Set Me Free

Shower Time

Sofia

I am numb, standing on shaky legs. He pulls my chains, and my feet slide forward across the slick tiles beneath me until I am under the flow of water. My eyes are blurry, filled with ashamed, hateful tears. The tiles below me are a mosaic of different shapes and colors. As though whoever built this place went to a scrap yard and just pieced together anything salvageable.

Why it makes my mind think back to our home—before the uprootings, before the takeover—I have not a clue. Our tiles were uniform, white, clinical and clean. There was peace and harmony in the patterns. From my pink, frilly room, to our massive dining room, to the pool in our backyard. It all swirls together in my mind and I choke back a sob. How I long to be home, to be safe in those walls. It didn't matter to me that my mom was a busy interior designer, that my father was politician and never home.

I had josh, and I had a home, and I was safe.

I am shivering despite the still-scalding water. I jump as his big hands cup my shoulders, turning me to face him. I try to keep my eyes down, to stare at his wide feet, to trace those tendons with my gaze, but there is something else in the way of my view, something I don't want to stare at in any capacity. It makes my stomach twist in horror, his manhood, his mark of being even more than just a brutish beast.

He lathers the bar of soap between his hands, and I turn my hips away from him when I see his intent. His gruff voice barks out a demand, though.

"Sit still, girly."

I whimper, unable to move any further, unless I want to swing from the ceiling on my chains and dislocate my shoulders. I pinch my eyes closed as his rough, soapy hands meet my flesh, starting at my shoulders, working in circles to cleanse me. I back away until I hit the wall, the space large but cramped with his massive frame in here.

My eyes spring open at his dark chuckle, and I feel his knee and thigh wedge tight between my legs, pinning me to the wall. Another sob escapes my throat as he palms my breasts, and though I feel violated, I am thankful he doesn't linger longer than necessary. I still try to maneuver away, but he only raises his thick thigh further up, until his wide knee settles against my most private area.

I turn my face away, burning with shame, with hatred. He says nothing, just continues to cleanse me—all of me. I can feel the hair of his leg, scratchy against my soft thighs, another nod to his sheer masculinity. His hands lather more soap, cupping my butt cheeks, dwarfing them. I continue to blubber and cry like a baby. I should have never disobeyed my brother. I should have stayed on that boring rock in that boring sunshine and I would still be safe.

He leans back, reaching the shower head, twisting it to point at me. I am rinsed clean, and my heart stutters in gratefulness; he's chosen not to violate me further, chosen not to wash me in other areas. I let out a breath of relief, but then his knee drops, exposing me to him.

He splays his hands on the wall beside my head, further caging me in. I peek at him, but soon dart my eyes away. He wears such a savage look. I hate admitting how afraid I am of him, but I remind myself he killed someone with his bare hands right in front of me. I gulp down my fear, but feel his thumb and forefinger on my cheek and chin, turning my eyes back to his.

They are dark, shrouded and deep set, encased by those pointed brows that make him look demonic yet strangely beautiful. I was uprooted before I could appreciate the attraction of the opposite sex, and Josh being unbearably protective, if we ever came across another group of humans he always kept me hidden.

He didn't want me to end up like mom.

More tears flow when I realize I am now walking in her shoes, living in her hell. I don't know how she did it. I'm still unsure how Josh got her letters. Either way, the truth was there on paper.

"Tell me your name," he grunts. I feel my lip wobble. My eyes are misty with steam and tears, but I can't even move to wipe them. I clench my teeth, though. He may have dominance over my body, but I'll be damned if he tries to take my mind, too.

"How old are ya?"

I answer him with more silence. He sighs, annoyed. I wonder when he will take me back to the fighting place. From what we gleaned out of my mother's letters, she only ever spent a week at most with the champions who won her. Maybe I will be here for longer. That sends some hope into my veins. Maybe I can escape from here and get back to Josh.

"Tryin' to be nice here, girly. You don't tell me, I won't know how to handle ya."

I am confused, but I just stare at the tiled floor, memorizing the hues, the haphazard patterns. There's something comforting about the chaos of the jumbled pieces—something warm and wild and free and full of life. The complete opposite of my life before.

He sighs again, more akin to a growl this time, and his hand disappears, diving down between my thighs. I tense, readying a scream in my throat. I've never felt a man's hands down there before, and I feel disgusted now. He spreads me as I sob, one finger poised somewhere I know I shouldn't be touched. I can feel him tense through that finger, feel him prepare to move more. Before I can stop myself, I blurt out the answer to his question.

"I'm Sofia! S-Sofie, Sofie!" I cry. He pauses his pursuit.

"And how old are ya?"

I rub my lips together, tasting the salt of my tears. Trembling, I muster what courage I have and turn my eyes to his. He stares me down, nostrils flared, eyes dangerous and dark.

"Twe-twenty," I stutter, nervous under that strange gaze. Something flickers in his brooding stare, something more deadly than before. His thick lips twist into a frown.

"You ever had a man before, girly?"

His finger is still there, still poised, even though I turn my hips as best I can to free myself from the threat. I shake my head quickly. His frown deepens.

"Thought so," he mutters, sounding disgruntled. He withdraws his hand, and I sag in relief, my heart hammering hard. How did he know...?

"Hungry?" he asks. My mind whirls, but I can tell it is clearing. Though I just vomited, and though my stomach is in knots, I am hungry, and I'll need my strength if I am to run away. I nod, casting my eyes down before they spring back up. His...thing is bigger than before, longer and wider.

How can he go from almost hurting me—almost spearing me with his thick finger and tearing through my innocence—to asking me if I am hungry? He pulls me under the water, wetting my hair, his fingers gentle as he lathers my tresses with soap. I am still shaking, my adrenaline ebbing as the threat from a few moments ago seems to dissipate.

He rinses through my hair and cranks the taps off, pushing open the glass door and retrieving a towel with bright flowers, though the colors seem to have faded. I am beginning to notice everything about this place is jumbled, thrown together haphazardly and beautifully mismatched. I should hate it, but for some reason it stands as a comfort to me.

He dries himself off, his lengthy hair falling in thick waves to his shoulders, his beard gleaming in the early morning sun filtering in through the window. This bathroom is almost as big as his room, but I suppose giants need a lot of space.

I whimper, twisting away when he comes back for me, holding the towel open. I have nowhere to go, and so he crushes me in what feels like a hug, drying me off as best he can. He throws the towel over my head, running his palms over my skull to dry my hair, but I know it probably looks like a rat's nest by the time he's done. He pulls the towel away, and I am met with those strange eyes. They crinkle around the sides as he smiles.

"Shit, you lookin' bout as rough as I feel."

His congenial tone confuses me. Did he not just want to hurt me moments ago? Who is this man?

"C'mon, little Miss Sofie," he says, unhooking my chains, wrapping me in the towel and hefting me into his sturdy arms.

"Time to teach ya how to keep me happy."

A/N: Happy Monday! Thoughts so far on our new main characters?!