Little Zoe Z Tortures

I had been with Greg for seven months and felt content. He worked 9-5 in the mail room of a moderate accounting firm, and supported me through all the ups and downs that were life.

Greg visited me every day.

Greg found me an office support position at his firm.

Greg told me he loved me every single night.

Greg shared my love for old timey films and popcorn.

It was all sweet and lovely and everything like that. Yet I stayed up later and later each night, scrolling the Internet for ... Something. Anything really, that would catch my eye.

Sometimes I found myself reading stories on various anonymous writing forums. Other times I would follow random discussion boards to see what was on the up and up. He would be asleep on the couch or in bed, and I would spend hours in the darkness and screen light.

One night, as I was sipping some milky English breakfast tea with sleepy needing eyes, I found myself reading a discussion intently.

Nathaniel: ... Personally I would not allow that kind of disobedience.

Kelly K: I don't think it's disobedience if it involves your true feelings.

Nathaniel: I disagree, but continue to explain yourself maybe you will enlighten me.

Kelly K: Eating food or feeling hungry is something you can't control, same with jealousy, it's just something you feel.

Nathaniel: and?

Kelly K: you can't control it.

Nathaniel: ... The point is to control yourself despite your feelings.

Johnson: I eating a pies now

Kelly k: You're just saying that because you don't have a girlfriend and because you're anorexic

Nathaniel: I think considering all the comments in this discussion... Johnson made the most sense

I felt a twinge of desire to actually join this discussion. I felt the thought pressing down into my stomach ... a person could learn obedience to something beyond their own immediate feelings? Is that something I could achieve?

I wasn't sure, and as my tea had gone cold with the sun's rising, I felt a sleepiness overcome me. I could hear the shuffling sounds of blankets being shifted in the room next to mine, and the yawning of my boyfriend, Greg.

I phased through the day like any other. Waiting for my time alone, at night, to search for that something I couldn't quite put my finger on. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep that made me feel a sort of strange yearning, but I couldn't remember which had come first; my feelings or my sleepy brain.

While at work, I thought about Nathaniel's comments on obedience and feelings. I remembered the last time I contributed to an online forum, the blue beam of my screen had tricked me into a dispute with invisible Internet trolls. I had been left frustrated and empty.

Jolene, my co-worker who had dreams of meeting a man as sweet as Greg, sat next to me and bragged about her latest accounting triumph over the lunch break. She flashed a bonus check at me, stating that, "only name partners usually receive bonuses of this amount".

I looked at her big blonde head and baby blue eyes and knew she was fuelled by jealousy and feelings of inferiority. I looked then at the feast of lunch foods before me, at the grin on Greg's face, the content and comfortable feelings I had swimming around my stomach.

"It's okay Zoe, I love you no matter what kind of cheques you bring home," Greg patted me on the knee and then reached out for a doughnut. He was the sweetest most comfortable thing I had in my whole world.

"What if I brought home big cheques every week, how would you feel?" I asked curiously.

"I would love you regardless," he shrugged, "I don't know, I'd spend it on more junk food and movies?"

"Okay," I shifted uncomfortably, "would you buy anything else with the cash I gave you?" I had stopped eating now, not entirely sure why or for what.

"I don't know, probably," he turned to Jolene and motioned for a napkin. I considered his demeanour and responses, yet felt somehow unsatisfied with them. Perhaps I wanted him to spend the money on something more specific? Or perhaps I didn't want him to accept the money to begin with.

-

When logging back onto the forum, 'TMI Space,' I was surprised to note that Nathaniel had returned to the discussion. It was not often that I recognised commenters. I wondered if it was the picture that popped up every time he typed a new message.

His image was of a black and white room. It was dark, no windows, and the door was closed. All the room contained was a closed off cabinet, facing a single chair, stationed in the centre of the room's wooden floorboards.

The image popped up again and again, almost ingraining itself into my mind.

Nathaniel: ...

He had not typed anything, although he had clearly signed into the forum for discussion. My finger twitched over the keyboard before me; dare I say something? Dare I spill a secret?

Little Z: ... every time I get paid from work... I spend a third of it on chocolate and lollies.

This was a confession. It seemed silly to type, silly to admit, but it also devastated me. I felt the palms of my hands sweating, the faint snorings of Greg in the background, and the same cup of tea warming a damp ring upon my computer desk. I held my breath.

Nathaniel: ... okay

This was all that was replied for about five minutes. I felt ashamed and embarrassed. Why had I even typed such a thing? I stared at the screen wide eyed and tight jawed. I closed my eyes tightly and then opened them again hoping that the words would disappear.

Nathaniel: Tell me more Little Z.

My chest felt as though there were hundreds of little hearts beating away inside of it, so tiny, they almost could not pump enough blood into my veins.

Little Z: I feel like I can't help it, but I wish I didn't.

Nathaniel: ... Do you want my help, Little?

I had noticed here that Nathaniel did not add the Z for my login name. To just be called 'little' felt strange because it made Nathaniel seem big; like I was a speck of dust to a giant's foot, which pummelled down onto the Earth, and forced the little pieces of me to scatter into the air. As in, it made me vulnerable.

Little Z: What do you mean?

Nathaniel: I could help you, if you truly wanted me to.

Little Z: why would you do that?

Nathaniel: because I can, and you are little.

I placed my right hand over my teacup and stared at his sentence. The letters curved perfectly across my screen and I tapped my finger nervously on the side of my tea cup. Clink, clink, I mulled over his words.

Little Z: I'm not actually little, you know that right? I'm 24.

Nathaniel: Heh. Only a little girl would puff up her chest and proclaim that her double digits indicate adulthood.

I felt a deep blush form about my cheeks. He was right! Children are always boasting about their age, especially when their parents remind them of their youthfulness. I was no better.

Nathaniel: I can help you grow up. Teach you.

Little Z: Do you mean you can help me to stop eating junk food?

Nathaniel: I can do that.

Little Z: Okay

Nathaniel: Use your manners.

Little Z: Please.

Nathaniel: Do you live near the City?

Little Z: I can't tell you where I live...

Nathaniel: Good girl. Don't tell me where you live. Just come to school on time.

PRIVATE MESSAGE: 9am. 16 Payer Avenue. Tomorrow.

Nathaniel: Don't be late, Little.

As the last message arrived, a red dot appeared next to Nathaniel's name, which meant that he was no longer online. I stared at that address for a moment and wondered if he was playing a prank on me. Certainly that wasn't really his home address.

-

Greg made me coffee that morning before work. I woke with a scramble of thoughts, wondering what I should do now. I took the mug of hot caffeine from Greg's gentle hand and thanked him.

"Greg," I began softly, "I... I don't feel well today."

Greg tilted his head to the side as though he had never heard me speak before. His hand reached out to touch my forehead, examining for a fever.

"Well you don't feel feverish to me," he looked at me for a response; however I did not know what to say, because I had lied.

"Should I stay home?" I asked him for permissions of some sort.

"I don't know, it's up to you," he shrugged uncomfortably. Greg did not like making decisions for me. I knew this already.

So I tossed and turned in under my blanket, letting the pressure of the time press into my stomach and chest, until I would be late anyway. I chose eventually to call in sick and stay home, but I felt guilty for giving myself permission to do so.

My guilt however was not enough to stop me from driving my car towards a strange man's address. I suppose I had reasoned with my guilt that as punishment for my laziness, and fibs about an illness, I was potentially endangering my own life by entering the home of a stranger from the Internet.

The truth was that my jeans were tight, the lowest button of my shirt was stretched to its limit, and I had lost hope of ever regaining my high school figure. Then Greg, who I cared for deeply, brought me home decadent desserts and chocolates that I could not resist. Neither could he.

Shameful to consider it this way, but I felt deep down that there was a real problem. I indulged every single night and could not stop. I hid this fact from my friends by posting pictures online of the healthy snacks and meals I ate in between all the sweets and cakes. I needed help.

I arrived at the address of Nathaniel and stared at the house for several moments. 8.56am and I gulped with nervous excitement and terror at what my fate would be.

I could be murdered and then I would at least not get any more fat.

I could be attacked and raped, and then fall into a mental spiral of anxiety and depression, that would ultimately suppress my appetite.

I could meet a new friend who would train me to be obedient to the desire for control over my problems rather than my desire for more cake.

Or I could go home and never know.

I left my car and started walking towards the home of Nathaniel. 8.59am and I treaded shakily across a pale gravel that crunched under my shoes until I reached his maroon coloured door.

I knocked three times and clenched my fists anxiously. Moments passed and I knocked again. Breathing out a long exhale I decided the conclusion of my travels was simply a horrible prank. I turned around, slightly disappointed- and jumped in surprise.

"Hello Little one." Nathaniel had been standing behind me; perhaps from the grassy side of the path I could not hear his approach. He wore black pants and a dark grey jumper. He also was so pale I wondered if he spent all his time locked away by his computer.

"It's Little Z," I spoke quietly, "uhm, thank you for meeting me."

He had brown hair that fell to his shoulders, it was magnificently thick and shiny, and I felt immediately jealous. However it had a masculine edge to it, so in retrospect, I admired it more than envied.

He looked me up and down, assessing my stance, "my apologies Little... Z, it is lovely to meet your acquaintance." He grinned at me and took a step towards me. I took a step back impulsively and found myself pressed against his front door. He recognised my apprehension, and smiled comfortingly, showing off his surprisingly full lips. I hadn't noticed them until that smile, but I hastily stepped aside and turned away from them.

"So, is it that you want me to come inside with you?" I asked.

"You will come inside and I will take you to the study," Nathaniel responded, "under the understanding that I will help you."

"How can you help me?" I asked as I watched him turn a key to unlock his front door and step inside.

He turned back, "does it matter?"

Did it matter? I looked down at myself and considered the outcomes. Would it matter if this was all a lie? Would Greg miss me?

"Not really," I admitted and stepped inside.

Nathaniel stared as I awkwardly went about considering my words. His eyes devoured my demeanour with the look of a critic and the pursed lips of a disciplinarian. Anxiety bubbled in my stomach and left awkward wobbly jolts between my knees.

"I'm not going to take you any further if you are not going to follow through," he said, pausing to see if I would back away.

I nodded to accept his terms and then followed him up some stairs. We entered a room that I recognised only too well; one chair, one cabinet, no windows, and now... me. My shoes made little tapping sounds with every step I took, I felt my hands shake nervously, but I didn't want to show him how scared I really was.

"This is your profile image from the forum," I stated with slight nervous energy.

"Sit down Little... Z," he indicated the singular wooden chair.

"Why do you have a near empty room like this? I thought you were taking me to study."

"Consider yourself a textbook and I the student," he held up a finger to pause himself, "and further, I the teacher. You are to sit." He walked over to his door and closed it with a peculiarity I hadn't noticed in him until that moment.

I walked myself to the centre of the room and sat, facing the long dark polish of the cabinet before me. I wondered if it was filled with clothes or something much worse; perhaps a set of knives and other painful utensils would be hiding inside. I gulped and looked into the eyes of Nathaniel; was he a murderer?

He came around to stand in front of me and looked over me with analytical eyes. Reaching out, he picked up a strand of my hair and slid it through his fingers until the tip fell between them. I felt a chill, which led me to wrap my fingers around my mobile phone, from inside my pocket.

"I like your hair," he knelt down to my seated height, "do you brush it every night all by yourself?"

"Yes," I squinted a little, because I hadn't been spoken to in such a belittling yet almost caring manner in my whole life. He sighed at my response and walked over to the cabinet where he reached in and pulled out a brush.

I could barely see inside the cabinet by the secretive way he handled the opening of its doors. Yet I knew there was something sinister in there. It almost reminded me of fearing the monsters in my own closet and under my bed as a child.

He walked up behind me and gently pulled the loose strands of my hair out from underneath my shirt collar. He began to brush my hair with such tender technique that I was certain he was a hair dresser- or the single father of several young girls.

"Do you do this often?" I speculated.

"I've done it once before," he replied, while leaning over to look at my fringe. He gave that a quick flick with the brush and then, seeing my nervous form, he put the brush down onto the floor and began to use his hands.

"And of course, I brush my own hair too," he continued running his fingertips through my locks and across the back of my neck. I felt shivers run down my spine, and at the pleasant sensation, I automatically regretted it.

"Wait!" I pulled myself forward and turned to look at Nathaniel, "I don't understand how this is helping my problem."

"You are too naïve, too little, to really understand what I am doing for you," he pulled my shoulders back against the chair with steady force, "but basically I am trying to relax you so that you will be receptive to what I am going to do with you."

"Well," I let out a shaken breath as his fingers found the back of my neck again, "well what is your plan going to involve?"

"You're worried about your boyfriend," Nathaniel said insightfully, "you're worried about the goose-bumps that have crawled up your spine and down your little arms- that it will make you a bad girl."

My breath caught in my throat and I gulped. Was this the part where I found myself in real trouble? Was this how a rape would begin? He continued...

"I'm not interested in your little boyfriend; I'm only interested in you." He moved around to crouch down in front of the chair again, looking me in the eyes, and putting a tender hand upon my own.

"I can't, uhm," the choice of words was churning in my brain, "I am not a cheater."

"No, you're not," he agreed. Then he pulled a leather strap out of his pocket. It was like a thick bracelet, dark and coarse, and it fit tightly around my ankle against the back chair leg. The chair leg, I realise at this moment, was welded into the floorboards to stick the chair into the wood permanently.

Nathaniel had moved quickly to fasten my ankle in place; I began to panic.

"Why am I being tied down?" I yanked my leg to try and escape.

"Well," he placed his hands over both of my own, "Little Z, this process is going to take a while, longer than you might enjoy."

Then Nathaniel walked over to his cabinet and retrieved a pillowcase like item and more leather straps. I knew that I had made a mistake at this point. He strapped my other foot down and then guided me off of the chair. With my ankles both stuck to chair legs, the chair keeping my legs firmly parted, I was left to lie face down across his floor.

"I've changed my mind about all of this," I began, "I think I've made a mistake."

Leather straps bound to each of my wrists behind my back. A pillowcase like sack found its way over my head; it smelt of strawberry fabric softener, and was easy to breathe through. However, I could not see Nathaniel anymore. I trembled and wondered why I had stopped him before it became too late. Had I been so depressed, that perhaps, I didn't care what happened to me?

Greg would be angry at me.

Greg would stop caring about me.

Greg would never forgive me.

"Little Z," I heard the voice of my capturer begin, I felt the laces of my shoes being tugged at and loosened, "it's important that you keep relaxed. This is all for your own good..."

My shoes came off too easily; the soles of my feet facing up towards the roof. I spoke through the sack, "can you please explain to me how this will stop me from eating poorly? Can you tell me something- I am scared. I think you're going to rape me- please don't hurt me. I'm serious- talk to me- answer me!"

"Calm down little," he soothed, running his smooth fingers across my calves and massaging lightly, "no one is being raped."

I heard the scraping sound of something across the floor and nearby my leg. I imagined it was the hairbrush at first, but my imagination took me to a great many other places. Was it a knife that his hand was dragging slowly towards my vulnerable flesh? Was I going to be chopped up into little pieces?

The bristles of a brush, and the rounded ball points they held, massaged the top of people's scalps every single day. The sensation is soothing, comforting, and generally pleasant all round. Nothing about a hairbrush seemed sinister to me. Nothing at all.

... That was until this moment.

The bristles were dragged smoothly across the tender sole of my left foot, causing my whole leg to jolt in surprise. A high pitched sound came out of my throat as I lay frozen in weakened shame. Was this Nathaniel's game? Would he torture my body until I became a useless wreck for him to dismantle and dispose of?

"How does that feel?" He did it again. On my right foot. My body jolting in the opposite direction- my knees bent to try and assist in reaching out to stop him- yet my hands tied behind my back were pathetically unusable.

"I don't like it," I begged of him with my tone, "It feels weird."

"Oh, does it?" He seemed interested. I heard him stand up and walk across the wooden floorboards of this torture chamber known as; his study. I heard the cabinet being opened and the sound of something being squirted out of a bottle.

Steps came closer to me and I panted, "I'm not going to tell anyone if you let me go."