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And yet there’s a small part of me that doesn’t want to give up.
That wants to fight back, even though I know it’s pointless.
There’s a fight coming from deep within me, from some dark well.
“Just as I thought,” he says to me, a smirk spreading across his lips. “You want to see what I see?”
He pulls me off the wall, walking across the room with his arm straight out, holding me by the throat at the end of it. My fingers are trying to pry his off, my feet are kicking out, and yet he keeps walking and holding me by the neck, like he’s the fucking Terminator.
He flings opens the bathroom door and then brings me inside, letting go of my throat. It’s just for a moment, enough for me to suck in a breath, and then his hand moves up to my jaw, the other hand grabbing hold of my braid.
He positions my face so that I’m facing the mirror, fingers digging into my skin.
I’m staring at the reflection of us in horror.
My cheek is red and purple and yellow, an ugly mess that spreads across my face, to my eye and nose, the rest of me looks pale and haggard and weak.
“Do you see?” he whispers harshly into my ear.
With a grunt he brings me closer to the mirror so I’m all I see.
And I see my eyes.
My pupils taking over the hazel until they’re black.
Golden crescent moons glinting in the both of them, like I’m staring at a moonrise.
I don’t understand.
I’m on drugs.
He’s drugged me.
That would explain everything.
“And you still don’t see,” he says, and I eye him in the mirror. He leans in, keeping my face in place, lips at my ear, gaze holding mine. “Then again, why would you? You’re just a simple girl, all on your own now.”
A knock sounds at the door and he yanks at my braid. I cry out in pain and he wraps the braid around his hand, pulling me out into the room and over to the main door.
He opens it.
A wall of man stands on the other side, at least six-five, also dressed in a tux, though his tie is missing. He’s got light brown hair, a strong jawline, high cheekbones—all the makings of a Nordic warrior.
“How is it going?” the man asks, a light unplaceable accent. He eyes me, his eyes light green and gold. “She conscious yet?”
The Nordic man strides into the room, closing the door behind him.
“You could tell she wasn’t conscious before?” the man holding me asks, not letting go of my braid. I’m still trying to take in the air I lost before.
The Nordic man grins, folding his arms. “Maybe I know what to look for. I didn’t think she was all there earlier. She seems clearer now. It’s her eyes.”
“Exactly, her eyes,” he says. “What do you make of them?”
He laughs. “The great Absolon is asking me what he thinks? Oh, I never thought this day would come.”
Absolon? My stalker’s name is Absolon?
“Look, are you going to be helpful, or just be a waste of space as usual?” Absolon says tiredly, yanking my hair back again until I cry out. “See?” he says to the Nordic guy, gesturing to my face. “The more I hurt her, the more that happens.”
“Perhaps you have the wrong girl, Solon. Wouldn’t be the first time.”
Absolon shakes his head. “No. She’s the right girl. She even…” He pauses, looking at me, thinking.
Just then the ceiling above starts to shake with the sound of footsteps.
“Party is starting,” the Nordic guy says. “I wouldn’t count on Ezra to be too hospitable.”
Party?
There’s a party upstairs?
With people?
People that can help me?
I open my mouth and suddenly start screaming my head off, hoping they’ll hear me. “SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME!”
But before I can scream anymore, Absolon grabs the back of my head, places his hand over my mouth, pressing both together until I’m caught in place, aware now that he could crush my head between his hands like a melon.
“Shhh shhh shhh,” he says to me, eyes glinting, hand smothering me. “You don’t want to let them know you’re here. They aren’t good…people.”
I don’t believe him.
I open my mouth, biting down on his fingers until I taste blood.
He grimaces but he doesn’t let go, keeps his gaze burning into mine.
“I don’t think you want to do that, moonshine. It might turn me on.”
“He’s right,” the Nordic guy says to me. “He gets off on freaky shit.”
Absolon closes his eyes in annoyance, shaking his head. “Wolf, please.” Then he looks at him over his shoulder. “Grab the rope and the gag. It’s time.”
I blink at Absolon, horror rushing through me.
Time for what?
Wolf goes over to the wooden crate and lifts open the lid. Brings out rope and a long piece of fabric. “Sorry to have to do this,” he says to me as he approaches.
