The words were on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t speak them. Thick and sticky, they clung there refusing to brush over her lips on even the barest of whispers.
Shaking her head, she tightened her body into a ball. Her head rested on her knees and her arms quaked with how tightly they held her bent legs to her chest. Blonde hair slipped from the ponytail that trailed down her back and she hid behind that small bit as if it would conceal her.
“I can’t tell you,” she admitted, her words broken by the emotion that continued assaulting her from the inside out. “But I can show you. The dreams, Doc. All the answers you need are in the dreams.”
Regretfully, he answered, “I don’t think they are, Alice.”
His pen tapped.
With a concerned furrow to his brow, he spoke softly. “But if that’s all you have to give to me now, then tell me more about the dreams.”
“You haven't touched your food.”
The tines of Max' fork scraped across his ceramic plate. It wasn't the best China. He'd told her that when they first sat down. He'd chosen a cheaper set, instead, because he was sure she'd fight him and break it. In time, when Alice accepted her place, he'd feed her on the best he had.
Despite his apologies for the table setting, the ceramic plates were still better than Alice had ever seen. They were a simple pattern, light blue against pristine white. The delicate swirls of color around the perimeter reminded her of a set her grandmother owned, understated, yet elegant, speaking to a generation of people that was long lost to time. Modern society had moved on from the beauty of the past, however everything about Max - his mannerisms, his clothes, his home and the dishes that sat on the table in front of Alice - reminded her of a time long ago.
But the elegance was lost on her. The fine food and wine, the delicate table cloth and napkins to match. The food smelled delectable, but the atmosphere tarnished it all.
She was a trapped woman, held victim to a man that had somehow taken her captive, and who held her there with the threat of hurting someone she loved in her place. Whenever Max spoke of her, it was only when she'd acquiesce and submit, never if. Alice knew that Max had the biggest bargaining chip of all, the collar that held her in place. And based on his certainty that she would eventually accept the life he was creating for her, he knew it too.
"I'm not hungry," she admitted, her voice so soft it was barely audible to her own ears.
Max' fork fell to his plate. The small sound was jarring in the quiet room, Alice's eyes drawn up to see the silent anger in the gaze of her captor.
"You'll eat when I tell you to."
The light blonde of her eyelashes fluttered over her vision. "But if I'm not -"
She couldn't finish the thought, not with the way his hand clenched over her face, her cheeks painful against her teeth, her eyes as wide as the beautiful saucers that sat on the table.
She'd wondered why he'd chosen to sit on the chair next to her rather than at the head of the table. She didn't have to wonder any longer. He remained in reach of her in case the opportunity arose where he would have to correct her behavior.
Leaning in, his expression - the flared nostrils and sharp cut of his cheekbones - was a barely controlled threat of rage. However, his eyes remained lazy, the light blue color hazed over as he studied the terror that ran in small quakes across her body. She'd never understood that emotion could be a physical thing, but her silence didn't disguise her fear, not with the prickles that ran across her skin or the blood that rushed to her cheeks as tears wept from her unblinking eyes.
"When I tell you to eat, you eat. You won't be allowed to wither away in this house. You won't destroy the body that now belongs to me. I won't let you."
If he'd screamed the words, they would have been less menacing than the cold way in which he'd spoken them in that moment. Like the blade of a sharply honed knife, they sliced across her senses, opening her up in places she'd rather remain hidden from the world.
She knew then that this is what the monsters could do when they got you alone. They tore you to pieces slowly, methodically, because they had all the time in the world.
If only her father had been able to tell her what to do when you woke up in the monster’s arms. She’d never had the chance to run or refuse. She’d been taken without knowing the threat was there. And now she was stripped from the world. Alone. Terrified. At the mercy of a man that had captured her when she hadn’t been aware.
With one hand, he held her, his fingers clamped down on her cheeks until her lips were pressed open from the strength of his grip. Picking a piece of steak from her plate, he slipped it between her lips, the spices he'd used to cook it a burst of flavor inside her mouth. Releasing his grip on her face, he sat back, studying her as the small bit of meat sat lingering against her tongue.