The Boy I Found in my Basement

Chapter 8

He told us that he had to go to work, which would mean hours away from his little basement family. The other part of my torture was to stay handcuffed to the bed for the entire time he was gone.

"Don't look creep. You've already done enough," I scoffed at him. 

He rolled his eyes at me. "You're not the type I'm interested in, trust me."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

The boy looked down at the ground, his hair falling over his face shaggily. His face turned bright red. "I don't like your type," He repeated.

My heart pounding like a fortissimo, he gave in like a lost sheep but had the nerve to tell me that I'm not his type. "Didn't seem like that when you sheepishly gave into him." I felt snarky and powerful. Even though I was handcuffed to a bed I knew I was making his blood boil.

"I'm not into girls! Are you happy now?" He yelled exasperated. "How much more do you want from me? You tell me that I follow like a sheep, says a lot coming from his living doll."

I promptly closed my big mouth and bite my lip to stop myself from saying anything else. I was disgusting.

But he wasn't done with me. No, not even close.

"Yes, Daddy. No, Daddy. Sorry, Daddy. Do you ever get sick of being so god damn subservient all the time? He's been touching you for years, you talk all about while you're sleeping princess. You let him. I was drugged and hauled here in the trunk of car but you pretty much waltzed down here on your own. No sort of obedience plan will work on him since all you do is sit at his hand and foot. You're treated like a little princess down here but please, leave me out of your little psycho game." His breathe was warm when he spoke close to my ear.  

"I'm sorry Dante, I, I didn't know." My ears were bright red and it was killing me not to be able to fidget with my hands.

"No I'm the one who should be sorry. I felt bad for you, I tried to protect you. I wanted you to hold on but you let go a long time ago. I'll know you're really sorry when his touch isn't substituted by mine."

He left me all alone. All alone with my thoughts and fears. Silent tears dripped down my face like a sun shower. I was stupid for following him into the basement. I was stupid for letting him look at me. Why didn't I tell my mother? If I told her I wouldn't be here, I would be with her.

 "Father it's not fair! Christopher has a girlfriend, he's been dating since he was younger than me." I stomped both of my feet dramatically on the ground as I threw myself onto the couch.

"You're a girl Angelina. You can't go in bed with every single boy in town. I will not have my daughter conceiving a child just three days after her fourteenth birthday."  

He sat down next to her on the couch. She moved over, or at least she tried to. He pulled her in closely letting her writhe in his grasp.

"Angelina, the stuff you want to do is for stuff you should save for your Daddy." Daddy. He just called himself Daddy. He would tell me that it was childish at my age to refer to a man of high power as if you were a small child. Now he's called himself "Daddy",  which is what I called him when I was a small child. 

He pulled my struggling body onto his lap. Looking me directly in the eye he whispered into my ear something so perverse it almost made my heart stop beating for a fraction of a second. "Save good kisses like these for your Daddy."

His slimey lips were pressed against mine, his meaty hands in my hair. He never kissed my mother this way. He was sweating like a pig, breathing heavily. He squeezed my neck.

"S-stop! I, I can't b-breathe Father. Please!"  He was focused, determined to hurt the girl he kissed because he wanted to. He wanted her.

"Kiss me back, little girl. Am I not doing a good job? I bet you kissed that boy better." He didn't loosen his grip, he didn't tighten it. He knew he was hurting me. I didn't have much air left.

"C-can't breathe, Father. I-I'll," my chest tightened, my lungs felt like they were about to burst.

"Do we have to play our special game again, little girl? You were a very bad patient last time." 

"No, w-we don't, I kiss, y-you." Please let go, don't let my life end this way, not with him. 

He let go.

My lips were weak and cold, his were warm. Once he seemed pleased with what he had done, what he had scarred, he stopped. 

"Next time, little girl, kiss me back."