After a time, you stop counting the days. You stop watching the clock, wishing to be found. After a time, you stop hoping that you will escape, stop thinking about when the trauma will begin to haunt you.
After a time, you start to observe. You watch his patterns and become obsessed. You can't help but long for the touch that you used to loathe. That's when you feel the poison kicking in; you begin to crave his kiss.
Shudders crawled down my spine in a slow motion. My fingers curled with anticipation as his hands ran the length of my inner thigh, his breath hot on my chest.
His voice was rough and hoarse but his fingers, making soft circles in my skin, were smooth. My whole body tensed. I needed more. My hands relaxed as his fingers slid back down my thigh. My body was so conflicted.
I tried to obey, stretching out my limbs as much as my muscles were allowed, being confined to the chair. My eyes shut. I focused on breathing. My chest rose and fell in slower time frames. My eyes opened.
His silhouette was all I could see. I strained my eyes to find detail. I could hear the heel of his shoes coming towards me. Keep calm. His tongue was suddenly on my neck. I wish it was more.
The heat on his lips left me hot inside, contrasting with the chill of the air. I could see my breath in front of me, even through the darkness.
"Don't fight it."
I could feel his smirk, even if I couldn't see it. My wrists were swollen and most probably purple from trying to break out from these confining handcuffs. I was tired of fighting. I was ready. I assured myself.