Ourselves and Our Posterity

Chapter 12

  The days pass me by. I am once again me but, it doesn't matter. Even though I am once again trapped in my body it is still puppeteered by Grimm's careful training. He acts as though he's never met me but, I know it an act. He wants me to slip up so he can punish me. This is a man who views the world like it's some big game. He is obsessed with prizes and penalties.

  He sits at his desk sorting through a mountain of paperwork. He has me sitting on top of it. Every once in awhile when he gets too stressed he'll reach for my hand and give it a squeeze. I think he does it because he's somehow sensed my hatred of the feeling.

  Back before I'd left my body I still liked the sparks. As awful as his touch always was it took years of my disassociation to associate the sparks with pain. The mate bond was strong. It beckoned me to love him. Now, the association between the bond and the abuse was so strong that even the sparks hurt.

  Sometimes, when he isn't looking I'll glance up at him. When he's bent over his work his long hair falls like a curtain hiding his face. It looks soft if anything about this man could be described like that. Even if his face is hidden from me I still remember exactly how he looks. I doubt I'll ever forget his face. I turn my gaze back to the bookshelf behind him. I've read and reread their spines a thousand times now.

  His phone rings. I'm grateful when he reaches for it. The sound is shrill and grating.

  "Hello, Grimm speaking", he says. His voice sounds almost nice like this. It's lost the fanfare it carried before. He used to speak every word like it was some grand announcement. Now, he just speaks. I can finally hear the soothing tones everyone told me my makes voice would have. But, they don't land at their intended affect.

  He reaches over to take my hand. His are calloused and scarred but, my are too. They didn't used to be. They are one more reminder of my pain. He doesn't notice though. He acts ignorant to what he's done to me as he twirls plays with the tips of my fingers. I'd heard that some people doodle or tap out little beats when on the phone. Why can't he do that?. Why does he insist on torturing me?

  He puts the phone back on the receiver and turns to me. I pretend not to notice his attentions favor of rereading the spines of the books for one thousand and first time.

  "I have to go to a neighboring pack for a couple of days", he says, "while I'm gone you're going to be hanging out with my Beta, okay?".

  "Yes, master", he sighs at my answer. I'm surprised he doesn't want to take me with him like last time. The image of that corpse flashed in my mind and I have to hold back the shiver climbing up my spine. I'd probably be more bothered by the memory of how he touched me in front of those people but, that sort of abuse had become mundane to me.

  "I'm going to go get ready to leave tomorrow", he says, "do you want to do anything special before I'm gone for a while?". I can hear the expectation in his voice.

  I reach down to the hem of my blouse and start to pull it off of over my head. His hands reach out to stop me when it's halfway off.

  He clears his throat, "I was thinking we could have a date". I say nothing. This a scenario is entirely new and I don't know what he wants from me.

  "Is there any restaurant you like or show you want to see?", he asks.

  "Whatever you like, master", I say deciding that's the safest choice.

  "I don't want to do what I like", he sighs, "I just want know you and what you like".

  "I'd like nothing but, to please you", I say. He leans back in chair and brushes the hair from his face. He let's outs a long slow breath as he stares at the ceiling.