Roots [Completed]

Chapter 3 - Part 4

\\tw: trauma, violence, coercion\\

The first thing I see when I wake up is Sam's face, pale eyes and short, militant hair filling my vision. I recoil.

"You - you - " I choke out.

Sam rubs his thumb soothingly on the back of my palm. I hadn't even realized he was holding my hand.

"You're alright," he says, shushing me softly.

"Don't touch me!" I try to force my hand out of his. "You're - you're a monster!"

Sam doesn't let my hand go. "It's just as I said. I am what I said I am."

He holds up his other large hand. With a crack, it transforms into a claw with vicious points. The blood rushes out of my face.

Sam tells me he is part of a pack. Those people that I heard speaking - they are like him. I'm surrounded by them. He calls himself alpha. The leader. And I am his mate, the other half of his soul.

"Don't you see, now?" Sam asks earnestly. "I had to take you. You never would have believed me. And I need you, Jane. You were made for me."

Mate. Made for him.

"And it's why you will love me, Jane. You don't have a choice. It will be like breathing. Your life didn't really start until you met me. Everything has been leading to this."

And, cradling my head with his clawed hand, he kisses my forehead as the tears begin to well in my eyes.

-

The days begin to pass.

I haven't left the room, though Sam leaves me often. The first time he left, I felt a flicker of hope - a chance to get away. But he had his room stripped of everything that could be used as a weapon. And he left - guards. Two men, tall and silent. I hear him tell them not to hurt me, but for some reason, their presence, silent and unobtrusive as it is, keeps me frozen with fear. They're like him.

For the first few days, Sam ties me with the rope. No matter how I kick and scream, he overpowers me, stilling me with his strong hands. The first time it happened, I tried to force my way out. But Sam was there in a second, eyes burning, glowering at me like I had made his wrists bleed, not mine.

Sam brings me food. First, I refuse to eat. He forces me. I throw it up.

But after a few days of this, the hunger begins to take a toll. Finally, when Sam brings a bowl of soup, I swallow and let it settle.

I tell myself I will need to have my strength for escaping. I tell myself I won't stand a chance if I'm weak with hunger and thirst.

I tell myself a lot of things.

-

I don't know how many days it's been when I stop noticing Sam's touch. It is constant, like habit. I don't -

I mean, I don't want it. I don't want him. But there is this feeling starting in the center of my stomach, like an anchor to him. His hands, everywhere. I don't want it. But something does.

It scares me.

He hasn't raped me. Yet. He tells me he won't; that when we have sex, it will be because I want it. That scares me, too, for many reasons. I've already grown accustomed to his touch. How long will it be, really, before something in me breaks and I do want more?