A part of Andrea was still fighting, somewhere inside. It was shouting at the rest of her, telling herself to just go, to just get the fuck up, to run and not look back. Nobody was stopping her. Nobody was watching her. She could just leave. Why was she still sitting on the goddamn floor?
But the rest of her was obedient. The rest of her was docile. The rest of her knew that she was a good girl, and good girls did as they were told. The rest of her know her place. The rest of her knew she was decorative. The rest of her knew she was a slave.
And so, she sat. She’d been told to stay where she was put, and to look pretty. So she did. The small, shouting part of her fought and kicked and screamed, but it grew quieter every day. It would be a while yet – weeks, maybe – before it was gone. But it would happen. then, Andrea would be a perfect slavegirl. She would be completely obedient, in both body and mind. She’d never think of disobeying again. She’d never think anything other than what she was ordered again.
She ignored the small voice in the back of her mind. She couldn’t wait.
Nice internal conflict.