I turn my head slowly, lips parting, gaze locked onto his like I'm about to say something vicious that would cut as deep as he deserves. Instead, I spit in his face.
Cut my throat, Ghost. Come on,finish this.
The silence that follows is thick. Heavy. The tension suffocating.
He exhales through his nose slowly, lifting a single hand to wipe the spit from his cheek. Then, to my absolute horror, he grins.
"You're wasting precious fluids. Not very smart of you, adorable," he says — and suddenly grabs my jaw.
His grip tightens, forcing my mouth open. Before I even register what's happening, he spits in my mouth.
"There," he growls, voice laced with threat. "That should hold you for a few more hours."
Then he stands and walks out, leaving me alone with nothing but my own ruined, shaking body and the sound of water dripping through the cracks of my soul.
Ghost
I hear her moving in the cell, slow, sluggish and weak. The defiant girl who threw every fucking survival instinct out the window just to spite me is starting to crumble.
And it feels good.
It should feel better.Why the fuck doesn’t it feel better?
I pace in front of the heavy wooden door, fingers flexing restlessly at my sides. I have to see her.
I tell myself it's because I need to gauge how close she is to giving up completely. That it isn't about the fact that for the first time in thirteen years, I feel fucking alive again.
I force myself to focus, to remember the goal. Control. Power. Revenge. I didn't spend years waiting for this moment just to let my own mind betray me.
She's going to break and I'm going to enjoy every second of it.
Adora
Thirst is a cruel fucking thing.
It's not just the dryness in my throat, the tight, cracked skin of my lips, or the pounding ache behind my eyes. It's the way my body betrays me, the way my thoughts narrow down to a single, all-consuming need.
Water.
A single drop.
A sip.
Anything to make the fire in my throat stop burning.
I hate that I want it. Hate that he knows I want it.
He planned this perfectly. All he has to do is wait, and I'm afraid I'll do anything he wants for the relief. But he was always good at making me do anything he wanted, wasn’t he?
…
He slides the ice cube over my lips, observing his work like he’s creating a masterpiece. I could get lost forever in his eyes and never let myself be found.
He looks at me as if he just heard my thoughts, his mouth curving at the corners. Like he’s daring me to do just that — get lost in him.
“There,” he murmurs, his voice so low and deep the words land straight in the middle of my chest. “Now you’ve tasted your first drop of alcohol.”
He tosses the ice cube back into his beer glass on the bar top, smile widening, never taking his eyes off me. It’s hot outside but he’s so much fucking hotter.
