Camila's POV
"Bunny?"
The voice. Dark, rich, powerful. It tugs me from my dreams and I run to it willingly. As I blink open my eyes, I'm reminded that I'm in the Hole. After dinner, Lauren left me to "turn in early." I came upstairs, washed all the whore makeup off and combed out my ratty hair, donned a robe, and crawled onto the piss mattress in the Hole to sleep.
I'm sure the closet or the Theater Room would have been warmer but they don't smell like her. Lauren Jauregui. The dickhead who I'm hopelessly attracted to. Yesterday had been humiliating—and that's saying something coming from a used up whore. Had it been her friends or even the doctor or Dubois, I could have dealt better. But Christine and Cartier had been there. They were horrified, I could sense it. And I was embarrassed. I'd hardly said two words to Christine the rest of the day. It was a little more difficult to avoid Cartier though. That man just gets right up in your face and suffocates you with his delicious manly scented bear hugs. He promised me things would get better though and I clung onto a false sense of hope. But the thing that has my mind reeling is what happened after they left the room. When it was just Lauren and I. She'd said terrible things to me and I liked it. It wasn't like my past where I'd been ridiculed by someone who I thought loved me. Instead, it was like she said these dark, dirty things to reach some sexual animal inside of me that I'd kept well-hidden over the years. I'm still confused about how my body responded and desperately craved her vicious words. A warmth flushes over my chest and my heart flutters.
I'm sick. Just like I accused her of being. And I look forward to more. Maybe I do need to chat with Natalie and try and figure out what's wrong with me.
"Bunny!"
The voice again.
"In here," I respond and sit up as the door flings open.
Her massive frame hulks in the doorway and her chest heaves. She probably thinks her precious toy ran away. Well, she'd be wrong. It'll take a lot more than a few spankings and her humiliating me for me to leave. This money could mean a new future for me. For once, I'm wondering what that future could hold.
"Jesus, Camila, it's fucking cold in here and you don't even have a blanket. Come here."
The fact that she called me by my name has my heart fluttering at that hope that Cartier told me to hold on to. Because even though awful things come from her mouth, she can also be sweet. The sweet is what somehow makes it all better. When she held me yesterday after all she'd done to me, I felt whole. It doesn't quite make sense in my head but I like both. A lot.
Lauren and I are cut from the same complicated, dirty cloth.
She reaches for my hands and I take them, allowing her to pull me to a standing position. Her green, stormy eyes from yesterday are gone and she regards me with the deep dark ones that make me feel revered.
"Get showered and dressed," she tells me, pushing a dark strand of hair from my eyes. "I'm taking you shopping."
I squeal in delight which earns me a breathtaking smile. Before I can stop myself, I fling my arms around her neck and kiss her warm lips. "Thank you."
She nods and I break free to get ready. Half an hour later, I've found the most comfortable outfit in the closet after a quick, hot shower: a pair of charcoal-colored pleated pants, a pair of snakeskin, black heels, and a white, ribbed sweater that fits my body like a glove, accentuating my breasts and flat tummy. I don't find any jewelry but find a black and grey, patterned scarf to hang around my neck. My makeup, I do minimally but enough that I decide I look pretty and my hair which has begun to dry wild, gets pulled up into a messy bun that looks like I spent hours styling it that way.
After a few minutes staring into the mirror, I decide I look . . .
Normal.
Like the old me.
The thought cuts me deep and I hurry away from the mirror. Lauren is no longer upstairs and I find her in the dining room shoveling in some scrambled eggs. Today, she's not wearing a suit and I want to eat her up. Her solid chest is decadent encased in a fitted, mocha-colored long-sleeved Henley. She's styled her hair in a messier-than-usual way and as I approach, I'm jealous to see her wearing a sexy pair of nice jeans while I don less casual clothes.
Her need to humiliate me was confusing at first but now I'm beginning to understand her more. Lauren is aroused sexually by sadistic behavior, but she's not evil. I know fucking evil. She may get off on calling me a whore, but most of the time she's more human than monster, and she always sees to it that she pleasures me beyond my wildest dreams. I seem to crave both the woman and the dark creature that lies beneath. What she does to me isn't unforgivable. In fact, I know that if I were to press the issue, she'd back down. Say the safe word. Pause. I'd have my ass out on the street but I'm not her prisoner. I'll never be anyone's prisoner again. Lauren simply has a complicated sexual appetite. And lucky for her, I'm a complicated woman who clearly gets off on what she does to me.
"Bunny," she says, her voice quiet as she sets the fork down on the plate. "You look . . ."
I smile and steal the buttered toast from her plate. "Normal?"
My cheeks burn because now I'm embarrassed. I look like the woman who would wear something like this every day for work a decade ago. That same woman whose biggest concern was making sure the clothes had been taken to the dry cleaners or that she changed her oil every three-thousand miles. I'm jealous of her simple life before it all went to hell.
"I was going to say beautiful." Her voice is gruff and she hungrily drinks up my appearance. Then, she smirks—oh, that sexy smirk of hers—and winks. "You'll never be normal, Bunny. You're a weird one."
I swat her playfully and sit on the edge of the table. She finishes her eggs while I devour both slices of her toast. Lauren doesn't even argue when I gulp down half her orange juice. I'm smiling when I catch Christine staring at me from the kitchen. She seems pleased with me which is a vast improvement from yesterday. I'll take what I can get with her. I actually like Christine and don't want her to be unhappy with me.
Lauren stands and helps me to my feet before depositing her dishes in the sink. "Chris, we'll be back by dinner."
She nods and walks over to her to pick a piece of lint from her shoulder. The gesture is motherly in nature and it warms me. But the vulnerable, despondent look in her green eyes nearly guts me. "Take your time, Ma'am. If the day gets away from you, take her to one of those seafood restaurants at one of the piers. Don't rush on account of me. I was going to make something simple anyway."
She breaks away from her and for a moment a funny tightness makes my chest ache. Why does this feel like a date? And why does that notion excite me?
