Page 22 of Heal Me

He shoves another spoonful to my lips. “I can’t give you the last two—”

“Why not?” I say, leaning away from the spoon.

Ignoring my interjection, he continues, “But I can find you something to read. Would that help?”

“Why not, Dorin?” I repeat. “I need to know. What is this place?”

His tone sharpens as I once again pull away from the prodding spoon. “Eat.”

“No!” A sudden burst of frustration—maybe helplessness—makes me shove at his arm, yogurt splashing across my thighs and the padded floor.

I freeze as I realize what I’ve done. The last time I did this, he put me in the straitjacket and filled all my holes.

He gets up, and my lips part as I stare at him, trying to figure out what to say. Grabbing the bowl, he moves toward the door. Leaving.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt, suddenly anxious about him leaving—him being mad at me. He’s my only company. “Don’t leave.”

Fuck, I really am going insane.

Dorin doesn’t spare me a glance. He just presses his finger to the biometric scanner and leaves.

I sit there, staring baffled at him for several minutes before I drop my head in defeat. Then I remain like that for several more minutes, not knowing what else to do, until the beep of the scanner makes me jolt upright.

The door opens, and Dorin steps inside. Relief, shame, defeat, and anticipation swamp me in a whir of conflicting emotions as I see what he’s carrying under his arm.

The straitjacket.

“I promise I’ll behave,” I say, scooting back on the mattress. But even as my body throbs with the urge to get away, my skin buzzes with another need that has been simmering deep within me for days. When Dorin sets the bowl of breakfast aside and moves to sit behind me, I don’t try to get away. I barely even struggle as he grabs my arm and shoves it into a sleeve. I tell myself it’s because his harsh grip snuffs out my resistance, but really, it’s something else.

My breaths come quicker and louder as he traps both my arms in the closed sleeves, buckles the jacket on the back, then straps my arms into place, wrapped around me in a locked position. He finishes by pushing me down to lie on the mattress and pulling the front strap between my legs. His big hand brushes my sensitive lips on the way, making sparks crackle in my nerves. But that’s it. No attachments or anything. He just fastens the strap at the back, locking my pussy up, lonely and unused.

When he pulls me up to sit, I feel flustered and hot. Needy and wanting.

He drags his hand down my arm, my waist, and settles on my hips—his warm hand on my bare skin. I want him so bad I can’t seem to think straight.

“Dorin, I-I—”

“What?” This time, his voice is gentle, the irritation gone.

“I—Will you please…” I trail off, unable to say I want him.

“What is it?”

I sigh, slumping in the jacket. “Nothing.” I desperately want to feel him, but I can’t bear the humiliation if he says no, and I can’t bear the humiliation of knowing I asked for it when he crosses all the lines and breaks me apart.

He pulls me into him—his strong, wide chest and warm body. Draping an arm over my stomach, he holds me close while leaning his chin on my shoulder and lifting the spoon with a scoopful of yogurt and fruit. “Eat, little songbird.”

Disappointment turns in my belly, but I open anyway and sink into him. At first, it’s defeat that has me slumping, but as I sit there, enclosed in his protective embrace—under his strict control in the straitjacket—I feel oddly cared for. It’s like the helplessness calms my head when combined with the irrational safety I feel in his arms.

Once the bowl is empty, he wraps his other arm around me too. Then we just sit there. Our breaths sync as we melt together, breathing each other in and soaking up the feeling of our perfectly connected bodies. I feel it; he feels it too, this bond that has grown and manifested. Everything we share. The scars, the loneliness, the intimacy of him saving me from myself, and the intensity when he took me from myself, broke me down, and freed me.

I want to put voice to it all, but for the same reasons I don’t ask him to touch me, I can’t. So I remain still, and the quiet comfort is all I get.

Dorin leaves me in the straitjacket, and when he returns sometime later, he has a book with him that he reads out loud to me before feeding me again. I’m not sure how long he stays, but it’s much longer than usual, as if he actually listened and cared about my loneliness. Maybe an hour or so. He holds me close like he did before, caressing me and making me feel safe.

When he finally gets up to leave, he still hasn’t removed the straitjacket.

“You know, I’m not gonna be any more trouble. You can take this off,” I say with a small smile, glancing down at the stiff, white material.

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