He’s gone again. Taun. Just when things were starting to become a little bit okay, it’s all messed up again. I didn’t exactly love my life but at least it was more or less predictable. I knew I had to win back Taun’s love and trust and that maybe, just maybe, if I proved myself, then he would let me stay at the house and not force me to go to the Retreat every day.
But perhaps he does enjoy knowing I’m there, after all. At first, he said he sent me there because he had to; because Mr. Negulesco was only renting me to him and Taun didn’t have the right to keep me all the time. Then, when he claimed that he had bought me, he told me I had to go to the Retreat as punishment. More recently, he has simply said that I have to go and “work” every day, that I must go to the Retreat, or just walk around town, but that I have to be available to any man who wants to have me.
Yet he still claims that his only goal is the sole and unique use of my body, that he loved me once and would love me again, that he sees me as a person and not just a sex thing with holes.
So I’ve been as well-behaved as I can, servicing the men who want me and then returning happily to Taun each night. Sometimes he’s there, sometimes he isn’t. But he must know what happens. Somehow, he has found out that although I hate the men who use me and hate what they do to me – and I really, really do – a tiny part of me keeps betraying the rest.
Obviously, at the Retreat, there are cameras everywhere so he’ll have been able to see or at least hear that sometimes, despite trying as hard as I can to resist, I think I sometimes enjoy what they do to me. I don’t know how it happens and each time it does I hate myself and I hate my body and I promise I’ll never let it happen again. But each time it does happen again. A man will look at me a certain way, say a word or phrase in a particular tone of voice, touch me a little differently, make me feel something so deep, so incredible, so indescribably… I don’t know! I just lose myself and it’s like some sort of drug that I’ve read about; I’m suddenly no longer myself and no longer saying or doing things I would say or do normally and it just feels so amazing and so good and so incredible and I can’t get enough and I want more and more and it builds and builds until I’m sure it’s going to kill me and I explode. But I don’t die. I survive and hate myself for being unable to resist, for giving in, for being weak. And I swear that next time will be different. Next time I’ll be stronger and I won’t enjoy it, any of it, not even just a little. But then that sick, twisted part of my brain or body that remembers the high, leads me back, kicking and screaming, for more.
And Taun must know this. Maybe he can read it on me; I’ve been told I’m easy to read and he’s also very good at that. So maybe that’s how he knows because sometimes the men I’ve met have taken me places other than the Retreat and there can’t possibly be cameras all over town, in every shop, business, street corner, and house. Can there? Surely if a man takes me to his private house, Taun won’t know what goes on there. Unless he has some sort of agreement with absolutely everyone in the area but not even he could have that much power. Or maybe there’s just a lot going on in this corrupt town that I can’t even begin to know or understand.
But in any case, it’s all changed now. I came home last night and found a note in the living room:
I’m going away for a while. But don’t worry, angel, you’ll be well taken care of.
I have no idea whether he’s being kind or cruel. I love it when he calls me angel, and he knows that, and he usually only does so when he’s happy with me. So maybe I’m just worried and panicking for nothing. It’s just that it sounds so ominous, especially knowing that in the past he hasn’t thought twice about using other men to do things to me which he hopes will make me more into the girl he wants me to be. He hates the idea of me enjoying being with another man, and he says he doesn’t like me to suffer at the hands of anyone, but if that suffering helps me want him more I think he’s very okay with it. Sure, my tears and screams don’t excite him as they do some men. But he’s completely okay with my fear and pain it if it means I’ll come running to him for comfort. Which is just as sick and twisted.
So what will happen now? And how long is “a while”? I’ll have to continue going to the Retreat because I’m sure he’s watching or getting reports on me and there’s no way I’m brave enough to disobey his last orders. I just wish I knew what he meant by “taken care of”. Maybe someone will be looking out for me, watching me, making sure I’m okay? Oh, how wonderful that would be! Or does he mean that I will now encounter a daily, steady stream of only the worst sadists so that when he returns I’ll be so terrified of any man who isn’t him that I’ll do anything for him and only him?
I have a horrible, horrible feeling that it’s the latter.