The Awakening

I stepped into the room. The multitude of emotions whirled together, like colors in a rainbow merging to make white. They settled upon me in a neutral blanket of placidity, bringing welcome composure.

I took a few steps towards him, and stopped. I took off my shirt and stepped out of my shoes and removed my pants. I stood in front of him in bra and panties. It was nothing sexual, it just seemed appropriate. I looked up at him, my expression impassive, his a solemn, placid mask. He raised his hand and cracked me across the face, and I reeled back and slammed against the wall, the upper left side of my back thrown against the cool shock of the white wall, my face smashing into it too, my temple making clean contact so that the impact was hard and dull and not jarring. He placed his hand on the small of my back and pushed me into the wall so that I was paralyzed from the cold for a moment, and before I could recover his hand slammed once more on me, on my middle back. I closed my eyes and he cracked me again in the same spot, and I felt a hint of a sting. He turned my head so that my cheek was pressed against the wall, immobilizing my face so it wouldn't receive impact, his hand slamming me again and again. It got too hot and I could barely breathe, so I shrugged, and he let go of my partially numb face, When he released me I crumbled for a moment and he caught me, but I shook my head and regained my balance by myself. He led me to the kitchen where the floor was tiled and pleasantly cool. He let me catch my breath and then abruptly shoved his hands against my knees, forcing me down so that I was bent over, the palms of my hands pressed against the floor and my knees straight. He held me firmly so I couldn't move and pain seared to my calf muscles, white and blinding. I gritted my teeth and he didn't let me move for a small eternity. When he finally let go I sprang up, rubbing my back, but he gently caught my wrists and placed my forearms on the counter, and let me lean over against it. My legs felt rubbery from the stretch and at the first crack of a belt against my thighs I nearly collapsed. He noticed and repeated the motion more weakly, but I bit my lip and turned to him and shook my head, and this time he brought the strip of green leather across the back and sides of my legs with loud swoosh--cracks.

Suddenly I felt an immense drowsiness. I turned around, facing him, and leaned my elbows on the countertop. I raised my face to the ceiling and closed my eyes. When I opened them he was coming towards me with a rag in his hand, just slightly cool with soaked water. First he dabbed my face, collecting a crimson droplet of blood I wasn't aware had been there, and then folded it and wiped my torso, and then legs with it. He left me alone in the kitchen and returned with my shoes and shirt and pants, which I put back on while he regarded me solemnly, with the slightest hint of emotion- was it pity? My movements were becoming lethargic, and he bent down and helped me with my shoe straps. As he stood up, I raised my face to him and said, "thanks". His serious features softened slightly as he opened the door to let me out.

I exited the building and the bright warm sunlight suddenly seemed right; my sore body reveled in the motion of walking, of breathing, in the sweet yellow summer afternoon.