“Oh go fucking kill yourself”, I thought to myself, and the knocking stopped as if by magic. I was to tired to comment on this stroke of luck howe...er, and I quickly fell back asleep. When I awoke, I had no idea how long it had been. No sunlight was coming in the windows, and I was so hungry that I was worried I was going to pass out. I swung my legs out of bed, and stopped suddenly. My legs, which had been fairly skinny before, were now perfect. Muscled, pale and hairless, they bore little. It was probably only a second or two, but the entire rest of my life was in those seconds. I was deathly afraid of her next words.She repeated, “I’m going to tell him that I’m already married to the most wonderful man ever. I’ll tell Brett the truth, that I do love him, but I can never leave my husband.”I stopped breathing, not sure if I’d heard her correctly. When I felt her hand tighten in mine and she pulled me closer to her body, enough that I could feel, but Brett wouldn’t be able to see,. On her hands and knees. Scrubbing and cleaning like the black domestic servants she remembers from home, when she was a little child. Tracy is now treated like a child. She is told when to get up, when to get washed, when she may eat, what she may eat and when she must sleep. Day after day after day after day. Each day like the last and the last day like the next.Gradually, she finds it easier to adapt to the expectations of her captors. Merely to do as she is told. Superficially, that is just. "No, oh no! Sara suspected what was to happen, but no, Mrs. Anderson wouldn't dare, would she? With trembling fingers she unscrewed the top of the plastic mustard bottle and handed it to the older woman."Good girl," Mrs. Anderson said. "Now reach back and spread that beautiful bottom."Oh God, she was mad enough to do it. Worse, Sara realized her husband was watching. She waved at him again. Please oh please turn back around, she prayed. She dared not look at him or he would surely know.