Mind Games: The Obsession of Dr Lewis

Chapter 4

Nathan

I caught her head before it crashed into her mug. The fear and panic on her face was perfect. I picked her up and carried her downstairs to the basement. I usually had the room stripped bare, but for her, I left a few books on PTSD and childhood trauma. The others were fiction books I’d picked up from a bookshop near my office.

I laid her down on the bed and placed the shackles on her wrists and ankles before reaching for the longer chain that was attached to the wall to snap the collar into place. She needed to be completely vulnerable, so I began to cut away her clothes. When I cut her panties away, I saw she didn't own a razor, but that was something I would take care of before she woke up.

She was too skinny, which is why I was surprised that she had large breasts hidden away under her baggy clothing.

In time, Daisy would become Daddy’s perfect little girl.

◆◆◆

I’d adjusted her shackles while I shaved her body. My dark urges were as strong as they were the day I met her. The only variation was that my fixation with Daisy grew in a different direction from all of my previous test patients and victims. I wouldn't need to use electric shocks or psychological torture on her to become compliant. Her soul was as shattered as her mind.

I dried her skin and moved back to admire my handiwork. She didn't look perfect, so I lifted her head up and untied her hair to trail it over her breasts. Tom, the dirty bastard, had kept her diary, and he had quite the collection of photos and a couple of videos, which I relieved him of. Daisy and I had a lot of work to do in order to eradicate him from her life. My fixation with Daisy was unlike previous ones.

When she began to stir, I picked up the bowl of water and razor and moved it to the side table. Her eyes fluttered, and the chains rattled, but when she saw me, she tried to sit up before she understood her situation.

“You're supposed to help people,” she croaked out.

“You won't see it yet, but I am helping you.”

She began to scream and tug on her shackles. Her screams were so loud that I winced, but she couldn't keep it up for long as her voice began to crack.

“If you're done, then let me tell you. This basement is soundproofed, and the windows are unbreakable. You can look out of them, but no one can see inside.”

“Why am I naked? You perverted bastard,” she hissed at me before she glanced down. “You shaved me,” she gasped out.

“Because you can no longer hide anything from me. In almost a decade, you have had nine therapists. This ends when I say it ends. No one will be looking for you. Remember that because I can keep you in my basement indefinitely,” I said sternly before I bent down to pick up the bowl and towel. “You’re shaved because I want you shaved. When I return, we will talk about Tom and Violet,” I said as I headed towards the door.

“Fuck off. I'm saying nothin’ to a sick shitfuck like you,” she spat out.

“Wave to the camera when you're ready to talk.”

“Go fuck yourself, you sick cunt.”

I closed the door with a smile as the colourful profanities continued. They all seemed to have similar bravado when they arrived.

It never lasted.

◆◆◆

She didn't crack. She allowed herself to piss on the bed and lay on the wet bed without uttering a word or waving her hand to the camera to gain my attention. I turned the heating up for the basement before I went upstairs to retire for the night. She obviously needed the night to dwell on the severity of her situation.

◆◆◆

The warm sun shone on my face as I woke up with a smile. I lay in bed and contemplated how Daisy’s disposition would be during her first weekend of treatment. The thought of getting inside her head excited me, and I headed straight for the shower before I dosed myself with some coffee and took her breakfast downstairs. I thought of the attic decor for Daisy’s next stage as I went downstairs to check on my wayward patient.

The room was silent when I opened the door. I sat her breakfast on the side table since I would be hand-feeding her. With her anger issues, I didn't want to be wearing the breakfast. She didn't look at me or acknowledge me in any way, but her expression was positively mutinous.

“Good morning. Are you ready for breakfast?” I asked as I glanced at her naked body, but by the time my gaze returned to her face, her lips were tightly pursed.

When she didn't respond, I sat on the edge of the bed and stroked her cheek, ignoring her when she tried to shake her head. The smooth silver ring around her neck suited her.

“Be a good girl for Daddy,” I murmured.

It was a direct hit because her eyes widened as a look of horror and disgust appeared on her face before it rapidly changed to one of anger and settled on hatred radiating from her. What started as a shiver persisted into trembling, and I witnessed her in fight or flight mode.

“Today, we start your treatment plan. If you do not comply, you will not find my methods to make you talk to your liking,” I said with a stern warning clear in each word.

My own ego and anger morphed together as I glared down at her. She would never reach a tenth therapist because the buck stopped with me.