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Making my way back toward the room, I find a white cotton dress on the bed, noting the mattress is no longer on the metal frame. He must’ve moved it since he decided to soak me, along with the thin mattress, in water. I pick up the dress; the feel of the fabric is soft between my fingers. It’s pretty, but far too big for me. I slip it on, thankful for the chance to cover my modesty. Not that it will help. I’m sure the men have already seen me naked while I was passed out.
I sit on the bed frame and wait. My tormentor, whom I earlier relieved myself on, arrives once more with a look that tells me not to try anything. He stalks closer and I notice he’s dressed immaculately. The suit he’s wearing hugs every muscle of his lean frame. He’s tall, probably over six-feet. There’s dips and valleys in the shirt, and I realize he must be extremely toned to look that good in a suit. My eyes drop to the front of his pants, finding a hard bulge against his zipper. It’s so close it catches my eye.
“You look pretty all cleaned up,” he smirks, causing my gaze to lift back to his.
His mouth tilts into a smile which causes me to catch my breath. He’s handsome. Devilishly so. His square jaw is smooth, the dimples that dip on either cheek are deep, making him look far younger than I think he is. He turns to the sink in the room again, ignoring me as he fills the bucket, and I wonder if he’s going to drench me again.
“Why do you do this?” I question, suddenly anxious to see if he has any human emotions left fro
m working down here. I don’t know where my confidence comes from, but I want to stifle it back down when he turns to regard me with a penetrating blue glare. The color of his irises are almost see-through, reminding me of sunshine streaming through a window on a bright morning. Sadness washes over me when I realize I may not see the sunshine again. There’s tension in the air, reminding me of when my father would tell me that I shouldn’t do things, or he’d admonish me for wanting to go out with a boy.
“If you ask questions, you’ll not make it through the night,” he warns, his gaze piercing me. It’s so harsh, I’m bruised by the mere look he offers.
His words are a cold reminder that he’s not my friend and I shouldn’t think he’s here to save me. He isn’t. He’s as much of a monster as the man who wants to hurt me.
He leaves the bucket on the floor of my room and pulls me up by my arm. Then, he shoves me in front of him and warns, “Behave and you’ll get out alive.”
I don’t ask what he means. I don’t even look away from the path in front of me. Instead, I focus on each step I take. We silently make our way down a long dark hallway.
At one point, he maneuvers his way in front of me to open a door. My eyes adjust to the darkness, but my tormentor is hidden in the shadows. His dark suit makes it difficult for me to see him and when he comes to a stop, I slam into his solid back.
Muscles tighten and tense when I place my hands on his shoulders. Every inch of him taut with… Frustration? Anger?
“Get your hands off me,” he barks angrily, causing me to stumble backward.
“I… I’m sorry,” I mumble, dropping my gaze to the floor, but he can’t see me because the space we’re standing in is pitch black. It’s then that a beep echoes around us, dinging loudly as a hiss of a door that’s been locked for some reason slides open.
Light streams from the entry and music comes from the other side. There’s laughter that travels from where the muted yellow light is beckoning — men’s chuckling, which sets me on edge.
My tormentor hands me an object in the darkness, then leans in closer. “This is the only option you have. Use it, don’t use it. That’s all up to you,” he informs me.
When I turn to look at him, he’s gone.
Straightening my shoulders, I step through the doorway and gasp.
Drake
The darkness surrounds me.
It always has. Since I was thirteen, I had seen far too many horrors. But it’s all him. He took and took and when there wasn’t anything left, he preyed on others. Then again, he’d always done that. I recall the first time I learned what he was.
A monster.
It was that day my life changed. I’d never be the same again and now that I’m eighteen, I feel as if I’m an old ragged man. Even though I’m only starting my life, not the life I wanted, but the one I was thrust into at an early age.
There’s a stench in the basement when I enter. Five rooms sit to my left, and another five to my right. That’s ten captives he holds each year. One month, four weeks, he takes one of those lucky ten and ensures they shatter. The process is simple, they come in, they get tortured and used, and then on their final day, a group of men and women walk in, watch the show and choose which they’d prefer.
He’s broken them in for years. It’s the way he gets off. I’ve seen the vilest of acts being done to girls over the years. He’s had boys here too. However, they don’t earn him enough, so he focuses on the girls. They can offer him what the boys can’t.
And as many years as I’ve been here, I’m still trying to find a way out. A way where I can run with my brother and my best friend and never look back. Slowly, with each night that falls, I know that day will never come. But I hold onto that faraway emotion that we’re taught to hold as kids.
Hope.
The problem is, in this place, that’s a fruitless wish. There’s no such thing as hope in here. Life will end here the same way it started. In agony. It’s the cries and screams that haunt the walls of the mansion. Even though the captives are kept in the basement, being on the upper levels, even in my bedroom I hear them. As if they echo to me, to taint me for what I’ve helped be done to them.
I recall the day I walked into the basement when he was in one of his sessions.
The door is ajar. There’s a dim light that tells me to run, to hide, but I don’t. I’m intrigued. I’m ten years old and all I want is to learn to be a good boy. He tells me I need to be, but I never understand what he means.
