Legacy

Chapter 4: The Rules

I finally let out a cry as Michael's belt hits me the seventh time. My mouth is a raw and bloody mess from me biting down on my lip and inner cheek. Tears stream down my face as he pulls his belt back through the loops of his pants.

"Well," he pipes up, "that was intense." I'm still trembling from the pain traveling along my aching back. I lift my head just enough to see him checking his watch. "It's almost ten. I'd better get to work," he says, tossing the stuff back in the box and putting it away.

"It's morning?", I manage to choke out.

"Yeah, you slept through the night."

"We had dinner," I say, getting more confused.

"I didn't want to fuck up your digestive clock. I may be a serial killer," he lifts me back onto the bed and I wince from the stinging sensation along my back, "but I'm not an asshole."

I get more comfortable on the bed as Michael goes back to the kitchen with my water cup. He refills it and brings it back to me.

"Okay," he reaches into his back pocket and removes a tiny notepad, "I'm going to your house tonight, you should make a list of things you want from there." He sets it down on the nightstand with the water and turns back to me. "And one more thing..." Michael snatches my ankle and I let out a loud cry as he fastens me back into the shackle, "you might wan' put your shirt back on."

I gasp and cover my breasts sheepishly with the shirt. Michael chuckles as he turns back and clicks the camera off so he can put it away as well. While his back is turned I slip the shirt over my head. As I poke my head through I glimpse Michael fixing a tie around his neck in the mirror.

I curl into a tiny ball on the bed as he starts to leave. When I hear the knob click I raise my head. "Kiss goodbye," he jokes, raising his eyebrows at me. I cringe and bury my face into the pillow. "Guess not." The next thing I hear is the door closing... And then there's complete silence.

~~~~~

My migraine returns after what feels like hours, but could just as easily be an eternity of minutes. I try to sleep it off, but my body is restless and my brain is all over the place.

Eventually I give up and pull myself up to a sitting position. Maybe I should start making a list. I heave a sigh and take the pad in my hands, only for the tiny golf pencil tucked between the pages, to fall onto the pillow. I fix it between my fingers and begin to write.

This does't help my headache in the slightest. After filling out a few pages I shakily lower myself to a laying position and count the tiles on the ceiling. Every few minutes, (or maybe hours, I don't know), I yank on the chain and try to pry it from the wall.

I'm trapped for so long that my stomach starts to grumble again and my bladder begins to ache.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs makes me lose count of the dots on one of the tiles on the ceiling. The lock clicks on the other side and I throw the blanket over myself so I can pretend to be in a deep sleep. The door creeks open and I squeeze my eyes shut.

I hear the tapping echo of Michael's feet enter the kitchen and open one eye to watch him place a large pizza box on the table.

As he turns around, I shut my eye and pretend to roll over in my sleep. He sighs as I feel him pulling the blanket up over my shoulder. I make a drowsy sound to make him believe that I'm asleep. His cold fingers hook around a strand of my hair and tuck it behind my ear.