Addicted to Her Pain

Chapter One

I tried to roll out of bed but I was unsuccessful. 

My hands stayed put above my head, the feeling of the cold metal handcuffs causing a shiver to run down my spine. I couldn't seem to open my eyes, a piece of soft, tight fabric blocking my view of the room I was being held in. 

Even without being able to see, I knew what my surroundings looked like, the large king size bed covered in messy black sheets and pillows, the dark brown wood floor, and my favorite part, the large window that let the sun stream through when 3pm came around. I could feel the warmth on my body, telling that it was sometime in the late afternoon. 

Where was he? He loved to be here when I woke up, coddling me, stroking a hand gently over my wounds. He would hold my head, gently pushing my hair away from my face, his eyes meeting my seething look which always managed make him smile.

I heard the creak of a floorboard "You're awake little one."

His voice was husky, a sultry drawl that gave the image of whiskey and cigars, of money and power. His looks did match up with this description unfortunately, his messy black hair gave him a cocky school boy look, contrasting with his black Armani suits. This motherfucker knew exactly who he was and exactly what he looked like, and he thought that meant he could get anything in the world. 

He couldn't. 

"Take this goddamn blindfold off of me Xavier" I tried to move my hands more, but my restraints didn't budge. I heard him chuckle softly under his breath, he sounded closer to me than I wanted but I couldn't tell. I jerked back in surprise as I felt his hand brush against my face. 

I blinked rapidly as the light poured over my eyes, effectively blinding me. Squinting hard, I was able to make out his face, I couldn't tell what but something was different about him today. I blinked once more and my vision seemed to focus, as if my brain had finally found the right setting. 

"You got hurt" I tried hard to keep the smile off of my face as my words spilled out but I knew he could tell, his eyes glanced at me with amusement. A deep cut ran the length of his cheek, ending above his jaw, the skin around it a feint red hue. 

"I did get hurt, does that amuse you?"

I gasped as if that was the worst thing in the world "never! I was counting the days till you would come back to me unharmed!" 

The sarcasm dripped like honey from my words, only making his amusement deepen. he leaned across and ran his hand over my arm and resting it on my chained wrists "we can always make you feel some pain, is that what you want?"

I shook my head, my body was bruised enough and he hadn't touched me in three days. I had purple marks still circling my throat, handprints on my thighs and the many small patches of bruises decorating my chest and hips, most of them unwilling to fade quickly.

"Good girl" his voice was soft as he undid my handcuffs, bringing my arms to my side slowly.

I rubbed my wrists, relaxing slightly now that I wasn't in such a horrible position but that didn't ease the ache of the bruises. 

He sat down beside me and instinctively I moved so my head was laying in his lap. This was our pattern.

"Who cut your face?" I whispered, looking up at him, raising my hand, my fingers running over the cut. He didn't seem to flinch at my touch "Doesn't matter, they won't be do it again."

He grabbed my wrists as I pushed slightly harder into the cut "Nem..."

A warning.

"You're not any fun, bunny" I huffed and withdrew my hand, rolling away from him before standing up shakily. 

"We talked about that nickname" he muttered, seeming to find it funny that I could barely walk. "Don't be calling me dumb shit like that, and Jesus.. stop moving woman" His hand reached out to steady me "you're going to fall."

I shook my head, I didn't need his help "I'm going to shower."

He stood next to me, holding my waist as I walked to the bathroom, stopping my legs from collapsing under me. I did need his help and I hated that. 

I hated this, as much as I was used to it, I lived in this house, every now and then I was allowed outside but never without his supervision. If I wasn't tied up, I was roaming the halls, looking for a way out. If I had given up on that then I was in the library, trying to believe I was anywhere else but here. I was safe here, I did know that, I didn't have to worry about food or money, I didn't have to work like I used to but this wasn't much of a life. I was a hostage here, and as much as it had become comfortable, I wanted out.

He turned on the water for me and pulled my shirt over my head, I felt his hands lingering on my waist, moving over the lines of the tattoo that arched onto my back. He was so familiar, his touch was something I'd learned to be comfortable with. I might also just be so numb to him at this point it didn't matter. 

I stepped out of my clothes and into the shower, feeling the rush of cold air before the hot water hit my body, burning over my bruises. 

I hated this.

He pulled the curtain closed behind me and I heard the door shut, a sigh of relief echoing in the silence. 

I needed to get out.