My bladder cramps, reminding me that I haven’t peed since before sundown. I turn my head to the stainless steel bucket in the corner. The bucket Asher brought in when he revoked what he called my “privileges.” I hesitate for a second, knowing that the minute he hears the chains grind against each other, he’s going to wake up. I slowly move my hand and position the chain into the middle of the bandage. Asher dressed my wrists yesterday when my right one got infected from the chains cutting into me.
If the smell hadn’t bugged him so much, I doubt he would’ve done anything about it, but he’d said it interfered with him getting hard. Part of me wishes he hadn’t cleaned my wounds. Dying from septicemia wouldn’t have been fun at all, but at least I’d be dead, and this nightmare would be over.
The pain in my abdomen sees to it that I can’t procrastinate any longer, and I scoot to the side of the bed. The chains clink, and I shoot a glance over to Asher, but he hasn’t stirred. I blow out a breath. As much as the suspense of what today might bring is doing to my nerves, I know that if I don’t get to empty my bladder, Asher will just fuck me while it’s still full, causing me to humiliate myself. And I don’t know if I can bear that again.
I make it to the bucket and suck in a breath when the sting of my pee flowing over what feels like a million tears causes me to grind my teeth. As tempting as it is to stop the flow, I know I won’t be able to, so I close my eyes and ride it out.
“You hurting, baby?”
My eyes snap open when I hear Asher’s voice, but then I quickly look down at my toes, refusing to answer his question, and more so, refusing to allow him to see the pain on my face. The blue gel on my toenails has grown out and reminds me that I missed my last pedicure. I wonder briefly if they charged my credit card for the missed appointment or if they called to find out why I didn’t come and if Dale had to take the call. My chest tightens when I think of Dale and what he must be going through. How he must be going out of his mind.
The last time I went in for a pedicure, Dale came with me. We’d been so busy rehearsing for the tour that outside of work, we hadn’t had time to have a real conversation. Dale had teased that if the only way he’d get to have time with me was at the salon, he’d have to get a pedicure too. I’d teased him back that he was all talk and no action, but he’d ended up with purple toes—claiming he was so sexually frustrated that it was fitting. Proving to me once again that despite what he’d gone through during his early years, he chose to live life to the fullest, never taking himself seriously, always brightening my day. We’d laughed so hard that if I hadn’t been a long-time client, I’m sure they would’ve kicked us out of there.
The idea of never getting the opportunity to do anything like getting a pedicure with Dale again is what undoes me the most. It’s not so much the horrors of what goes down in this depraved little basement. It’s the loss of hope. The knowledge that I’ll never have something to look forward to again. That I’ll never see Dale again. Regrets smothers me because if I had it all to do over, I’d get my shit together and tell Dale how I really feel instead of using sex to mask the guilt of my past. I’d find a way to make it work between us.
My lip starts trembling, and as much as I try to stop them, the tears well and spill down my face. The sobs that I’ve spent the last three weeks suppressing rip free, and I can’t stop them anymore.
Asher is off the bed and at my side in seconds. He crouches down next to me, an arm around my shoulders as he looks into my tearstained face. He looks so concerned after everything he’s done to me, and I can’t take it. His concern is worse than his abuse, and I lose it. Every single evil, vile thing he’s done to me bubbles to the surface, and suddenly, I don’t care if I die down here today. I will not let him lay one more finger on me.
I turn and scream. Catching him off guard, I score my fingers down his face. He screams so violently and takes a few steps back, clutching where my jagged fingernail raked over his eyeball.
“That was a stupid fucking thing to do, Raine!”
He lunges for me, but I stand, reaching down for the bucket and smash the metal rim into his face. Urine splashes over the both of us in a warm flood, and I’m so cold that for a brief moment, I forget to be disgusted long enough to relish the small reprieve. Asher slips on the wet puddle and lands on his back, the sound of his head hitting the floor a sickening crack. I close my fingers around the rim of the steel bucket and bring it up over my head, ignoring the crushing pain as the chains grind against my bones. I smash it down on Asher’s head over and over and over again, rage a feral
