Finally understanding the intent of his statement, Alice leaned forward, the subtle movement allowing her to focus on his observations and thoughts.
"With that in mind, I find it odd that Max seemingly cares for you in the dreams. He apologizes for his actions, he admits what he's doing is wrong. Even more bizarre, he promises to improve your life, thus stripping you from issues you've suffered since you were a child."
"My sleep disorders," Alice agreed. "The nightmares that have always been with me."
The doctor nodded. "Precisely. And yet, in a previous session you claimed that the bastards that took your sister were in some way hurting her. How would you know? Surely, not by Max' behavior. So how?"
Alice pondered the question, the answer easily revealing itself. "Because I haven't told you all the dreams. You have to hear the entire story in order to understand."
"Then we'll continue to explore the story. Tell me your next dream, Alice, and I'll save my theories for another session."
Standing before the full-length mirror, Alice surveyed the garment she'd been instructed to wear. It wasn't her normal style, definitely not a color she considered flattering for her pale pinkish skin tone.
Canary yellow cotton covered her body, a simple dress that was fitted in the chest and waist, blossoming at the hips to flow over her legs. The material was tucked at the waist in such a way as to make the skirt appear full, as if crinoline pushed the skirt out, not fully belled, but close.
A demure neckline was adorned by a scalloped white collar, a set of pearls circling her neck threatening to choke her.
On her feet were a pair of modest white pumps, the heels only an inch off the ground, her legs covered by nude nylons.
From behind her, Max approached, his eyes surveying her clothed body, approval and satisfaction obvious behind the light blue color. His feet were heavy against the ground, his chest pressed up against Alice's back as his gaze met hers in the mirror.
Rubbing his large hands over her shoulders and down her arms, he leaned in to brush his lips across the shell of her ear, those same lips moving softly over her skin as he whispered.
"You look beautiful, Alice. So much more appropriate than what you were wearing before."
She shuddered beneath the heat of his breath. "I was naked before," she argued, rebellion a subtle note in her tone.
A soft kiss against her cheek, his chest vibrating with soft laughter against her back. "I meant before you sullied yourself. Such a dirty woman, Alice."
Anger crept through her veins, steeling her spine as the glint of metal chains hanging from a beam above the bed flashed within the mirror. "Who the fuck are you? What are you doing to me?"
Even she was surprised by the burst of sharp rage. The drugs no longer numbed her, and willful independence rushed back to the surface with such intensity it stilled her body after the words escaped her lips.
His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her shoulders, the edges of his nails cutting half moon circles into her skin from above the thin cotton sleeves. Max spun her towards him, the force of the movement throwing her off balance in both body and mind.
In a placid tone, one entirely devoid of the anger she herself was feeling, Max warned, "Don't curse at me, Alice. Ladies don't use such foul language."
His hand slid up her shoulder, the pressure from his fingers lingering on her skin as he traced the line of her jaw. He wrapped his hand over her mouth before squeezing. Her lips pushed out, her cheeks concaved and burning beneath the strength of his grip.
Alice tried to pull away, but his grip was too tight, too strong for her to do anything more than shake her head as helpless as a horse attempting to escape its bridle. Tears stung her eyes as Max pressed her against the cool surface of the mirror, her neck angling awkwardly until the back of her head rested against the reflective glass.
Leering down at her with calm precision in his gaze, Max allowed the silence between them to become deafening, dangerous, devoid of emotion or censure. Alice would have preferred his anger or rage - anything beyond the terrifying silence - because it was the lack of emotion within him that made his thoughts completely imperceptible, his next move completely unknown.
Trapped between Max' body and the mirror, Alice was reduced to a timid creature by nothing more than the vice-like grip of Max' steady hand. His grip wasn't so painful that it forced her to scream, but it wasn't gentle either. Rough, uncomfortably tight, forcing the tender skin of her inside cheek to grate against get her teeth: his hold was a warning.
"I don't want to harm you," he explained, a hushed tone to his voice that hinted at regret - or possibly, a veiled confession. "I won't harm you. But I will make you hurt."