Legacy

Chapter 9: The Trade

I take my sweet time chewing each bite of my leftover pizza as Michael finishes his sandwich at a much quicker pace. He said my second punishment will be today after lunch.

My nose has started to numb since I went to bed last night, but I try to discreetly breathe through my mouth whenever possible to avoid any further damage.

Michael has been trying to make smalltalk with me for the better part of the day. Most of it is a clumsy attempt at being casual: How'd you sleep? Your nose looks better. Your hair looks very nice tied back like that.

I take another bite of my pizza and look up to see him squinting at my face.

"What," I ask, quite annoyed.

"I'm trying to count your freckles..." he squints harder before giving up and lighting a cigarette with a sigh. "September," he blows out a little cloud of smoke, "you're quiet today."

I shoot him a hard frown and keep chewing. "What? No obscene name calling? No adorable threats on my life? No endearing smartass comments?" He inhales another puff of smoke. "You're already givin' up. How boring." My frown turns into a glare. "M'guessing this has to do with the hot-poker play."

"Is there any way for me to get out of it?" I try to keep my hands and legs from quaking.

"That was the punishment you chose. You have to live with it," he answers, blowing a puff of smoke in my direction. I fan the cloud away from my face, causing Michael to chuckle.

He holds the cigarette out to me, and I wave it away with a frown. "Don't you think I see you eating slow?" I freeze. "Obviously stalling," he chuckles. "It's actually kind of cute."

I swallow my last little bite of pizza and dig my fingers into my thighs. The stinging pressure helps me to not show weakness to my captor.

"Alright," Michael starts with a grin, "start strippin'."

My arms fold themselves tightly over my chest. Michael sighs and puts out his cigarette. I wait for him to get up and make me, but he just sits in his chair across from me, chin propped up on a fist. His eyes are locked on mine. My defiance has turned into a standoff.

I don't blink. Michael doesn't blink. The room is filled with a deafening silence. I want to look away so badly, it hurts; but I submerge myself in those cold blue eyes. Those eyes fixed with a determined stare and an unwavering look of dominance.

After what feels like a good thirty minutes, Michael begins to rise from his chair. I watch him steadily make his way towards me. It's only when his long, cold fingers grab at my shirt that I try to flinch away.

Michael grunts as he pulls me up by my waist and grips me in an unsteady standing position. He balls the hem of my shirt in his tight fists and attempts to force it up over my head. I make damn sure that the hem doesn't make it past my stiff elbows.

We struggle back and forth until I lose my balance and tumble to the ground. Michael, having let go of the t-shirt stands over me with a smirk on his face. I try to get back up, but he plants his foot on my chest.

"Well, this is a nice little change," Michael mocks.

"Get off-" I'm cut off by his foot pressing down on my sternum.

"You need to do as I tell you," the pressure of his foot lightens a bit, "and things will go a lot better for you, sweetheart."

I hate it when he calls me that. I'm not sweet, especially not to him. The urge to punch him in the face gets stronger with his every use of the word.

Michael's eyes continue to stare into mine and I throw my head aside to ignore it. My hands curl into fists against the tiled floor. His foot slides away and I try to slide up again until Michael's hands pin mine above my head by the wrists. I look back up and see that he's now straddling me.