Page 40 of Speechless
The footsteps wouldn’t stop.
Curled tight in her ball, Jenna squeezed her eyes shut. The TV couldn’t drown them out, the screaming in her head wasn’t enough to halt the constant pacing. She knew what they meant, and she cowered from it.
Sire was coming.
She’d forgotten herself. Let the music and Connor take her to a higher level. How could she be sostupid? She’d ruined everything and now Sire ruled her thoughts, dictated her actions.
She didn’t deserve to eat. She was a bad girl and bad girls slept on the floor like the bitches they were. They didn’t get to cuddle; they weren’t allowed to touch what wasn’t theirs.
Bad girls who spoke lost their tongues.
The window was open. She could smell fresh air, hear the birds outside and the chatter of children in the distance. Not enough to catch the words, but their laughter was water on the last embers of her fire. She was cold, always cold, but to complain was to hurt.
When she complained about being cold, Sire used the belt to warm her up. Warmed her from head to toe, until her skin blistered and wept. Kept right onwarming her upso she couldn’t walk on the soles of her feet, lay on her back, move without fire setting her nerves alight.
Her stomach rumbled, the dark grumble she was so accustomed to. So hungry she felt sick, the food just feet away served as punishment. Eating was a privilege only obedient girls were given.
Bad girls got nothing but water from the brown toilet bowl.
Connor was gone.
That was the last straw. There was nothing left to hold on to without him. It had hurt worse than a kick in the stomach when he’d gotten up, left her when her fingers reached for him. He hadn’t seen, hadn’t known, and she was glad.
It was one less thing for him to mourn when she died, if he mourned at all. She wouldn’t blame him. The voice in her head raged at her when she wanted to crawl to him, berated her when she yearned for the comfort only he could give.
All Connor knew was that she’d turned from him first.
A shadow fell over her. Jenna threw her hands up weakly, certain Sire had finally found her. So strong was her fear, she tasted bile along with copper in her mouth.
Small, strong hands grasped her wrists and yanked her unceremoniously to her feet. Before she could drop again, an arm snaked around her waist and dragged her to the couch. She was shoved down, her legs tucked up, and the duvet bundled around her before her mind caught up.
“You stay there, madam. You and I have a long talk coming.”
No, she didn’t belong in the warmth. Jenna struggled free of the comfort, kicked it away. She blinked when a hand slapped against her forehead gently and pushed her back. Squinting up at the figure scowling at her, she saw the disappointment in Sarah’s eyes.
“I mean it, Jenna. Come to Jesus ain’t nothing on what we’re gonna have,” Sarah drawled, rearranging the covers again. “Two people I have strong feelings for are killing themselves. One because she’s been disciplined into non-communication. The other because he’s exhausting himself down to the bone to try and save her. It stops now.”
Jenna broke eye contact.
“So does this shit. We both know you can talk. I don’t know who you think controls your tongue, but you are the only one who gets to dictate whether you speak.” Arms folded over her chest, she resembled an angry faery. “If you move from where I’ve put you, you won’t like the consequences.”
Jenna sank into the cushions silently. Evidently, Connor’s sidekick was not someone to mess with when her dander was up. Her eyes tracked Sarah’s movements as she stalked out of the room. The urge to crawl back to her hovel hole in the corner was phenomenally strong, the voice in her head getting louder and more insistent the longer she remained on the couch.
You don’t belong here.
“That’s a good start. You can obey orders when it suits you.” Sarah slipped back into the room, quiet as a ninja. She carried a tray and the scents that came with her sent Jenna’s cramping belly into fits of delight. She set several plates on the coffee table, cleared the old dishes from earlier, then was gone again.
Oh, it smelled so good. Hunger gripped Jenna in an iron fist, pooled saliva in her mouth. The penance of a bad girl was suffering, and Sarah really was skilled at twisting the knife in a broken body.
“What baffles me,” Sarah said quietly from where she leaned against the doorway, “is why you’re starving yourself. I know Connor’s worked his ass off cooking up every meal known to mankind to entice you to eat, and you’ve barely touched any of it—only what he’s shoved into your mouth and made you swallow. Yet I can hear your stomach growling from here, and your eyes are so big I could fit one of those dishes in them.”
Bad girls don’t eat.
Sarah pushed off the jamb and sauntered to the coffee table, dragging it within a foot of the couch. She sat on the wooden surface, gestured to the array of plates with a raised brow. “Connor might be a soft touch with you, Jenna, but we’re down to the wire now. You’re not going to like what I have to say; I sure as hell aren’t looking forward to saying it.”
It was so close. She could taste the soup from the scent alone, imagined the rich tomato on her tongue. Her eyes roamed greedily over pancakes and waffles, buttered toast, a bacon sandwich.
“Connor left, Jenna. I know he came to say goodbye. I know you cried when the door shut behind him.” She reached for Jenna’s hand, grasped it in both of hers. “We can’t help you if you don’t help us, sweetheart. I mean it when I say we’re at the wire—if you don’t eat, if you don’t make an improvement, we have to let you go to someone who will help you whether you want it or not.”