Cuffing Season

I’m shaking inside his bed. I shouldn’t have come over. This is all my fault. I have been held hostage inside his windowless room for hours now. My mama warned me not to see him again. I should have listened to her. I should have stayed home today. But now it is too late to go back. I have been enfettered by the chains of his love for two months now, and I am well past the point of return. Besides, he’s hidden my phone, and I cannot call Mama anyways, even if I wanted to. What would I even say to her? I bury myself deep into the mess of dirty blankets. I pray he never sees me like this- so weak, so vulnerable. He confiscated my clothes. I’m shivering. I don’t know if it’s from the cold or from fear. I can’t hear anything over my hyperventilation episode. 

I gasp. His footsteps. I can hear his footsteps getting closer. No, no, no, no, no, no; he’s coming. I press my hands over my mouth to hold in my sobs. Oh god he’s really coming. I pretend to be fast asleep. He shuts and locks the door behind him- like he always does. He growls my name, “Celaena.” I stay silent, praying he will walk away this time. Forget about me. Lose interest. 

Suddenly I feel my arm wrench into the wrong direction. Oh no, he knows I’m awake. I yelp from the pain and try to scramble from his grasp onto my feet, but he’s too quick. He grabs my hair in a tight fist and jerks my head up so I’m facing him without even the slightest hesitation. He’s convinced he owns me and he might be right. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you,” he spits. We’re about eye level but I maintain focus on his chest in protest where he can’t see the tears streaming from my eyes. I won’t let him win. Not this time. I clench my teeth in retaliation. His fingers dig deeper into my jaw, “I said look at me, you dumb whore.” I wince at his demand, which only tightens his hold on me. 

I push back on him with all my might. Maybe I can make a run for the door if I’m quick enough. Just three words: “Let me go, let me go, let me go” over and over and over again thrash against the inner lining of my skull. But he remains unyielding. I shouldn’t have done that. 

Now it’s my fault that I’m in a chokehold. I scratch at his elbow and forearm frantically. I’m running out of air, and my attempts at liberation are getting weaker and weaker as my vision starts to fade. 

He relinquishes his grip just in time, and I fall right onto the edge of the wooden bed frame in anguish. 

I lay still while he turns on the television, impetuously trying to catch my breath. He gets off on loud music to the point where it is deafening. He’s going to blast Deftones so no one in his apartment building can hear me, particularly his baby sister who is my age in the room next door. But I’m pretty sure his younger sister can hear me from the next room. I think she’s scared of him, too. I think that’s why I never see her come out, not even to eat. 

He tosses the remote on the desk and walks towards me dauntingly. His bed is like a cage: pushed against a wall with high bed frames on each end, so that there is only one way to enter and exit. My heels dig into the rotting mattress as I try to push myself as far back into the dark corner as I can, but my back hits the wall within seconds. My breathing picks up again, and I can no longer maintain clear vision. “You know what I want. Let me have it. I’m sick of these games. Stop pretending like you don’t want it,” he leers. 

“No.” My whisper, barely audible, somehow makes its way out of my windpipe. 

“What did you just say to me?” Uh oh. It isn’t a good sign when he sounds this calm. 

I haven’t eaten in days. His hands fit right around my waist as he drags me towards him. I squirm and try to wrangle out of his reach, but his hand meets my cheek before I can get very far. My face stings. The salt from my eyes doesn’t help. “What did I say, huh?”

He strikes me. Again. Again. Again. Again. My ability to endure his love plunges further. I’m convinced that the man I knew is dead. Each stroke of his hand reaches a whole new level of pain. I’m trying to get away. I’m trying. He raises his hand one last time. I flinch, preparing myself for the blow that will break me. Then, nothing. He chuckles. He thinks it’s funny. He’s satisfied.

He discards me to the side. “One second I’ll be right back.” He gets up and reaches into his main desk drawer. He pulls something out but I can’t make out what it is. Is he finally done with me?

He’s walking back towards me. Why is he coming back? Panic floods my senses all over again. 

No. They’re handcuffs. Before I know it he’s gripping one wrist. He’s already gotten one hand cuffed. He flips me onto my stomach. I’m kicking, screaming, flailing my entire body like a fish out of water. I have never fought so hard. He hits me again, but I still refuse to cooperate. The pain that has been consuming me for the past two hours numbs, succumbing to the rush of pure terror. “Please stop, please, please, you’re hurting me.” I’m pleading like never before. He flips me back onto my back, but I’m still pinned. Is this mercy?

“Are you scared?” his eyes look amused and curious. He gets off on my fear, my anxiety, my pain, my despair. 

“Mhm! Mhm! Mhm!” I can’t even form words, let alone move my mouth beyond a wobbly quiver. My whole body is trembling. I can’t feel my hands. I can’t feel my legs. 

“Do you want me to take them off of you?”

I nod desperately over and over again, fixating on his hands working to take them off. 

They’re finally off. 

I break down again. 

He holds me, “Shhh shhh; it’s okay.” I fall asleep like that. There is nothing left in me to give. 

At least I won’t be conscious for what happens next.