Legacy

Chapter 16: Morning Bird

When I wake up, my legs are tangled in the dark blue sheets. A dull ache pulses in the lower half of my body. I feel so dirty. As I sit up, I notice how wet and sticky the sheets are and can't stop my body from shaking. There are bruises on my hips and small bite marks and hickeys on my neck, breasts, belly and thighs. I guess Michael enjoyed himself.

I pull my knees up to my chest and lean against the headboard. The sound of spraying water in the shower in the bathroom let's me know exactly where Michael is.

My body won't stop shaking from the cruel knowledge of what happened in this bed last night. At this point I long for the bed in the basement.

Michael pulling me close and violating me over and over until the clock next to his lamp read 12:45. Then he rolled over on his side and went to sleep. I couldn't. His snoring kept me awake all night. I didn't dare try to get up and go to the bathroom to wash up or even cry.

How could I be so stupid? I bash his head and then run off into the woods, only to have sex with him the same night? And I consent right after he tells me about how he murdered his own mother? How will I be able to even look him in the eye? To see him after all this... just another thing to be smug about. And after all of it, he might still decide to punish me one more time to make sure I don't try to escape again.

I try to distract myself from my thoughts by watching the forest outside. The birds are flying through the branches and prodding the moist dirt looking for worms.

They're so content with their lives. So happy. So free. Everything I'm not.

The shower turns off and I brace myself for the moment Michael would walk out. When the door opens, I notice that he didn't bother to wrap a towel around his waist, but is ringing his hair out in one. I blush and turn my head away, pulling the sheets up to cover me.

"G'morning," he says, trying to get me to turn around. Michael crawls over to me, causing the mattress to shift beneath me. "Last night," his fingers run through my hair, "was amazing."

Right as the words are spoken a beautiful bird with a bright red chest perches itself on the windowsill. The bird looks at me, then at Michael, then back again.

"Well," he says, wrapping his arms around my waist, "isn't that something." Michael pulls me onto his lap. I keep a firm grip on the sheets. "A morning bird," he whispers in my ear. "You know, in folklore the color red symbolizes desire and fertility." His hands gently rub my stomach under the covers.

"You're so full of shit," I reply, relaxing against his chest even though my heart is racing. "The males have red so they can distract predators from the females."

"You think so?" Michael's lips press against my shoulder. "You know, with an attitude like that, you don't really strike me as a sweetheart anymore." He chuckles. "Especially not after last night." His fingers crawl down to my crotch.

"Guess you're just gonna have to use my actual name now, huh," I say, trying my best to guide his hand back up without appearing prudish.

"Mmm," Michael hums, his arms hugging me close. "I was thinking of coming up with a new nickname for you." I start to chew the inside of my cheek. "Something a little more personal."

"Like what?"

Seriously? What the fuck?

He considers me for a moment. "You're so much like that bird this morning," he says. "Small, beautiful, curious..." he rests his chin on my shoulder, "but I doubt that little bird's heart is beating half as fast as yours."

I bury my face in my hands. My heart is still pounding against my ribs. I don't think I've ever been this nervous in my life.

Before, I remember taunting Michael. Telling him to just go ahead and take what he wants. But last night... last night I actually gave him exactly what he wanted. And the worst part? He didn't even bring up the idea; I did. It was all me.

"My little Morning Bird," he says, ripping me out of my thoughts. Michael tugs the covers out of my tight grip and slides me down until he's laying on top of me, pressing my body into the moist sheets. "Wanna go again?"

I shake my head, causing his eyebrows to raise impatiently. "I'm still sore from last night," I reply, trying not to squirm at the cool fluids sticking to my skin.

Michael's face falls in disappointment as he lays down beside me. His hand closes around my wrist. "Did I hurt you?"

Well, yeah.

I start chewing on the inside of my cheek, not knowing how to answer his question. Of course it hurt if my body is sore. Not to mention my face being so beaten up. The bite marks and bruises decorate my pale skin... it's almost like Michael wanted to mark me as his territory. It's sick.

"You didn't seem like you were in pain," he says as his grip around my wrist tightens.

He's right. Last night, every single time I wanted to scream or cry, I just moaned or grunted. Even when I felt something rip inside me, I had to bite down on my lip until the scab tore away and blood gushed out.

Anything to keep him from getting angry. Anything to make him forget to punish me for trying to kill him. Anything to keep him from working on his hobby.

"That's because I wasn't," I lie. "It's just," I lift my hand and slip my fingers through his, "all of that was a lot for my first time. You were right about it being overwhelming." I can't believe the bullshit I'm forcing out of my mouth.

Michael raises my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles. "Don't you have work today," I ask so we can change the subject.

"Not today," Michael responds, reaching into his top drawer and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He sits up and lights one. "Why," he asks letting out a stream of smoke and snaking his arm over my shoulders.

"Just asking," I answer, leaning into him. He smiles at this and rubs his thumb over my skin.

As Michael lifts the cigarette to his lips I look up at him. After taking a puff he offers it to me, but I shake my head.

"Still not a smoker," he says, shaking his head and flicking some ash into the drawer. I guess Michael keeps that drawer empty for this exact use. Maybe he has an ash tray in there. "Last chance," he offers it to me again, "You won't get one for awhile."

"I'd really rather not," I say, trying to get him to give up on giving me lung cancer.

My stomach growls. It just occurs to me that I haven't eaten since right before I went to sleep and Michael woke me up to replace the door. He laughs and puts out his cigarette on the side of the dresser. I notice the multiple scorch marks on the wood.

"I guess I should feed you, huh," he says as he plants a kiss on the side of my head.

I only nod as my eyes drift down to one of the bite marks on my leg and I poke it. The bruise aches just a tiny bit; but there's a bunch of them, so it's worse.

"Why don't you go ahead and jump in the bath and I'll make us some breakfast," he says.