Warning: Imagery is not suitable for children. This is a first draft; I don't expect it to be perfect. I just thought you would enjoy reading it.
"O what a beautiful morning! O what a beautiful day!"
She woke up to singing that morning. It was perfect baritone, rich and full; nothing unpleasant about it. It made her cringe.
Dean was a very happy man, for all appearances; and he had every right to be. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and startlingly good-looking with a muscular frame and lightly tanned skin. He was the owner of the mansion (an accomplishment in and of itself) and the king of all he surveyed, and dressed accordingly in a formal suit, although today he was missing the top and tie, instead opting for a white business shirt, as informal as he got.
As he stepping into the kitchen, his dress-shoes ringing on the tile floor, he smiled upon seeing her.
"Good morning!" he greeted her happily. "Isn't it a lovely day?"
She looked out the bay window, down the length of the table she was sitting at. It was indeed beautiful in the back yard. Autumn had come, and the leaves were drifting gently to the earth in a display of orange and red. Still, she did not answer.
He leaned onto the polished wood, looking her right in the face, still smiling. "What's the problem? Cat got your tongue?"
Still, she didn't answer, meeting his own dark-blue eyes with her own brown.
"Are you hungry?" he asked, the smile never flickering.
I should have known. she thought to herself, staring at him and his unwavering smile. I should have seen something.
"Good! I'll make breakfast." he laughed, falling to his feet.
She heard the pan slap against the acryllic stove behind her, followed by the door opening. She did not turn to look; she knew what was happening, he had gone through the same routine ever day for a week. She heard the the sizzle of the bacon, the scent making her stomach rumble. She wasn't sure she would be able to say no today.
"Forget your troubles, come on, get happy..." he sang. "You better chase all your cares away."
She wanted to cry. She refused to. She refused to let him see how scared she was, but she was sure he knew. This was all calculated to scare her; and eventually, maybe today, she would give in.
The clatter of a plate made her look up. It was in the center of the table, far from her; the bacon on a napkin, draining. Out of her reach while her stomach screamed at her.
He was already behind her once more, scraping skillet against cast-iron pan as he scrambled onions and eggs. Again, the plate was suddenly in front of her, out of reach.
He smiled down at her. "So, what do you think? Pancakes?"
She shuddered. Pancakes.
"Dripping in syrum and butter," he muttered seductively.
She shook her head no.
"Fine." he muttered, dissapointed.
He pulled the chair closest on thr left-hand side out. The wooden legs scraped against the floor, and he sat down gracefully.
"Are you ready to eat?"
Now she was crying. Now she was scared. Scared not because of the ropes around her wrists and ankles; nor scared becaus of the gag in her mouth. No, she was scared because she couldn't say no anymore. She had to eat.
The tears ran down her face, ruining her makeup as she nodded.
"Good girl." he smiled, and started to undo her gag. Then he stopped, leaning in close, still smiling. She could see his face out of the corner of her eye.
"If you say a word..." he smiled. "I will cut out your tongue."