Il Letto Del Padrone

He left her there, laying on the grass panting, biting back sobs, weak, trembling and terribly sore. He just left her there, lying wet and miserable in the scorching sun. Every movement tugged an aching muscle against freshly punctured skin. It hurt to breathe. She was happy not to move, happy to ignore him leaning against the wall, starring. She let her eyes drift shut, leather muscles release. She could still feel water leaking out every now and then.

It didn't take long for her to drift off, waking in a dark room. The pillows, sheets, and sheet cover were a deep crimson that captured black holes and cracks in the fabric folds, while the quilt itself was a collection of rich classy browns. The pillows engulfed her, the mattress cupping her curves gently, pain stiffened muscles strained between them. The room was dark, so so dark, but there was a warm glow hidden behind thick quilted curtains. She wondered if the day had ended or was just ending, just where the sun was. Either way, it didn't really matter, not enough to attempt to get up. She lived through a nightmare, a horrible nightmare if she could only wakeup or dream, whatever would make it fade. She had been kidnapped and rapped, but the shock or horror of it at the time. . . . . she didn't care at the time she had been raped. All she could think about was the absurdity, the impossibility of it all, practical survival. Give him this moment, then the next, collect them till she could make good on them. Escape. . . . if that was possible, or survive without any unnecessary punishments, pain. But for some reason, she couldn't shake that thought, 'impossible.'

No matter how or where she lay, between her muscles and unhealed pins, she was always in some form of discomfort. A pillow, however, had been placed under her hips that gave a slight elevation, off-centring her weight slightly. This, this seemed to help immensely. She pulled one leg up, feeling the slight tightening, bending through her hip, up through her thigh. A faint pop of her hip, a second from her knee. She ran her fingers absentmindedly over her thigh, feeling. She could feel sharp stubble poking through.

The quilt moved. She hadn't. Her muscles involuntarily tensed, sending a dull ache through her body. 'No,' she thought. The limb under her hip shifted, a large hairy leg slinking closer, sending shivers through her. 'Shit, shit!' She felt her stomach throbbing, her head thick with static.

"Lay still." She stared hard into the darkness, she knew she hadn't moved. She felt his warm rough hands lift up her thigh to cup her hip, fingering the metal lacing across her shivering skin. "You slept well past noon, I can't think of a better way to be refreshed." She cringed, feeling him lift her up. "But, it's time to get up." He rolled her off of him, his naked body shedding the coverings. She turned stiffly to him, watching him. Noon? Sure enough, the sun was sitting high and bright in a dull blue sky. She couldn't imagine getting up, couldn't imagine moving. She looked away from him, looking anywhere but at him.

It was odd. The room was so empty, the only things in the room looked as if a speck of dust alone on the rugs or extravagant furniture were worth thousands of dollars. There was no television, no laptop or computer, no electronics whatsoever except for a chandelier in the middle of the room, old lanterns scattered around the room. From what she could see, there were no stereos or speakers, nothing. There was not even any kind of fan or air conditioner, but a large brick fireplace cleaned and waiting for winter. Neither were there decorations of near any kind, an expensively empty room.

"I won't make you get up, not yet anyway." She turned to him again, slowly. "We made some real progress yesterday I think, but I simply don't have time for you today. I still have to arrange so much for the gathering as well," he sighed. "But, I have called July down to attend to you until I return." She felt her stomach twist, uncertain if she should be relieved or. . . . damn, or what? "Oh don't worry, I just will have her keeping you in shape." 'Shape?'

July was a tall, slim, but older woman. Her face seemed to be permanently ironed into a soft but neutral expression. She had this look like she had seen almost everything, almost. She tried not to, but her eyes were drawn to the metal casing, even pinching a small stretch of skin to see how deep the pins went but quickly abandoned when she flinched sharply.

She was first given a simple but highly appreciated bowl of oatmeal and berry toppings and a large cup of a green mixture of blended fruits and vegetables. She was unsure if it was any good or if she would just crave anything she saw she could eat, that was a stress thing, right? Then again, when was the last meal she had. . . ? She couldn't quite form any memory of what she ate, or even when, making the presence of this now exceedingly welcome. After which, they slowly made their way to the steam room where Willow soaked in the hot tubbed, feeling her limbs stretched and rubbed before soaking in ice water. As painful as it was, it was also so soothing, sending waves of relief through her in volumes she'd never felt before. And even after all this, June decided they had time to take a tour, however slight, of the mansion and meet the other mai- women who worked the house, hearing the horrific oddities that were now her life, finally seeping into reality.