Captured and Immobile

Chapter 1

The bookstore had been warm with chatter, the scratch of pens, the polite laughter of fans eager for a signed copy. Addy had thrived on it, smiling until her cheeks hurt, grateful for every person who stood in line. She never noticed the one man who didn’t approach, who lingered in the back with unreadable eyes fixed solely on her.

The last thing she remembered clearly was packing up, her hand brushing over the stack of her novels, exhaustion settling into her bones. The next was a blur. A strange taste in her mouth, a spinning sensation, darkness.
Addy woke to silence.

The sheets beneath her were too stiff, too clean. Her wrists tugged and she realized they were strapped down, leather buckles biting into her skin. Panic seized her chest. The room was dim, the air heavy with the smell of something sweet. A voice came from the shadows.

“You’re awake.” A tall man stepped into the light. Sharp features softened by a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. His gaze swept over her body, slow, deliberate. “So thin,” he murmured, almost wistful. “Fragile. I couldn’t let that continue.”

Addy’s throat tightened. “W-what do you want?” He pulled up a chair beside the bed. There was a table with an assortment of pastries, snacks, pasta, pizza and a heavy cream substance.

“My name is Zade,” he said calmly. “And what I want is simple. I’m going to take care of you. You won’t have to worry about anything again. No tours, no deadlines, no hunger.” His hand brushed her wrist, not unkindly, as he lifted the spoon. “All you have to do is eat. And grow.”
Addy turned her head away, trembling. But Zade only chuckled softly. “That’s all right. You’ll learn. I have time. And I promise, you’ll be beautiful once I’m finished with you.”
He brought a pastry up to her lips, warm, sweet, and flaky. “Open up.”

….

Time blurred into something shapeless.
Addy never knew if it was morning or night- only that the light shifted faintly through the high, curtained window, and Zade was always there. Ready to feed her, and admire his work.
Her wrists and ankles remained bound, firm but not painful, leaving her helplessly pinned to the bed. At first she had strained against the straps, hoping the effort would loosen them. But hours of struggling had only left her sore, her muscles trembling with exhaustion. Now, she didn’t even try.

Her body was weakening. Days without movement dulled the strength in her limbs. She could feel it in the way her arms ached, the way her legs seemed heavier when she flexed against the restraints. What little tone she’d had softened, fading as surely as her freedom.

And Zade noticed everything.
“You’re getting weaker,” he said one evening, almost pleased, as he set down a tray brimming with food. Pasta swirled in cream, thick slices of buttered bread, and bowls of pudding with added weight gain powder. “That’s good. You won’t fight me as much.”
Addy’s lips pressed tight, her eyes burning. Zade always pushed her limits. Spoonful by spoonful, bite by bite, his persistence wore her down. Hunger always won eventually, and he was ready when it did.

Each meal left her heavy and sluggish, warmth pooling in her belly until she drifted into restless sleep. When she woke, he was there again with more. Always more.
The strangest part was the gentleness. He wiped crumbs from her lips with the corner of a napkin, brushed stray hairs from her damp forehead, murmured soft reassurances as though she were fragile china he was determined not to crack.

“You don’t see it yet,” he whispered once, after coaxing her through half a shake so thick it clung to the straw. His eyes gleamed with certainty. “But you’re going to be so much more than you are now. Softer. Fuller. Exactly what you were meant to be.”
Addy turned her face to the wall, fighting the tears that threatened to spill. She hated how weak she felt, how her body ached from stillness, how easily he filled her when she swore she wouldn’t take another bite.
But Zade only smiled, patient as ever. He had time. And every day she was a little weaker, a little bigger.