Spencerville

She nodded, but she knew, and he knew, that time would never come. It occurred to her that he enjoyed the cat-and-mouse game; it gave him some amusement during the days and nights. It was important for him to show her he was smarter than she was, or at least more cunning and better able to survive in this world that he'd created. In one way, he wanted to break her, but in another way, he liked her spunk, liked her to present him with challenges. If she broke too easily, or too fast, he might get bored and depressed, then become more sadistic, until finally he'd just end it all for both of them. On the other hand, if she showed too much resistance, or if he believed that she was clever enough to actually get the drop on him, then he'd kill her out of rage, or out of his instinct for self-preservation. This much she'd figured out in the last three days, but she hadn't fine-tuned the balance between spunk and submission. There were moments when she didn't care, when the humiliations were so grotesque that she just wanted to give up. But each time she felt that way, she rallied herself and promised to go on for another hour, then another, until finally he would handcuff her to the bed and let her sleep.

Baxter said, "Wash the Baxter family jewels, darlin'. Use alcohol. I like that."

She poured alcohol onto a gauze pad and washed his genitals.

"Ahh! That feels good. Put some Vaseline on 'em."

She took a tube of petroleum jelly and squeezed it on his penis and testicles, then rubbed it in, noticing he was getting semi-erect, so she stopped.

He said, "You know, I can fuck three times a day. I'd fuck one or two women in a day, then come home and fuck you. How about that? And you thought you was the only one foolin' around."

She never once thought he was faithful, and she didn't know why he thought this revelation was going to hurt her. But his brain was working hard to find things to do to her and say to her that would hurt, humiliate, and cause her to question her own worth and integrity. He thought if he called her bitch, whore, and slut long enough, she'd start to believe it. If he told her he'd castrated Keith, she might believe it. When he told her he wanted to fuck her sister, it did make her angry and anxious. When he used the belt on her, she felt defeated and powerless, but through the agony, she maintained whatever dignity she could, and the beatings strengthened her resolve to keep her sanity.

She said, "Can I get my blanket now and get something to eat?"

"You was naked when I found you in the motel, and you can stay naked." He got off the sofa and pulled up his shorts and trousers.

"Please, Cliff, I'm cold and hungry. I have to go to the bathroom."

"Yeah? Okay, you can stand."

She stood and, without him giving her permission, she wrapped the blanket around her.

"Let's go," he said.

"Can't I go alone?"

"No way, sweetheart. Go on."

She walked past the kitchen, down a short hallway, and turned into the bathroom.

Baxter sat on the rim of the tub, while she sat on the toilet seat and urinated, avoiding his eyes. She wiped herself with tissue paper, stood, and walked back into the hallway, the chain keeping her from taking the long strides she wanted to take. She turned into the kitchen, but he moved past her and stood in front of the refrigerator. He asked her, "What's a whore eat besides strange cocks?"

She took a deep breath and replied, "I'd like something hot. I can get it."

"You eat what I give you. Sit down, if your butt don't hurt too much, or you can stand, or get on the floor, and I'll get the dog dish like last time."

She went to the small table and lowered herself gently onto the wooden chair, with the blanket draped around her shoulders.

He opened the refrigerator and put two slices of bread on a paper plate, then a few slices of mixed cold cuts, and threw it on the table. "Eat."

She began eating the bread and cold cuts while he watched. She didn't eat fast, but took her time, though she was so hungry, she felt faint.

He took a beer for himself from the refrigerator and put a container of milk in front of her with no glass. He sat across from her and said, "You ain't gettin' no more, so don't ask."

Annie thought it was time to engage him in some normal conversation. He seemed calmed down, self-satisfied, and he might give her some information. She tried to adopt a pleasant tone of voice, as if nothing unusual had happened, as if he hadn't just beaten and raped her. She asked, "How much food do we have, Cliff?"

"Enough for two or three months. Ain't gonna be much fresh stuff left after a week. But I got cans and dried food. Plenty of beer."

"Then what?"

"Then I can go into town and get more. Why? You got someplace you got to be?"

"I just want to know how long it's going to be before we can go home."

"You are home, honey buns."

"I mean to our house in Spencerville."

"Why do you want to go there?"

"I just thought we'd spend some time there."