Dog Training: Believably Broken
#3 of Dog Training
When Cydnee woke, the young, black college student was in an unfamiliar room. She wasn't tied down, and her gag was removed. Thin rays of light filtered through the barred window on the door, shedding enough light for her to see her new home. A chain-link fence cut the room in half, and the door through the fence sported a heavy pad-lock. In one corner of the room a plastic bowl contained lukewarm water, and a metal bowl lay empty. Newspaper lay in one corner, but it was a Chinese paper with all the pictures carefully removed. The symbols meant nothing to Cydnee.
At first, she was left alone. She had no idea how much time had passed, but no one visited. A video camera in the upper corner of the room kept an eye on her. When she became thirsty, she cupped her hands in the bowl and drank. She could do nothing when her hunger began to rise. She quickly finished the rest of the water, and tried to sleep the hunger off. When she woke, she needed to pee again. She decided it wasn't worth the defiance to spoil her floor, and used the newspaper. But she squatted on two legs, not four.
Still no one came. She doubted they would leave her to starve, but she couldn't be certain. The men who had kidnapped her (Or the man? How many were involved?) were clearly deranged, heartless bastards. She began to suspect that they would only come in if she cooperated. But Cydnee had heard of prisoners in Iran who went on hunger strikes. She was as strong as those heroes, and she'd rather starve to death than give in to her captors' twisted desires.
Her thoughts turned to Shaniqua. Her friend didn't have the willpower that Cydnee had. Cydnee suspected that Shaniqua was well-fed; perhaps she was being led around on a leash like "Princess"? No, that wasn't fair. Cydnee would get nowhere resenting her best friend. When Cydnee escaped, she would do everything she could to see Shaniqua rescued. Maybe not Princess, though.
So far, she'd only seen one man involved, but she had to suspect there were more. What was his motive? Most likely he wanted sex slaves, either for himself, or possibly to sell. This building felt large, though she had only seen two rooms. Maintenance costs must be high, and he had video surveillance. Unless that camera was just for show. Cydnee hoped her instincts were wrong. She prayed that the man was acting alone.
The padlock was too sturdy to break, though she made the effort frequently. If she had a metal tool, she could probably destroy it, but the food bowl wasn't heavy enough. She looked at the water bowl. It had been empty for hours. She had no idea how much time had passed, but her stomach was rumbling. She had taken three naps; how long, she had no idea. She could have been trapped for a day, or three days. There was no way to know.
Cydnee began to cry. She just couldn't take it anymore. The uncertainty was piling up, and it felt good just to release her pent up frustration. She sobbed loudly, hoping the video camera in the corner was a fake. She certainly didn't want to give that bastard the satisfaction. Her stubborn attempts to remain rational crumbled, and she wept for herself and for Shaniqua.
But in the back of her mind, she knew sobbing would solve nothing. Cydnee allowed herself this moment of weakness, but when that ran out, her head took over once more. She needed food and water. If the camera were a fake, nothing she could do would matter, so she had to assume it was real. How many men were working together didn't matter, nor what they wanted to do to her. If she acted like a dog, he might reward her with food and water. She needed to be nourished to remain strong enough to resist when the time came.
Her fit of crying would strengthen her position. He might believe she had been broken, and offer her more freedoms, as he had offered Shaniqua. Cydnee could keep up the ruse until he let his guard down, and then strike. For now, she'd have to swallow her pride, or she'd never save herself, much less her best friend.
She needed to pee, and the newspaper was still damp from her last visit. She avoided looking at the camera, so that anyone watching didn't suspect that she was acting. Walking over to the newspaper on all fours, she squatted like a dog and urinated. Then she crawled to a corner of the kennel and curled up in the fetal position. Surely she looked defeated now. All she could do was wait and see if the man came in to reward her good behavior.
Time passed, and Cydnee grew impatient. After what seemed like an hour, she heard footsteps through the door. Her heart began racing. She had to keep her temper under control, to appear broken. She had to note any fact or feature that might help her escape, without appearing too attentive. She took a deep breath in an effort to calm her nerves.
The door opened. It was him, the man from before, with sweater-vest, khakis, and well-shined shoes. She tried to make her eyes wide and desperate as she looked up at him from the floor. He carried a measuring cup with what appeared to be dry dog food up to the brim, and a water bottle. Dasani - a good brand. Cydnee eyed the man's waist carefully, noticing the electric prod. She still had no proof that this man wasn't working alone, but she couldn't make that assumption.
He stepped over to the chain-link fence and opened the little door, allowing the man easy access to her food and water bowls. He dumped the dog food into the bowl with an echoing jingle, and then slowly poured the bottled water. Cydnee stayed on the floor, breathing slowly. The man closed the little door and stepped back, looking the young, black woman over.
"Up, Mutt. Eat."
Cydnee was definitely hungry. But dog food? Iranian hostages went on hunger strikes because their death would reflect poorly on Iran. If Cydnee starved to death here, no one would ever know. She needed to play the part. She couldn't appear too docile either. She slowly climbed to all fours, displaying her very real reluctance. She waited a full twelve seconds (one, hippopotamus, two) before crawling meekly toward the food. The man watched every step, though she only looked at him peripherally. She wanted to study him, to measure his own attentiveness, but she averted her eyes. She couldn't afford to let him see through her ruse.
She hovered over the food bowl. Kibble certainly didn't look appetizing, but her hunger was fierce. She counted out five seconds of hesitance before reaching into the bowl with her hand. The man shouted, "No! Bad dog!"
She looked up at him, frightened, which required very little acting. She paused, then lowered her face into the food bowl. The man said, "Good girl." She wanted to tear his eyes out, but her vengeance would have to come later. She grabbed a piece of kibble between her teeth, and chewed it.
It was awful. Gritty and painfully hard, the meat-flavored soy-based food pellet ground against her gums. But it was food, and she experienced some satisfaction as the first pellet slid down her throat. She kept eating, though it was messy work, but even though she wanted to finish the bowl to earn a small measure of trust from the sadistic man, chewing was too difficult. She stopped, having only eaten a third of the cup of food.
Nonetheless, the man said, "Good, Mutt. Tomorrow morning I will change your newspapers, if you're a good girl. Finish your food!" His false cheer grated on Cydnee's nerves, but she tried hard not to show it. Soon, to her relief, the man left. Cydnee spent the next several hours forcing the disgusting food down her throat, refusing to use her hands. She couldn't let the camera see any disobedience.
In the morning, brandishing the cattle prod, the neatly-dressed man entered her kennel and changed the soiled newspapers. She made no effort to stop him. Even if she could over-power him, she needed to know more about with who and against what she was dealing. Nothing would be accomplished if she defeated this man only to find ten others waiting beyond the door.
After he left, Cydnee quickly took the opportunity to relieve herself on the paper, grateful that he hadn't forced her to do so in his presence.