Don't Get Into The Car

[ 4 ]

Your decision to spit on Simon turned out to be as wise as a moth flying towards a flame. The immediate repercussions seem manageable; for the first two days, he leaves you alone in your solitude. This is a welcome reprieve because you don't want any interaction with him. You don't want to see the dark glimmer in his eyes, don't want to feel the hard calluses of his hand on your skin, don't want to be forced into a confrontation where you have to meet his unforgiving gaze. However, your short-lived relief is ruthlessly snatched away on the third day. The moment of dread arrives when the silence is shattered by the sound of the door banging open. Simon storms into the basement.

With a sense of reluctant determination, you force yourself to sit up. The thin blanket haphazardly wraps around your waist, providing scant cover for your vulnerability. You instinctively draw your legs closer to your chest in an attempt to shield your exposed flesh from view.

Simon coolly scans you from head to toe. His gaze lingers on you for such an uncomfortably long time that you find yourself curling up even more. You hate the uncertainty that his unreadable expression brings, the way his face remains a blank canvas that gives nothing away. As your eyes dart away from his, you notice that he's holding a tall, slender candle and a lighter, which he then places on the table.

"I don't want to be overly harsh with you," he says with his back turned to you, making you confused. You hang onto his every words because you are not sure what he is trying to say or what he is planning to do. "But you, my darling, need to be taught a lesson." The tension in the room spikes as the candle flickers to life. Simon spins around to face you, and in that moment, his towering frame illuminates by the warm yellow light.

A wave of dread, cold and numbing like a winter tide, washes over you. Your mouth becomes parched and dry. It's a stark contrast to the wetness in your eyes. He takes a calculated step forward, the sound of his boots echoing ominously—it's a predator's prowl, deliberate and laced with danger. Your eyes are drawn to his fingers, twitching subtly, as if caught in an invisible war of restraint.

In your life, marked by the mundane and the ordinary, you've never been one to seek solace in the divine. The existence of a higher deity seems as plausible as a mirage in the desert. Yet, in this heart-stopping moment, you find yourself fervently praying, hoping that his hands remain glued to his sides. The memory of his touch, the ghostly feeling of his fingertips grazing your skin, sends a shiver down your spine, a spine that feels like a fragile string of pearls ready to break.

To your surprise and relief, he halts his advance when his boots meet the edge of the soft mattress. He kneels down, maintaining a respectful distance. Simon doesn't dare to touch you.

"I want to bury myself in you, to show you that you are just being a silly...silly girl," Simon murmurs. His sigh echoes like a lonely wind through the cavernous silence of the basement. His arms, strong and imposing, rest atop his heavy, muscular thighs. His fingers interlock, a sign of his inner turmoil. "But you don't deserve pleasure. Not yet. Although I wish we could move past your little stunt, I know that if I don't enact some sort of punishment, you will continue acting like a spoiled brat, seeking attention... like a crow cawing for crumbs."

He stands up. Your mind is a whirlwind of fear and confusion. The throbbing pain in your head punctuates each thought, pulsing like the beat of a war drum. Questions fill your mind - if he doesn't intend to force himself onto you, what could possibly be the alternative? Could he be planning to beat you? You attempt to steady your breathing, to draw in a much-needed lungful of air, but it sticks in your throat, choking you. The silence, that stretches between the two of you, grows, threatening to consume you in its terrifying abyss.

"For the next three days, I will leave you to your own devices," Simon announces, his voice cutting through the unbearable quiet. "Hopefully, this will give you ample time to reflect and come to the realization that I am not the villain in this situation." His words hang in the air, and a wave of relief washes over you. The prospect of being free of his presence is a dream come true. Yet your joy is short-lived. As he watches the relief play across your face, a sinister smile begins to curl at the corners of his lips.