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A warm summer breeze slid through the open window and into the inside of the cabin. A chorus of crickets had begun singing in the late evening, filling the silence with a continuous chirping. A sound that would have normally been considered grating, but was serene in this instance.
The tap water ran over the stack of dishes on the sink. You scrubbed a ceramic plate free of grease with a rough sponge, and then rinsed it. When you finished, you placed the clean plate over to the right and repeated the process with another. It was a continuous cycle, but you didn't mind as it served as a means to pass the time.
You paused for a moment and brushed a finger against the cold metal adorning your wrist. Judging by the bumps on the surface, it was nearly nine o' clock. About six hours since he had left.
This was the longest Peter had been gone for.
Not that you were complaining. Being constantly pestered and followed from room-to-room wasn't exactly the most comfortable.
During those trips that Peter rarely took -doing God knows what- you were finally given the chance to take a breather. Then again, being alone wasn't any better. There was little to do besides listen to the radio or lounge on the couch, counting the minutes.
That was what life was like now; dreadfully boring and unpleasant. Though you supposed it wasn't all that bad. At least you were still alive. Still breathing. Still... here.
A part of you didn't count that as a real blessing.
You took another dish and rinsed off the dried contents of food that were stuck to the surface. The soft and mushy texture told you that it was the remnants of the refried beans and rice that Peter had cooked the night before. A good attempt, but incredibly bland. Not that you would ever voice any of your comments, but Peter had never been particularly gifted in the cooking aspect.
You weren't a professional by any means, but you knew your way around the kitchen. So, you were usually the one that cooked for the both. Although Peter wasn't fond of letting you do any of the chores, he was particularly excited to taste your cuisine. To appreciate any part of you that you were willing to give to him.
Ever since the incident, you haven't been able to bring yourself to cook again. To try.
The sponge abruptly slipped from your grasp. It landed with a squelch against the floor, and water sprinkled on your feet.
An irritated sigh, and you knelt down to retrieve it. Your hands patted the ground in search for the missing sponge to no avail. You frowned in confusion, knowing it couldn't have landed far.
"Here," a voice said, before sliding the sponge into your open hand.
A startled shriek escaped you. You stumbled backward and used the counter to balance yourself. Motivated by panic, you impulsively reached behind you and reached into the pile of dishes for a knife. You grabbed on to the first thing your fingers brushed against and pulled it out.
"Darling, calm down!" the voice exclaimed.
You realized too late the familiarity of it, and threw the object in front of you, targeting the origin of the voice. There was a crash, followed by a shattering. The pieces of ceramic created a clicking as they scattered over the floorboards.
"You can't just sneak up on me like that!" you shouted, and placed a hand against your chest. Your heart was racing to no surprise.
There was silence. This was worse than an outburst, as you had no idea what to anticipate.
You had never known true vulnerability until you were blinded. The sight which you had depended on for everything had suddenly been ripped away, leaving you with absolutely no defenses. Unable to witness Peter's expression -a giveaway for what was to come- meant that you had to rely on his tone of voice. Which didn't work at all if he was silent.
But then a warmth embraced you. Peter was hugging you from behind, his chest pressed against your back. It had you jumping in surprise. "I'm sorry, darling," he apologized, placing a delicate kiss on your neck. "I didn't mean to frighten you."
Hard to believe. "I didn't hear you come in," you said. Peter's talent for sneaking around was terrifying.
"I should have probably said something," Peter admitted. "It won't happen again."
Despite the reassurance, it was still difficult to come down from the fright. It happened so often now that it really was a wonder that you weren't used to it by now. Perhaps the fear had been slowly diminishing but was reawakened when one of your senses was taken.
It must have been obvious that you were still shaken. "You know you don't have to be afraid," Peter said into your ear. "I'm the only one with keys to the cabin. No one but me will ever come through that door."
To think that Peter truly believed that it was the thought of an intruder that terrified you was laughable. You actually found yourself fantasizing about it throughout the day. A stranger coming across the isolated cabin and deciding to explore its inside, only to find a blinded person being kept hostage by an enamored psychopath.
That dream always ended happily. The blinding blue and red police lights, cuffs binding Peter, endless interrogations. Freedom.
A hand wrapped around your wrist and carefully led you out of the kitchen and into what you assumed to be the living room. You heard a click, and the television turned on. A show played in the background, and Peter made an attempt to guide you toward the couch.
The way in which he so delicately treated you was irritating.
You had gladly accepted help during those first few weeks after the incident, when you stumbled with little direction and slammed into walls more times than you could count. But you wanted to adapt, which wasn't possible with Peter's incessant urge to help.
"I don't need your help," you snapped, yanking your arm away.
"I just don't want you to hurt yourself," Peter said.
You sighed. "How can I possibly learn to be on my own if you never stop coddling me?"
A hand laid on the top of your head and gently caressed it. "Why bother learning when I'm always here?" he asked with a chuckle.
With that, Peter's hand retracted, and the sound of his footsteps faded into the kitchen.
With that, Peter's hand retracted, and the sound of his footsteps faded into the kitchen. Beneath the chatter of the dramatic novella playing on the television, you could hear the sweeping of a broom. You laid back on the couch and pretended to listen to the novella, though you were actually focused on discerning Peter's location.
A habit that you had picked up to avoid being startled.
It was only a few minutes later that Peter returned to the living room. The cushions shifted beneath his weight as he sat himself beside you. "So," he said, tone lanced with stifled excitement, "I got you something."
A plastic bag rustled and was then placed on your lap.
"After getting an errand done, I decided to pop by the store and get you something special," Peter said. You didn't need the gift of sight to know that he was smiling. "Go on, darling. Open it."
You hesitated, before reaching toward the bag. It was light. Inside was a small cardboard box no bigger than the size of your palm. You shook it curiously, and the insides rattled quietly.
You grabbed on to the edges and pulled it open. You turned it upside down and a small object fell onto your lap. You held it up, trying to make out what it was based on the texture. It was square and smooth to the touch. It had a round indent in the middle.
Beside you, Peter chuckled quietly the longer you took.
It wasn't long before you realized why that was. "Ugh!" you exclaimed and let the condom fall to the floor. "You're disgusting."
Peter laughed louder still. "I'm sorry, I couldn't help it!"
"It's not fucking funny."
Peter stifled the laugh with a cough. "I did buy those for us, but that wasn't what I actually got you." A heavy box was placed on your lap now. "Here. I've been wanting to get this for you for a while."
You crossed your arms and frowned. "Why don't you just tell me what it is?"
"Because then it won't be a surprise."
You took a deep breath and decided to humor him.
The box you were given was much larger than the previous one. It was rectangular as opposed to square and heavy as well. It took a moment to figure out how to open it, and Peter had to lend a hand. You reached inside and felt what could have been glass. You took the object out of the box and held it.
The glass was encased by a cool metal, which had you instantly recognizing it. "You got me a tablet?" you asked with a scowl. You pushed it into his lap. "Very funny."
"No, no, no!" Peter quickly said. "I'm not making fun of you for being... you know. I got it because I installed a special app in it." There was a pause and the sound of clicking and tapping. "See, I know you enjoy reading. I thought it was just adorable how easily you got yourself caught up in a world of make believe. You can't exactly go back to reading with your condition, so I installed this audiobook app."
More tapping. "This way I won't even have to run to the store to get more books. We can just purchase them digitally. They're cheaper, too!"
Reading used to be one of your favorite pastimes. Back when you still roomed with Lucy, you would use your paycheck to buy stacks of books as a way to treat yourself for working hard. This usually resulted in jabs from other people, including TK.
But there was something magical about being able to escape into another world through printed words.
During those first days that Peter had kept you captive, you used books as a means to forget your situation. It worked wonderfully.
There were a lot of downsides to being blind. Not being able to gaze longingly at the sunset and admire the incandescent orange hues of the sky. Missing out on the sight of the changing seasons. Winter was your favorite- the way that the snowflakes drifted in the air, twinkling like stars.
And yet, the only thing that you missed the most was reading. Losing yourself in a book.
"Oh," you said.
It was clearly not the reaction that he was looking for. "That's it?" Peter said. "Just 'oh'?"
It was a good effort that had the potential to restore the passion for a hobby you once treasured. You should've been grateful, despite everything. Or at least have pretended to.
Except that the memory of the incident had seared itself so deeply into your mind. It ruined anything you dared enjoy. It haunted you, reminding you of those last minutes of sight. The infuriated scowl on Peter's face; the tilt of that pale bottle; the scent of bleach, and that terror that coursed through you just before the liquid dripped out. The fading of light, and the eternal darkness that followed.
A punishment for trying to run away. What better way to bind you to Peter than to permanently disable you?
You pressed your lips together at the thought of the audiobook. It was an accommodation, nothing more. It would only serve to remind you of what once was.
"Thank you," you said dryly.
You had no intention of using it. Perhaps you were only depriving yourself from a good tool, but if it made Peter feel the slightest bit guilty for what he'd done, then it was worth it.
"Is there something wrong?" Peter asked quietly.
"No," you said. "It's fine."
A nervous laugh broke through Peter. "Well, I set up an account for you," he said. "I also bought a few of your favorites. We can test it out right now." There was a tap, and then a male's monotone voice began to narrate the start of a book. It went on for a full paragraph before it abruptly stopped. There was a pause, most likely to gauge at your reaction. When there was none, Peter continued. "Uh, if the audio quality's off, then I could buy you some headphones. Would you like that?"
It didn't really matter. "Sure," you muttered.
The awkward silence stretched for what felt like an eternity.
"You're acting strange, darling," Peter said softly, a hand caressing your shoulder. "What's the matter? You can tell me. Did you not like your gift?"
"Nothing is wrong," you said. It would have been wiser to pretend to enjoy the gift, to act as though Peter deserved even the slightest bit of gratitude, but you didn't have the strength to. "I like it."
"You clearly don't," Peter said. "Tell me what's the matter, and I'll fix it."
"Can you stop?" you snapped in a surge of anger. "You can't fix it, okay?"
Another pause, this one longer than the previous. You could practically hear the gears turning in Peter's head as he tried to deduce what you truly meant.
"What are you talking about?" Peter asked. His voice verged on anger when you didn't reply. "Answer me. What do you mean?"
It was futile to try and explain because not only was Peter stubborn, he was delusional. It took a lot of effort to perceive what he wanted and feed this fantasy- this dream of loving each other to death and living in this isolated cabin as a couple.
You've tried to get him to see things logically, and it only ever got you into trouble. Despite this, you just couldn't help yourself.
Tears pooled in the corners of those useless eyeballs. "It's just not the same," you said. "Nothing can ever be the same. I can't see."
"That doesn't have to stop you though," Peter tried. "You can still enjoy those stories. You would only have to use your ears instead."
"That's not what I meant," you snapped. "You ruined me, and now you're trying to make it up with some worthless gadget!"
Before you realized what you were doing, you were already reaching for the tablet and smashing it into the ground. It landed on the floorboards with a loud thud, and you knew the force must have shattered the screen. It was the second thing you've broken today because of your impulsions.
And you regretted it for only a fraction of a second. What did it matter, anyhow. The worst had been done already. There was nothing else Peter could do to worsen your life.
Suddenly, something struck the side of your face, the force whipping your head to the right. It took a moment for the pain to register. You reached up and traced your fingertips along your stinging cheek.
"I have gone through hell working for our future," Peter said, spittle landing on your face. "Do you have any idea how much it took to prepare all of this? To earn the money, to deter the police, to fool your friends? I would've gladly gone through worse if it meant building a life where you could finally be happy."
A laugh escaped you. "Poor you."
Peter growled. "I provided you with love and care. I created a haven for you in the middle of nowhere so that you wouldn't be forced to live under society's rule."
"You kidnapped me-"
"I saved you!" Peter shouted. "You should be grateful."
"Grateful?" you repeated incredulously.
"Grateful," he hissed. "And you are going to be. Starting now."
Hands shoved you back on the couch, and you landed with a gasp. You tried to sit up, but Peter began to crawl over you. His weight was suffocating. You squirmed and tried to shove him off, which only caused Peter to wrap a hand around your wrists and pull them over your head.
Peter was practically sitting on your stomach now. It hurt to breathe, and tears were now dripping down your cheeks. "What are you doing?" you shouted.
There was a zipping sound. "I have worked so hard to give you what you want," Peter cooed above you. "Now it's time that you do something for me, love."
Something wet and hard pressed against your forehead. You let out a groan of disgust and tried to angle your head away from Peter's cock. There was a laugh, and then he began to trace the tip down your chin and tapped it on your lips.
"Show me how grateful you are, darling," Peter whispered.
You let out a whine of protest and again tried to move your head away from his hardened erection. Peter then grabbed a fistful of your hair to keep you still. He continued to rub the head of his cock against your lips.
"No teeth, okay?" Peter murmured. "Be good, darling."
Fingers prodded at your lips until you were forced to open your mouth. You allowed his cock to slide in, and held on to his thighs. A salty taste lingered on your tongue. You tried to protest, to say anything, but it all came out incoherent.
Already, saliva dripped down your chin. With little preparation, Peter thrust his hips and slid all the way into your mouth. The tip brushed against your throat, and you gagged violently. Peter groaned above you.
"That's amazing, darling," Peter stammered, thrusting shallowly into your open mouth. "I see those tears. How you love to pretend you hate this."
Another thrust. You gurgled and choked on the excess of saliva. Peter moaned and build up a moderate pace. His cock brushed against your tongue. Having little option at this point than to try and get him there as fast as possible to end it, you pressed your tongue against his length and swirled it around his tip.
This was met with another groan. Repulsive as it was, you could feel a heat lingering between your thighs begging to be satiated.
"That's it, that's it," Peter chanted. "Take it all in your fucking mouth."
That comment had your thighs clenching. You groaned softly, and it unfortunately did not go unheard. There was a chuckle, and then a hand slid between your legs. You gasped, your back instinctively arching off the couch. The hand sunk into your underwear and prodded your sensitive flesh.
"I knew it," Peter said. "You're so wet for me, darling. So selfish, getting off on what is supposed to be my reward for treating you so well." A finger slid inside you. "Not to worry, I'll satisfy you once I finish. That's just how generous I am."
The finger was removed, which drew out a whine from you.
Then, Peter went back to thrusting into your mouth. You finally relented and moved your head in sync with his movements to pull him in deeper. A sloppy squelching filled the living room.
"I-I don't regret it, you know," Peter said in between heavy breaths.. "Blinding you, that is. I know it's been... ah, difficult for you lately, but it had to be done. If I didn't... you would have c-continued to think about escaping, even if you didn't want to."
Your hands tightened around Peter's thighs.
"Fuck, I'm so close," Peter said. "Just need a little more. Where was I? Oh, yes. Don't regret it at all. I need something to make sure that you would never leave my side."
Tears and drool dripped onto the couch. You could feel Peter's body trembling from anticipation. He was getting close now.
"Now you depend on me," Peter groaned. "You're mine, all mine, fucking mine."
Peter was now using your mouth with the stamina of an animal. Your head was repeatedly slammed against the cushions, leaving you dizzy. At last, Peter thrust deeply into your mouth to the point that your lips were pressed against his groin, and you struggled to breathe. Hot cum spurt down your throat in thick ropes. Even after he was done, Peter kept you in that position for what felt like forever.
Just before you blacked out, Peter pulled out. He pressed the tip of his cock against your face and spread the fluids around.
"There," Peter huffed. "You were so good for me, darling."
You let out a whimper, unable to cope with the confession that he'd just made. "Please just let me go," you whispered, now crying quietly.
A hand caressed your face. “No, darling. I’ll never let you go.”