You think you know hunger, but you don't really know hunger. Not the type that makes everything hurt. When you feel like the life force is being syphoned from your body with each hour. Where the rational side, the thing that makes you human and separates you from an animal is smothered by instinct. It turns you into the most basic creature, where nothing else matters but getting the nutrients you need to keep breathing.
“Okay. I won't fight. You can clean me. But can I please, just a sip. To wet my mouth?” My lips stick together with each word, making an awful suction sound.
He squeezes the sponge over my head so that the water rains down on me. It's warm; it's been so long since I felt warmth. And I let it run over my lips, trying to steal every last bit of moisture from it. I don't care about the bitter taste of soap, I'll take it however I can get it.
I focus on the promising scent of food, intermingled with the clean scent of soap as he pulls me up to my feet. It's not forceful, it's actually soft and in any other circumstances, somewhat seductive. He unties the rope around my wrists. He at least had the mercy to loosen them a little bit when he put me in here. They were so tight the night he took me, my hands had gone numb and purple. I probably would have lost them if he hadn't. But there are rope burns that are raw and red. He doesn't rub them, but again trickles the soapy water over the wounds.
He uses his bare hands to rub the slick suds along my body. They are a rough contrast to the slipperiness of the soap. I shudder. I haven't seen or spoken to a person in who knows how long. The loneliness eats at you. And it makes you hypersensitive to the presence of another person. His touch, though violating, is human. And just like the night he took me, my brain and body can't reconcile both sides of the equation.
He spends extra time on my breasts, massaging them, rubbing against the stiff nipples. I turn away when he does this, not that the mask gives me a view of his face at all. Just those eyes and a pair of plump lips, lips that were contrastingly soft and harsh when he kissed me that night. He glides a hand down my belly, past the patch of hair and rubs me down there. Cleaning, yes, but also toying with me, showing me he has all the control. That he can touch me how he wants.
I focus on the rich smell of warm food across the room, and not the carnal feeling his hands provoke.
He walks behind me, I try to turn but he pushes my face forward, and then bends me at the waist, spreading my ass apart. He scrubs it with the sponge vigorously, cleaning away the filth I have been unable to.
He comes forward again, and from the bucket he pulls out a razor. I flinch in horror. He puts his finger to his lips and points at the food, reminding me what my compliance will produce.
A few tears drop as I quiet myself, but I shake uncontrollably, afraid he'll cut me with it, like he did with the knife. But instead he shaves me: my legs, armpits, and most of my private area. He towels me off, brushes my wet hair and squeezes out the excess water.
Now I'm a clean caged animal.
I don't have time to care about my dignity. All I can think about is eating and drinking. He walks over to the food and tosses the bag at me. I pull out the water bottle and chug on it furiously, then I grab a handful of fries and shove them in my mouth.
A hand grips firmly on my arm. He puts up his other hand. Slow down, he's telling me. I'm a little embarrassed that I'm eating savagely enough for my kidnapper to have to show concern. But not too embarrassed as I shoot him a rebellious glare and finish shoving that handful of fries in my mouth without breaking eye contact. I do take his advice and slow down on the next bite. Focused on the deliciousness of the food, I don't pay attention to the work he's doing around me. I assume cleaning up my mess, but when he rolls a TV in front of me, it catches my eye. He turns the dial to ABC and adjusts the antenna. The image is grainy, with a line of static rolling up the screen intermittently.
I wonder if this is some form of entertainment he's trying to provide as I crouch there, damp and naked, biting out of my burger. It doesn't make sense considering his brutality during our last encounter, but when the anchors stop talking about the weather, it's clear what he's showing me.
“And up next, the latest news on the abducted Sacramento-area nursing student.”
My stomach rolls with discomfort and I almost lose my precious meal.
“Who are you?” I ask.
No answer.
“What are you going do to me?”
No answer.
“Why won't you speak to me?! I've already heard your voice.”
He turns and leaves, keeping my foot chained so I have no chance of escape.
As many fantasies as I had of eating a banquet all by myself, my shrunken stomach already feels like it'll burst, so I place the burger back in the wrapper. I don't know when my next meal will be, so it would be dumb to discard the food.