My brother’s baby mama – soon to be my sister – begged me for more creepy captivity shorts. I loved the idea of yesterday’s being a stand-alone short story, but they keep popping into my head, so I might just keep writing them…
The breaking-in period for this one was proving to be a challenge. I poured myself a drink and sat comfortably. I made a spectacle of my relaxation, making it clear I wanted her to relax as well. She huddled in the opposite corner with her arms wrapped around her body. I spoke soothingly, invitingly. I told her a little about myself, the house, why she was there, how much I loved her. I invited her to come sit with me, or to make herself comfortable on the bed. She refused. She never spoke. She never even looked at me.
I went to bed. I went to work. I returned to keep her company. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. We did this for two more days. I grew concerned that we might not work out. That would have been unacceptable. I love her; I want to show her how much I love her. I can only do that if she is paying attention to me.
The third day was fortunately a Saturday. I was thrilled at the prospect of spending the entire weekend with her. I walked in that morning and placed a glass of water between my feet as I sat down. This got her attention.
“I know you’re thirsty, my love,” I said. “I brought this for you. It is yours. You may have it when you speak to me – tell me a little about yourself – or you may come sit in my lap.”
Giving them options is important; It works well with children as well: You empower them by allowing them to choose, and each choice is a result you desire.
This method worked very well with her, and with unexpected results. She uncurled, looking much like a cat, and crawled across the floor on her hands and knees. She never looked at me: She kept her eyes fixed on the glass between my feet. I took it and placed it on the arm of the chair. She climbed up into the chair. I spread my knees so that her bottom could slip between my legs, with her legs bent over one of mine. Her skin was perfect. When we were both comfortable, I handed her the glass. She sipped it slowly, holding it with both hands, like a young girl sitting in her daddy’s lap. I rubbed her back and stroked her hair with one hand, and wrapped the other under her knees to hug her leg.
She continued to refused to look at or speak to me, but her growling stomach betrayed how I would be able to buy those favors. I waited patiently until she finished her water, then I placed a finger on her cheek and turned her face to me. Her eyes flicked up to mine, then dropped to a fixed point on my shoulder.
“Are you hungry, my love?” I laughed at myself. “What am I saying? Of course you’re hungry; You haven’t eaten for two days. Tell me your name, my love, and I will bring you some food.”
Her eyes flicked up to mine again. They were not the color I wanted, but they were not too far off. She murmured a name. It was not her name. Her hunger must have dimmed her wits; She should have known I would look in her wallet when she first arrived.
I could not punish her for this attempt at deception, though, not while we were making such good progress. I raised my eyebrows instead. A soft blush spread across her face. She gave me her real name.
“Beautiful, my love.” I know it is rude to lie like this, but I want her to feel relaxed, loved. Most names, after all, do not live up to the one I want. “Sit here. Keep this spot warm for me, and I will make you something to eat.”
Breaking her in became much like training a cat: I would ask her a question, offering a bit of food. If she answered, I would feed her. If she did not, I would eat it. Gradually, the questions grew more complex, and I would not feed her unless she answered to my satisfaction. Eventually, she spoke unprompted. We began to have conversations without food between us.
Unfortunately, I made the mistake of trying this with fish. The slow nature of this process resulted in quite the upset stomach.
Her breaking-in period lasted five long days. After the process was complete, and we could converse openly, getting her to allow me to entertain her, to love her, was easy.
Too easy, in fact. I grew bored with her quickly. I must say, however, that no one has given me quite as much trouble since. I was able to streamline this breaking-in process.