The Visit

The cordless drill sat heavy in my grip, the high-pitched whine of the motor echoing off the bare walls.

The white plastic casing of the first camera was anchored firmly above the frame of the hallway door. Sweat traced down from my temples, gathering along the lower rims of my glasses, while the heavy denim of my dark jeans ground dryly against sensitive skin with every reach. The resin pressed without mercy against my pubic bone. From out on the balcony came the muffled sounds of conversation—Nadja’s bright, lilting laughter, punctuated by the dark, rhythmic cadence of Loona’s voice. They were sipping white wine in the late-afternoon sun while I worked in silence to assemble my own cage.

"John, would you bring us some more ice cubes and the carafe, please?" Loona called through the open balcony doors.

Climbing down from the stepladder, I set the drill aside and pulled the ice tray from the freezer. Every step served as an unyielding reminder of the padlock sitting locked beneath the fabric. Holding the glass carafe with both hands, I stepped out onto the small, wrought-iron balcony.

At first glance, the tableau appeared entirely idyllic. The low sun bathed the ornate facade of the Schöneberg building opposite in amber light. Curtains were drawn back across several windows across the street; a man was watering his flower boxes, and two floors down an older woman rested her forearms on the sill.

Nadja sat with her legs drawn up in one of the wicker armchairs, her lilac dress riding up to reveal the bare, flawless line of her thighs. The moment I stepped out, she offered her disarming smile.

"Thank you, John," she said softly, taking the carafe from my hands. "You're really working up a sweat. Almost done with the installation?"

"Nearly," I managed, unconsciously bringing my hands together to shield my waistline.

"I just need to wash my hands real quick," Nadja said, rising and smoothing down her skirt. She flashed another warm smile as she slipped past, her bare forearm brushing mine before disappearing through the double doors toward the hall.

The instant the bathroom door clicked shut inside the flat, the air out on the balcony turned instantly cold.

Loona didn't shift her shoulders. She sat back on the cushioned bench with her legs crossed, a slender cigarette balanced between her fingers, exhaling a slow plume of smoke into the summer sky. On her feet were pointed mules with delicate, low heels that caught the glare of the sun.

"On your knees. Now," the order dropped with surgical quiet.

A jolt of panic seized my chest. "Loona, out here? The people across the street—"

"Three seconds, John," she hissed without raising her voice, her green eyes cutting sideways with absolute stillness. "One."

Sheer terror of the alternative forced my body to move. I dropped to the rough, sun-baked flagstones of the balcony floor. My fingers dug hard into the denim of my thighs. The windows opposite looked directly down on us; anyone glancing through their glass could look straight at me crouching at her feet.

"Status report," she demanded softly, letting out a thin stream of smoke.

"The first… the first camera in the hall is mounted," I rasped, throat parched like sand. "I'm doing the living room next."

"Too slow."

Before I could brace myself, her leg extended. The hard, narrow point of her shoe slid between my knees, digging straight through the stiff denim of my jeans to bear down directly onto the rigid resin shell.

A choked sound tore from my throat. The tapered tip drove the base ring violently into my pubic bone. The sharp, searing flare made me double forward, forehead dropping nearly to the stone floor.

"Don't move," Loona whispered down from above, her foot applying steady, measured force. "Look at the windows over there. Remember precisely what you are. Don't let Nadja’s sweet talk confuse your place here. She is my guest. You are my servant."

Beneath the cotton, a suffocating, trapped heat flared up. The hard toe pressed deeper, just as the distant shudder of water pipes inside announced that the bathroom faucet had been shut off.

*She's coming back. Any second.*

"Please…," I gasped, face twisting, eyes pinned to the neighboring facade where the silhouette of a man stood outlined against a sheer curtain.

Light footfalls sounded over the hardwood inside the corridor.

At the very last second, Loona withdrew her foot, crossing her legs back over in one smooth motion and flicking her ash into the tray with practiced disinterest.

"Get up," she hissed.

I dragged myself up, teeth gritted against the piercing pressure in my groin, grabbing the empty serving tray just as Nadja stepped back onto the balcony, drying her fingers with a small towel.

"All done," Nadja remarked brightly, glancing between Loona and me before pausing. Her brown eyes swept across my flushed cheeks, the sheen of sweat on my forehead, and my rigid posture. A subtle, assessing smile touched her lips. "Everything alright out here? You look so pale, John."

"Everything is… fine," I forced out, voice uneven. "I'm… going to mount the second camera."

"Don't run yourself ragged," she murmured with that warm, almost tender cadence, while behind her, Loona’s gaze tracked me like a hawk.