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and she’s only been here for three days. She found me once Jake told her where I lived and she hasn’t left. I’ve fucked her every day, and each time it’s getting harder, telling myself it’s not the blue-eyed woman that has me so hard.
    This better not be my life. I’m too young to have a limp dick.
    Thoughts of Rose’s blonde hair and blue eyes come to mind, and my dick jumps.
    I want to curse myself, tell my fucked up mind that the woman tied to the bed, the way I want her, it isn’t the same Rose. No, this one’s fucked and a junkie. And I don’t get involved with junkies.
    “Why is she special?” Stella asks. I forgot she’s here. She always seems to be around and I have no idea why. I don’t treat her well. Fuck, I don’t even let her sleep in my bed.
    “She isn’t,” I say, ridding myself of the condom and pulling my pants up. My headache is back. Stress—too much fucking stress.
    “Why is she currently tied to a bed if she isn’t?” she questions and stands there completely naked, questioning me in my own home. She must be crazy.
    “Leave,” I bark and she looks shocked. She shakes her head no. “Leave,” I tell her again, my voice not raised, but there’s no mistake in what I’ve said.
    She kicks something on my floor with angry intent. I don’t acknowledge her tantrum. I’ve never offered her anything, never once made any promises. My dick was in her, fucking her, and that’s the extent of what we have. She chooses to stay—stay to be fucked.
    She slams the door on her way out, then it goes completely quiet. At first I think she may have gone back downstairs, but then I hear my car start up and reverse down my driveway .
    Fucking bitch.
    I stand on the top of the stairs, looking down. Wondering if she’s sleeping. Does she recognize me? Does she see how dark I’ve become? Could she still be the same girl I once knew?
    Those thoughts don’t mean anything, because in that room downstairs in the dark is a broken girl. One who I don’t know.

 
     

    It’s black, there’s no light coming in. I hear yelling. I don’t think I’m hallucinating, it sounds real. Then a slam, followed by a car leaving. I lay there, one arm handcuffed to the bed, the rest of my body free. I think about the brunette and her question. “ Why does he help you? ” I don’t know who she spoke of. Was it the man I saw, the one that doesn’t speak? I wasn’t sure if he was real or not. I didn’t even believe she was real until I felt the shower and tasted the food.
    The door latches are being moved, I can hear it. The click, clack. A slight light follows and I look up, expecting it to be the dark figure, but it’s not. It’s a small figure, his head looking in, assessing everything. His eyes stop when they’re on me. He looks me dead in the eyes, and then walks in, shutting the door and flicking on the light.
    He’s small, possibly eight to ten years old. He ambles to me, stopping at the single chair that’s not that far from my bed and sits down. He sees me handcuffed to the bed and looks worried, his eyes shooting back to mine.
    “You bad?” he asks, his voice soft. I don’t know how to answer that question so I choose not to. He’s smart, he reads my silence.
    “Mr. Black, he isn’t bad. He looks after me, treats me right,” he goes on, looking at the door like he’s expecting to get in trouble at any minute.
    “Mr. Black?” I ask him.
    “Yeah, Black. The man who owns this house. The man who cuffed you.” He points to my wrist, telling me the obvious.
    “Can you get me out of here?” I pull on my cuff, wanting it to break so I can break free. He shakes his head, hard.
    “Want a lolly?” he asks, ignoring me, pulling out a lollipop from his pocket. I can’t say no, my hunger is always present. He hands it to me, and I basically snatch it from his hand, peeling the wrapper away and shoving it in my mouth.
    “I have to go. See you later, cuffed lady,” he says, standing and