Then Mickey pulled one of his punches as if remembering almost too late, saying, “Fuck, Winter needs her alive,” and I heard Cam and Noah discussing how Winter was calling a meeting upstairs, and it finally hit me that he was a man.
I haven’t seen him. For the first two weeks, I had no idea he was even near—until Mickey forced me to my knees, unzipped his pants, and a ghost of a voice echoed through the cell, telling Mickey what he could and could not do to theirguest.
Guest.
That sadistic bastard considers me aguest…
I hear the buzz, followed by static before his voice fills the cell.
“Keep her breathing,” Winter says, and I know he’s not speaking to me even though I’m the only one in the room. “And remember the rule.”
My stomach turns cold. If I’d had breakfast this morning, I might hurl. Instead, with most of the fight in me long beaten out, I freeze in place, knowing that I can’t escape what’s coming for me.
Thirty-four days into captivity, I know the rule.
Everyoneknows the rule.
Once again it’s Mickey’s turn, I guess, because that’s the voice I hear answering Winter from just outside the glass door to my cell.
“No penetration,” he calls back, almost sing-song. “Yeah, yeah. We got it.”
The glass door slides open.
My body reacts before my mind can decide what to do. I scramble backward on the cot, my shoulder hitting the wall, my knees drawing up as the heavy door opens. Shit. There are two of them today. Mickey is first, because Mickey always likes being first. Behind him is Cam.
Neither one has a tray of food for me. They’ve learned. They want me hungry. They want me mean. When I react like a cornered animal, they get to have more fun; at least, it’stheiridea of fun. They want the excuse to get carried away, hoping Winter will forgive them if they forget how far they’re allowed to go.
I stay where I am, watching them quietly.
Mickey leers at me. “How’s our favorite Offering today?”
I try to hide the wince. Offering… I hate when he reminds me of what I used to be; by now, there’s no way I am. Even worse, it’s his way of showing me that he knows everything about me: from my age to my hobbies, my name to my position in the Order… they knew exactly who they were taking while I knownothing.
I don’t care why he taunts me like that. The first time Mickey called me ‘Offering’, I spit in his face. Unfortunately, he made sure I regretted it, and since I’m a fast learner, I keep my mouth shut as he waits to see my reaction.
He smirks when I don’t give him one. “See? Even the most rabid bitch can learn to keep her trap shut.”
I don’t move.
Moving makes them excited. Not moving does, too, when he knows I’m being defiant, but at least stillness lets me pretend I havesomecontrol. I don’t. Not really. It’s going to happen anyway, but if my body is quiet, if my face is blank, if I don’t give them anything, maybe they’ll get bored easier and finish faster.
They rarely do, but I need to cling to that to hold on to the last of my sanity…
Mickey crouches in front of the cot. His breath smells like stale coffee and cigarettes. I turn my face slightly, staring out of the corner of my eyes at the wall beside me, peering down at the faint tally marks scratched into the concrete.
He follows my gaze, laughing when he notices the marks for the first time. “Oh, that’s fucking precious.” He jabs a finger at them. “You been counting, Haven?”
I keep my head down, ignoring him.
“Counting what? Days?” He glances over his shoulder, addressing Cam. “Hey, she’s been counting days.”
Cam shrugs, his eyes on my tits as though my stretched-out t-shirt shows off any of my body.
Mickey’s attention comes back to me. “What happens when you reach the right number, huh? Somebody comes busting in here to save you? Big bad Order men? That what you think?”
I still don’t answer.
Too bad that doesn’t stop him from grabbing a fistful of my bun and tugging my head toward him until I’m forced to look in his face.
