Well, Constance, since I'm leaving for work in 10 minutes, that wouldn't be enough time for you to cook me something and have enough time to eat." Arlo's eyes were staring daggers into Oliver, 'yeah, he's really angry.' Oliver thought to himself, not being able to make eye contact with him.

"I'm sorry. It won't happen again." Oliver apologized while he held his trembling hands together in front of him.

"Coffee." Arlo demanded while picking up the newspaper again, his hands gripping the ends of it. Oliver turned to face the coffee maker and began brewing a batch without saying anything more.

While it was brewing, Oliver opened the cupboard and grabbed Arlo's favorite mug, hoping that it would make him forget that he woke up 2 hours late and lessen whatever punishment he's getting when Arlo gets home from work later. He let out a quiet sigh to himself, watching as the coffee was slowly dripping into the pot. His mind was constantly on alert. That feeling of solitude and dread numbed him. 'Will I live like this forever?' Oliver pondered to himself as he watched the coffee fill up.

-

Oliver gently placed the steaming mug of coffee on the table beside Arlo's arm, who looked up from the newspaper and reached for it. He anticipated that Arlo would bring the mug to his lips for a sip, but in an instant, he felt the scalding liquid splash onto his face and soak into his hair. With a sharp intake of breath, he clamped his mouth shut to contain the searing pain from the hot coffee.

Arlo put down the empty mug back on the table and then continued to read his newspaper. Oliver's gaze dropped, ignoring the drops of coffee that was coming from his hair. His mind started racing again. He wanted to escape, and he didn't want to be here anymore. Oliver tried to come up with a plan in his mind, something that would help him escape this nightmare. But every time he thought of a potential plan, his mind would always come back to the same conclusion - there was no way out, no way to escape Arlo's sick fantasy.

Oliver's hate filled eyes lingered on the newspaper for a moment, and then, without thinking, he slowly raised his gaze to meet Arlo's whose eyes were already looking at him. Arlo's intense stare sent a chill down his spine, and he quickly looked away. Oliver's heart sank. Hope felt like a distant memory, replaced by a constant feeling of despair and helplessness.