Page 18 of Red Waters

Bonds and Bondage

Warm water wasn’t the only commodity I had to earn…

Prisoners have to learn to play the deadly game of survival and buy the only safety that exists. Protection. The towel I was given after the shower was the size of a washcloth. With a disturbing hunger, Yury watched me dab myself dry. He wiped his mouth before asking, “Those years of dancing worked in your favor.”

Wishing I had a tarp to wrap up in, I kept drying my skin.

“I’ve seen you dance before.”

My hand slowed as my brain processed this information.

“It is quite amazing to have watched you be born then witness the talent you’ve become.”

Staring at him, dying to ask questions, Yury rolled his eyes. “Speak, Fire.”

“So, I was born in Russia?”

He pointed up. “In this very house.”

It was eerie to experience a full circle moment. I had returned to where I had begun.

Yury’s blue eyes squinted. “What is like to know nothing about yourself?”

My shoulders caved. “Lonely.”

“Explain this feeling.”

Every muscle of mine tensed when learning my captor was clueless of this emotion also. “Uh… Lonely is to feel like something is missing. It leaves an empty sensation. A hollow spot in my—”

I watched as Yury raised the hand that had struck me and touched his own stomach.

“Yes. A hollow spot there.”

His hand dropped as his teeth ground against each other. “Let’s go.” Yury grabbed my upper arm and practically shook me for daring to make him… feel.

Back in the hallway, my hands attempted to cover my privates with the washcloth. Being completely naked was extremely isolating.

Yury rattled me again. “Drop your hands.”

There was a man with a lusty stare. He had a gun strapped to his hip. It was unnerving to let my hands fall to my sides and allow the stranger to see all of me. Not a thing could be done as Yury twirled me around once so that a full view could be offered to the stranger. My hand tightened around the material I wasn’t allowed to conceal myself with.

Russian words were exchanged before Yury took hold of my upper arm again to guide me back toward the cell where I was being held. Approaching the room Shelly had been forced into, I saw Kirill exit while removing his black hood. He was back in his robe, breathless, sweaty, tired, and smiling. When he saw me, he suddenly acted rejuvenated. “And the fun begins.”

Again, I was twirled. Yury asked, “Quite the beauty, yes?”

“For being older, yes.”

A cold sweat broke through my skin. If I was considered older, at eighteen, what age did Kirill prefer?

Kirill bent over to touch my leg. I cringed away before Yury shook me. He sternly told me, “Let him touch you.”

Feeling so violated, Kirill stared at me right in the eyes as he slowly reached down and touched my lower leg. “The scar I gave you is healing nicely.”

My ears began to ring and my body shook as I stared at the man who drove the car that had hit me. Not caring about the punishment, I retracted my leg. “Don’t touch me.”

Practically breaking out in a dance of celebration, Yury laughed. “Yes, burn, Fire. Burn.”

Kirill wasn’t as impressed with my Whit attitude. “Need me to break her in for you?”