Filthy Secret

PAID IN FULL

PENELOPE

My heavy lids weigh down my eyes, making it almost impossible to open them. With each attempt, the fluttering of my lashes as I struggle to wake up blurs and fuzzes my vision with black lines,

obscuring everything. It’s not that the room is dark, though. No.

The room is bathed in a bright, fluorescent light that sets my head to pounding with any miniscule opening I can manage. Even the faint buzz sounds loud and obnoxious to my ears. It’s like the world’s worst hangover. How much did I have to drink?

My memories from the last few nights are fuzzy, and I know I indulged a little, but I don’t normally get blackout drunk. Groaning, I keep my head planted against the soft surface as I keep working with my eyes. Where the hell am I? I pull up my arm to rub my temples, hoping to ease some of the discomfort, but I can’t move. Why can’t I move? Again, I force my eyes to open, but when they do, I’m not given any additional clues about what’s going on.

From what little I can see, it looks like I’m in a hospital. Am I paralyzed? Keeping myself as still as possible, I start from my toes and work my way up, wiggling every little bit I can. Everything seems to be working, but why can’t I move? I go to move my head, but that won’t budge either.

My breaths come in harsh, panicked gasps as I try again. I still can’t move. The pressure in my head grows every time I try, then lessens when I keep it still. Moving just my eyes, I look down as best as I can and see white padded shackles holding me in place.

The relief that floods my system nearly makes me faint. I’m not paralyzed, just restrained. As soon as that thought flashes through, my anxiety ramps back up. Why? Have I been kidnapped? For some reason, that feels even more terrifying than the idea of being paralyzed. Wiggling my fingers again, I twist my wrist in a feeble attempt to free myself, but everything holds firm.

Fully awake and aware, my eyes dart about the space, hoping to get some more clues as to where I am and who could have taken me, but the room is bare. Any place I look at is just plain white walls and metal instruments.

For a brief second, the idea of an alien abduction flits through my mind, but I dismiss it quicker than anything else. Footsteps echo somewhere to my left, and I freeze, willing my hysteria down. Closing my eyes, I focus on my breathing, pulling up an old anxiety trick. I breathe in for four counts, hold for four, exhale for four, and hold again.© NôvelDrama.Org - All rights reserved.

Though it does nothing to stop my racing heart, hopefully it will be enough to convince whoever is coming over that I’m still asleep. The steps come closer, and with each click, my heart thumps a little bit faster. Try as I might, I can’t seem to get it under control.

“I know you’re awake. We have cameras watching you.” The voice is deep, growly, and full of dark promise. My insides churn as he walks closer to me. “Are you still going to pretend like you’re asleep? Because I have no problem starting the examination either way.”

Examination? Then maybe I am in the hospital. The nausea threatening to rise to the surface lowers a touch as I catch the glimpse of a white coat in

my peripheral. “Wh-what’s wrong with me? Is it my spine?”

The ever-present clacking stops, and I can feel the displacement of air as he turns near my shins. “To my knowledge, there’s nothing wrong with you. This exam is just precautionary. Here, let’s make this a little better, shall we?”

His hands are hot against my frigid skin, and in that moment, I realize my legs at least are completely uncovered. Panic rises as he skims his fingers up my leg and stomach. Naked. Everything. What type of hospital is this?

“I need a gown, please.” The wavering tremor in my voice grates on my nerves. I wanted so badly to be strong, to voice my needs like a woman. Instead, it’s coming out like a small, lost child.

“A gown for what? Where you’re going, you won’t need any clothes. Why waste them on you now?”

It’s just as I thought. I’ve been kidnapped. But by who? Why? The stranger’s hands scald me as they loosen up the various belts holding me down to the table. Should I try to fight him? Would I even stand a chance?

The table whirs to life and morphs from a flat surface to something more like a chair, and my stomach clenches as my head goes forward.

Biting down on my lower lip, I breathe deep, forcing the contents of my stomach to stay down. I’m bent at the waist with my legs splayed up in front of me. It’s like the gynecologist, but far more intrusive and uncomfortable.

Once I’m where he likes me, the stranger walks back in front, his doctor’s coat flapping with each step he takes. He’s unlike any doctor I’ve ever seen. Dark denim pants hang low on his hips. He’s not wearing a shirt underneath the coat, revealing his muscly tattooed chest. Looking up from there, his full lips twist into a smirk.

Though I can’t tell how old he is, he looks a bit older than me. He pulls up a stool, his eyes never leaving mine, and sits in between my thighs. Though I try as hard as I can to close them, the straps don’t allow me.

The muscles burn as I strain against the padded straps holding me hostage, but they don’t give. As he watches me struggle, the smirk widens. It’s like he’s enjoying himself.

“I’m going to ask you some questions, and you’re going to answer. Understand?” My chin quivers as I nod. “Oh no sweetie. You’re going to learn soon enough that we demand words. A nod just simply won’t do. You will say either yes, Sir or no, Sir. Now let’s try this again. Understand?”

“Yes, Sir.” My voice still wavers, but it sounds a touch stronger than before. There’s that at least.

“Very good.” Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulls out a sheet of paper and begins reading from it. “Name?”

“Penelope Evans, Sir.” Maybe if I’m over-polite and obey him right away, he won’t hurt me as badly. There’s always that hope, right?

“It says here, Penny.”

“That’s my nickname, Sir.”

“Hmmm. I prefer Penelope. It rolls off the tongue, don’t you think?” The wink he gives me as he slides his tongue over his lips sends heat racing up my cheeks. “Age.”

“Twenty-two, Sir.”

“Louder. I want the cameras to hear everything you say. Your responses are being recorded.”

Dumbstruck, I look in every possible corner I can, but don’t see anything that looks even close to a camera. The strap holding my head down doesn’t allow me to see very much, so there’s still a chance he’s not lying. At the stranger’s exasperated sigh, I look back down at him as he stands and starts to fiddle with the buckle on his belt.

“I was hoping we could get through this part without discipline.” He tugs on one end and drags it through, the sound of the belt clearing the loops skittering up my spine. Shuddering, I stare at the folded leather. It looks worn and well-used.