Mentor (An Impossible Novella) by Julia Sykes Read Free Book Online

those simple words was becoming difficult.
    He never allowed me to see his face.  Even though I couldn’t physically read his emotions, I was beginning to fear that He was becoming bored with me.
    He brought food and water to me intermittently.  I could never tell if ages or no time at all had passed between those times.  We followed what was now a familiar pattern: I accepted sustenance from his hand only, and He washed me.  Although he touched my bare skin, he didn’t violate me again; after that first time, he avoided my breasts and my sex.  If He did touch them, it was a detached, dutiful thing.
    I was horrified to realize that having his hands on me didn’t really bother me anymore.  I was completely dependent on him for every necessity, and when reduced to basic survival imperatives, my mind turned more primal.  It was a struggle to maintain lucidity, to think of anything other than when He would come back, when I would feel human contact and hear a voice that was not my own.
    I’m not gonna make it after all.  
    That single, small, defeatist thought jolted my brain back to life.  I had never before allowed myself to succumb to despair.  I always had a plan, was always determined to achieve my goals, no matter how hard I had to work to attain them.
    It was time to speak again.  It was time to ask another question.
    Forming complex, coherent thoughts was a struggle at first, but I reached deep within myself, finding the steely determination that had always resided within me.  I was a survivor, and I wasn’t going to give in to the monster who reveled in tormenting me.
    I realized that neither of us thought of the other as completely human.  In my mind, he was a monster, and in his mind, I was a plaything.  If I could find a way to make him see me as more than that, maybe He would begin to feel guilty about what he was doing to me.  If I was a real person in his eyes, surely I could draw compassion out of him.
    My mind combed through the various questions I could ask in order to get what I wanted.  I had to choose carefully.  All of his answers so far had proven useless, and they had cost me dearly.
    He was already robbing me of my sanity, of my will to fight.  What more could He take from me?
    So many things, a cruel, cynical voice whispered through my consciousness.
    Terrible consequences that He might inflict upon me threatened to consume my thoughts.  I shoved them back.  All I could focus on was my question.  I couldn’t forget my purpose or allow him to frighten me into silence.  He hadn’t hurt me physically since I had paid the price for asking who He was, but the emotional torment of this sensory deprivation was so much worse.  I would almost welcome that pain.
    At least I would feel something.   Something other than his tender touches that I was coming to crave in a most perverse way.  If He didn’t treat me with his sadistic brand of kindness, I might have been able to hold on to my hatred in order to resist him.
    My question became a litany in my head.  I couldn’t let go of it; I couldn’t fall into thoughts of him.  That path led to madness.
    When the door creaked open, my body tensed in nervous anticipation.  His footsteps paused on the stairs.  I hadn’t shown any signs of resistance in a long time.
    His low chuckle was one of pleasure, and He descended the stairs more quickly than usual, as though he was eager to get to me.
    The bed dipped beside me as He settled himself down onto it, but he didn’t reach for my restraints.  That was usually the first thing He did before gathering me up in his arms and feeding me.  I realized that I had done something to break our holding pattern, and a chill swept through me.
    As much as I hated the routine that was carefully designed to drive me to madness, fear of the unknown welled up, stronger than I could ever recall.
    I jumped when He gently traced the line of my cheekbone.
    “What are you thinking, pet?”  His voice