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nley, of course it is. There is nothing fake about his smile or the cold, flint-like look he’s bestowing upon me. I don’t know why he hates me, but I know there’s four of him and the whole world is starting to spin.
Vomit is burning up my throat as I spray the floor and he does nothing but tut, as he walks away. I can hear water running somewhere in the distance, and it’s the perfect melody for me to succumb to the dark and drift away.
MY HEAD DOES NOT WANT to work, and my eyes are glued shut. My face feels sticky and half my hair is clinging to whatever is causing the mess. Oh yeah, the blood.
“I think she’s waking up,” comes the monotonous voice of Dante, such a gorgeous name for such an ugly soul.
“What’s the plan of action and what are your limits? Seriously Dante, is there anything you won’t do?” Ahh yes Finley, the surprise guest. What stake does he have in all of this?
“Dear Fin, for the right price I’d cut off one of my own fingers and eat it with a smile on my face, I don’t have any limits,” cold and menacing, if he had a superpower it would be to freeze his opponents in an unrelenting coldness with nothing more than the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes.
“Fair enough mate, shall we get started?” Fin asks and I’m struggling to keep my eyes from opening and I can feel my fear clawing up my throat. If fear had nails, I’d be torn to shreds by now.
“Where’s the rush? Harrison can’t tell anyone where we are, he’s probably dead for all we know. We’ve got plenty of time and you know what we’re waiting for, you set this all into motion didn’t you boss?” Dante says uncaring that he’s giving the game away. What the fuck? Finley is calling the shots. That can’t be right.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’ll be upstairs. Let me know when the fun begins,” his tone is dark, and it's suffocating me within its hidden depths. Please don’t let me die oblivious to the reason why. Damn, I don’t want to die.
“I know you’re awake, open your eyes pretty girl,” an order spoken through a mouth made to cut you from the inside out.
I won’t hide behind my fear, I still need to find a way out of this. Meeting his dead gaze head on, I now know I was not prepared enough. If the grim reaper had a face, it would be this one, Dante.
Crouching down to bring himself almost eye level is not making this any easier. The shivers coursing through my system are incapacitating and pain inducing. Just put me out of my misery already!
“Do you want to know why you are here, in this house? Why you will die in the house you spent most of your childhood in?” He’s impossible to read. Is there a wrong answer to this question? Although if there is, does it even matter at this point?
“I want to know it all,” I rasp out, those claws refusing to detach from my throat, fear is an evil bitch for sure.
“You know where the shower is down here, use it and then we’ll talk,” he says, while placing an cuff around my ankle, fixing it to a thick metal chain and attaching me to a hook in the floor that I never noticed before.
“You’re free to move around here, for now. It won’t last long so enjoy your bit of freedom while you still have it,” he’s gives me a quick once over while standing up straight and ascending the stairs.
“Elliott, what the fuck did you do? And I swear on this godforsaken planet if you’re rolling your eyes at me right now, I will kick your arse when I get up there,” I don’t care if they can hear me, who else am I supposed to talk to than the only guy who truly knows what is causing all of this.
THEY HAVEN’T EVEN BOTHERED to come back down, I don’t know if that makes me relieved or even more nervous. I hate being stuck in my own mind and I am not great company for myself, case in point my inner voice is a raging bitch and I’m speaking as though someone will actually answer back. Oh yeah, I’m losing my ever-loving mind.
“Hello, Pretty girl,” Dante says, opening the door and descending the steps. My mouth is already running dry and It will not surprise me if my tongue starts sticking to the roof of my mouth.
“Why do you keep calling me that?” Oh I like this, my voice sounds flat and lifeless, maybe I can give him a run for his money on the devoid of all emotions front. Even though I’m falling apart on the inside, whereas he’s more lifeless than the Black Sea.
“Isn’t that what you girls like, silly little compliments that make you feel good whether it's believed by the one who says it?” I hate it when he cocks his head to the side, but I think it’s a genuine question. Can this situation get any weirder?
“I can’t really speak for my gender but I don’t, I’d rather you call me a bitch or something,” I say with an eye roll and he shakes his head, with anyone else I’d think it was condescending but not Dante.
“No, that is disrespectful,” he says it so simply and laughter is pouring out of me, is he for real?
“Disrespectful, what about burning me with your fag or breaking my wrist? Isn’t that disrespectful?” I couldn’t keep the disbelief out of my voice even if I tried. I cannot believe this guy, he’s fucking deluded, it’s as simple as that.
“You are rather naïve, aren't you pretty girl? Breaking any part of your body or spirit is not disrespectful, I would do it to anyone despite their gender.” His dead eyes are staring into mine and I can’t look away even though there’s nothing more I would rather do, apart from escaping that is. “But calling you a bitch is a derogatory term and seeing as it only belongs to describe the sex of a canine, calling you that would be disrespectful,” fuck my life he’s nodding at his own words, I am so screwed.
“Why are you doing this?” He won’t answer I know that, but it won’t kill me to ask or if it does, then I can’t see the negative side of that.
“Because they’re paying me to and who better to torture someone than a man who lacks the ability to care. You could cry or beg and it would not make a difference to me, you’re just a cheque with a face, nothing more,” he pulls two chairs out - one for me and one for him - are we supposed to sit and converse like this is some kind of coffee shop? Not fucking likely.
“Sit down little hen, that’s what Devon calls you isn’t it? And pipsqueak was your brother’s name for you, you seem to collect nicknames like you collect boyfriends,” there’s no judgement in his words, it’s just a fact to him but it’s still getting my back up. Besides, how does he know what they called me?
“How do you know that?” I hate how quietly it comes out, but not as much as I despise this bastard talking about my brothers.
“It’s what he said as he sat in the car dying, your nickname was the last thing to pass his lips as he said goodbye to his life. He wanted you to be safe, unfortunately for you both he could not guarantee it,” his eyes won’t release mine from their cold stare. I don’t understand why I’m not shivering profusely because I cannot feel any heat while he’s around.
