Little Lamb

15 ❦ guns & ropes

༺❦༻

"Oh, you heard me." I spoke back.

He narrowed his eyes. "I did hear you, Lola," he responded. "Sly fox, caught onto my name so quickly."

"Fuck you," I spat, seething with anger and hurt.

Tears blurred my vision as I struggled against a torrent of emotions. I hated him with every fiber of my being. His beauty, once captivating, now felt like a cruel mockery.

My feet taking small steps back, I pushed against the creaking door, "Where do you think you're going?!" he says, and tries to push the door shut but I was faster finally slipping through before he could stop me.

As I ran down the hallway, tears streamed down my face, a mix of anger, hurt, and frustration overwhelming me. Adrenaline surged through me, driving me forward, but Riggs was faster. His footsteps echoed behind me, closing. Suddenly, he tackled me to the ground, the impact knocking the wind out of me. He leaned heavily on my back, his grip harsh.

I screamed as he held me down, his words cutting through the air like knives. "Running off so soon? I haven't even excused you. You have such bad manners. You hit me across the face, whine and cry just because things aren't going your way," he hissed, his voice harsh and relentless.

"Get off of me, please stop," I pleaded, feeling trapped and helpless beneath him. "You're sick. I can't take this anymore. Why do you keep hurting me?"

"Maybe I am sick," he responded coldly, as he took grip of the back of my hair. "And I keep hurting you because you never listen. That's one of your many problems."

I flinched as he clicked something, the cold touch of metal against my trembling lips making my heart race with fear. "Now open your mouth," he demanded, his voice chillingly calm.

"Please don't kill me," I cried, trying to turn away from the gun's tip.

"Open your fucking mouth!" he yelled, yanking my head back to face him, the pain radiating through my scalp. Everything hurt. Everything was spinning out of control.

With trembling hands, I reluctantly parted my lips, feeling the cold steel of the gun pressing against my teeth. Fear consumed me, tears streaming down my cheeks as I stared into his cold, unfeeling eyes. The hallway seemed to close in around us, suffocating me.

"Listen carefully," he whispered, his breath hot against my face. "This is what happens when you disobey me."

"From now on, you'll do as I say without protest or resistance. No tears, no excuses, no outbursts. Cooperation is your only option. I assume you're not ready to meet your end just yet, it would be a waste. Following my order improves your chances of survival. But make no mistake, I offer no guarantees. Luck may or may not be in your favor."

"Understood?" he demanded, his voice cutting through the air. Tears streamed silently down my cheeks as the cold metal of his gun pressed against my trembling lips. I couldn't bear the helplessness, the suffocating fear that gripped my chest.

Desperate, I struggled against his firm hold, but he only pushed the gun deeper into my mouth, adjusting my head with cruel precision. In that moment, I almost wished for the release of death, to end the torment.

"Oh? You want it?" he taunted at my struggles.

I nodded weakly, my vision blurred with tears. I saw a glimmer of light, felt the grim certainty of imminent oblivion. Please, just let it end. I closed my eyes, bracing myself.

And then, he pulled the trigger.

The click echoed sharply in the silence. A sickening realization washed over me, it was an empty gun.

My eyes flew open, staring at him in disbelief.
He chuckled darkly. "You really thought I'd let you go that easily?" he sneered, withdrawing the gun and putting it back.

"Now. Tell me, do you understand and will you obey me from now on?"

Fear and anger surged through. I nod my head, licking my dry lips.

"Good girl." He gripped my arm with bruising force, dragging me roughly towards his office.

I stopped crying, not because of his words, but because my longing for death had become unbearable, and yet he denied me that release. I couldn't bring myself to end my own life, I could only wish for him to end it for me.

As we entered his office again, he released his grip on me, and I crumpled to the ground with a whimper. Through lowered lashes, I watched him behind his desk, casually retrieving rope from his drawer as if it belonged there. He approached me, his gaze dark and unsettling.

"You're already listening, not protesting. That's good of you," he remarked, his voice cold.

I breathed heavily, still feeling the burn on my scalp and the ache in my body. Swallowing hard, I obeyed as he grabbed my arm, forcing me to stand before pushing me down onto his couch.

He fumbled with the rope, gesturing towards it with a twisted gesture. "You missed these?"
he asked mockingly. "Because they certainly missed you."

I furrowed my brow, sniffling. I didn't want the ropes, they hurt. The last time he tied me up,
I was left with painful marks. But I knew I had to comply, I hadn't been good.

I couldn't decipher his expression, but I saw the corners of his mouth twitch in a dark semblance of enjoyment. "Hands out," he ordered sharply.

I obediently placed my wrists together, allowing him to take hold of them. His gloved touch sent shivers down my spine as he bound my wrists tightly and secure, as if he had memorized it countless times on me.

I glanced up at him, feeling helpless under his gaze.

"Stop looking at me with those glassy eyes," he says quietly.

"I'm sorry," I murmured softly, my voice barely audible after the scene I had put up. Confusion and self loathing swirled within me, why was I causing so much trouble? I kept making excuses for myself, blaming my circumstances, but deep down, I knew I was rotten.

"Hmm," he hummed, finishing the knot before pulling a cloth from his pocket and securing it behind my head. "I'm done listening to you talk for today. Do you have any last words?"

"No. Just do it already," I replied quietly.

He leaned in close, his face just inches from mine. "That's a first."

I automatically opened my mouth as he pushed the cloth inside, securing it tightly at the back of my head. Surprisingly, he gently brushed my hair away from the cloth, a small act of tenderness that puzzled me, he never done that before.

My hair cascaded softly beside my face, a stark contrast to the harsh reality of being bound like a doll.

He stood back, gazing at me with a disturbing sense of satisfaction. "I hope you like the couch. It's new, real leather," he stated casually, "For now, lean back and relax, come to your senses. I'll pay you a visit soon."

With that, he picked up a few items from his desk, casting one last cold look my way before heading out and locking the door behind him. The click of the lock echoed in the quiet room, sealing me in again. Like so many times before.