The next thing I remembered was waking up on the floor, facing the front door. Pain was pulsating through my body, and I tried not to cry because it hurt even worse when I did.

Very slowly I got on all fours and then stood up. More pain all over. I walked to my bed. Rolled onto my side. More pain. I stayed on my stomach and noticed the time was 4:17 a.m.

Please let sleep take me, I begged. Or death. But the pain wouldn't subside. It came in rhythmic waves, checking in on all parts of my body. My back pulsated with stings.

I lay there restless for hours, only getting up once to go to the bathroom. As I walked back to the bedroom, I caught a glimpse of the person looking back at me from the mirror. She was hideous, and I couldn't help but cry for her. Her right eye was swollen shut. The cheekbone wasn't even visible. Her lip was cut and had dried blood down the chin.

I pulled up my shirt and pulled down my pants. The welts seemed endless.

Time crawled slowly. It was 10:42 a.m., and the pain wasn't subsiding. I wanted some painkillers so badly, but James hadn't come upstairs. He probably wouldn't give them to me anyway.

Too much pain to sleep, too much pain to get up . . . Despair and disappointment filled me. I was such a fool for trying to escape. But deep down I could still feel a pull, a longing to not give up. That pull was the same one that got me into all of this mess.

Why couldn't I have left things as they were? James was going to kill my dad now.

He was right. He had treated me so nicely. But I threw it all away.

Around 5 or 6 p.m. the door opened and Dr. Manning walked in. He was a sight for sore eyes, and I tried to smile at him with my swollen lip, so relieved to see someone who could help me.

But what I received back was burning eyes.

He sat down on the bed without his usual warm smile.

"Hi," I ventured.

"I see you've gotten yourself into a huge mess."

"Yes, sir," I replied in shame.

He did an examination of my face and torso, checking for damage and any broken bones. My ribs yelped in pain.

It was killing me to be on my back, lying on the welts. I lifted my legs up a bit to relieve the pain. He said nothing to me the entire time. I felt like a child being scolded by her father. I had let down a man who, somehow, I admired.

I had no one on my side if Dr. Manning was angry at me. I wanted him to be my advocate; I had envisioned he could be the bridge between James and me. But that was fading.

"Turn around," he said curtly.

My welts must've looked horrible; they felt as much. He took out some ointment that smelled like rubbing alcohol and a rag. He didn't prepare me for the painful stinging as he roughly scrubbed the wounds. I screamed and cried. The ointment was enough, but to scrub it in was merciless. It was probably another part of my punishment.

"Please, Dr. Manning, can I have something for this pain?" I pleaded.

But he said nothing. He continued to clean, and when he was done, he began putting everything away without a word.

"Please, Dr. Manning, talk to me," I said between the sobbing.

"What do you want me to say, Corrine? You had us fooled? Good job last week at Thanksgiving?"

"No, it wasn't like that!" Was it?

"Oh? You know, I can't tell you the disappointment I felt when James called me this morning and told me what happened. I didn't believe it at first because we had such a wonderful time together."

"Doc—"

"Really, Corrine, I don't want to hear it. You don't owe me anything. It's James you need to redeem yourself to."

"But I didn't mean it. Please—"

"Enough!" he said, emphatically. "I don't want to hear another word."

He leaned into my face and spoke in a low, serious tone. "Fix this. Or you will no longer be a part of this family."

He picked up his bag and walked out of the apartment.

I was, once again, all alone.

* * *

I thought James's beating was the heart of my punishment and things would get better after Dr. Manning's visit. But I soon figured out the beating was only the beginning of my nightmare. James still didn't come up that day or night, and I didn't get out of bed until the next morning. Still, he didn't come. The pain was improving a bit, but I hadn't slept in almost two days. The agony always overpowered my slumber.

The next day I was so hungry, I didn't care how much it hurt, I was going into the kitchen. I found some basics, and it felt so good to eat. I stumbled into the family room and found the remote, but the TV wouldn't turn on. That's when I noticed the books, my books, were gone. The family room had been cleared out, including my iPod. He had been in there and made sure I wouldn't have any entertainment—this was going to be part of my punishment. No books, no TV, no games, no music.

Nothing but my pain and remorse.

As the pain lessened, the emotional agony took over.

Day two—No James.

Day three.

Day four.

Day five.

This punishment was proving to be worse than any physical beating. It was emotional torture. My mind whirled with worries about what James was thinking and planning.

It's strange the things you think about when you're left in purgatory too long. I found myself contemplating about the Hierarchy of Needs, a psychological theory by Abraham Maslow. He created a pyramid that described the stages of growth in humans that began at the most fundamental of human needs, such as food and water. My extreme loneliness only illustrated to me the vital importance of the third step—the need for love and belonging. My loneliness was so penetrating and severe, it felt as if I was losing my sanity. If they were testing me in some way, I was certainly going to fail.

On days four and five I banged on the door several times during the day, begging him to come upstairs. He had to have heard me, but maybe he had the bottom door closed as well. Not knowing where I stood with him was eating away at me.

After day three, I tried to face my denial—he was probably going to ignore me for a long period. Or the worst to think about—he possibly wanted me dead. I was going to have to ration my food as best as I could. What I had left of it. After five days I was running very low on food. At least the water was still on. I estimated I could live for another week after food ran out. If I was lucky. I began saving water into as many bottles and bowls as I could find, just in case James turned off the water.

With no form of entertainment, my imagination was left to spiral out of control.

Day eight—I ran out of food. I had eaten the perishables first. The milk, cheese, bread, meat. After that I began eating the other items—pasta and canned items. But by day eight, I was out of food—and out of any sanity I had left.

If he wanted me dead, I wished he'd just do it himself already.

I was now out of the most vital need of Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs—food.

If I could do anything to set back time, I would. I had never regretted anything more than my attempt to escape. I should've accepted things as they were, stopped fighting the inevitable and been a part of my new family. I should've heeded Sophia's advice to simply comply and accept your fate.

* * *

Day ten—I lay in my bed, lifeless. I hadn't eaten in two days. I drank as much water as I could. But then I thought, Why delay the inevitable? I should just let go.

I was dozing in and out. It must've been mid-afternoon, and I heard the front door open. I had had this dream a few times already—James finally coming to see me.

But then I felt someone sit on my bed. I slowly opened my eyes and saw James sitting there. I couldn't believe it. He really was in front of me.

"Hello," James said.

I mustered a smile, but it wasn't returned. My smile faded.

"Hi," I said back.

"Where to begin," James sighed. "First of all, you have really messed up. Words cannot express my disappointment in you. I felt I was really creating a genuine bond with you—"

"We were," I managed to breathe.

"Shut up. I talk. You listen. Got it?" I nodded. "To know you were faking it this entire time is beyond disappointing."

All I could do was shake my head as the tears welled up in my eyes. I didn't entirely want to leave. Didn't that count for something?

"But, now, I know the real you," James continued. "You aren't in the mindset I thought you were. But I'm willing to give you another chance. Maybe you'll come around, maybe you won't. But know this, Corrine—no matter what, things will never be the same again between us."

I lay there, sobbing, unable to move. This wasn't the reunion I was envisioning.

James put his arms at either side of my head, making every muscle in my body tighten. He leaned in, inches from my face. "And one more thing. Have no doubt, Corrine. You pull a stunt like this again, and you will have an untimely, painful death. You can always be replaced. You're nothing special. I'll simply start over."

His words cut right through me. He always said I meant the world to him, and he had picked me out of so many others. That I was special.

James stood up and walked to the bedroom door. "I've left some food for you in the kitchen. Don't eat too fast. Enjoy."

Now I was nothing, just an unwanted prisoner. And worst of all, I cared what James thought of me.



What a punishment! Poor Corrine! What will she do now? Feel free to follow me, vote for this chapter, and read to Chapter 20. Thank you!