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“Get up, bitch!”the cold voice demanded, accompanied by another slap to the face. I didn’t bother anymore pretending to still be asleep.
I was determined to meet my assailant’s eyes as she attacked me.
Glaring at her with all of the anger I could muster, I said, “Who are you?”
She appeared to be around my age, dark hair pulled back into a simple braid. She might’ve been pretty if she hadn’t had such a disgusting scowl on her face or if she hadn’t decided to use my face for her bitch-slap practice.
“I’ve always thought you looked like a whore,” she said in answer. Well, okay then. I guessed I would just call her Whore. “What’s so special about you?”
Her voice held so much contempt, so much animosity, that I couldn’t help but glance away. The hatred in her eyes was a brutal reminder of all the other times I had been stared at angrily. It was the look I would receive right before the abuse began.
As if she knew what I was thinking, her fist connected with my jaw. The ring she was wearing slashed my face, as piercing as a knife. I whimpered, unable to contain the pathetic sound. Of course, if there was one thing I knew about bullies and abusers, it was that they orgasmed at the slightest show of pain. Of weakness. I could not afford to show such vulnerability.
Gasping from the pain, I schooled my features into a fierce scowl. The pain was manageable; I had dealt with worse.
If only she hadn’t been wearing the damn ring...
Feeling my eyes upon it, she fluttered her fingers in front of my face. It was a silver ring, encrusted with a glimmering emerald directly in the center.
“Do you like it?” she asked coyly. She seemed to forget that she hated me and liked hitting my face. Now she wanted to engage in girl-talk?
“Like what?” I feigned annoyance, glancing from her finger to her eyes as if I had trouble understanding what she was referring to. Yeah, it may not have been the smartest move considering the bitch was psycho and I was tied to a bed, but she was really beginning to piss me off.
“The ring,” she snapped. She jabbed her finger into my eye as if that would somehow get me to see better.
Yup. Could totally see better with the water dripping down my face from my suddenly irritated eye.
Unperturbed by my lack of response, Whore Bag Psycho Eye-Stabbing Bitch leaned backwards with a sly smile.
“My fiancé gave it to me,” she answered, as if I really gave two shits where she got it from. She could tell me she got the ring from the President of the United States, and I stillwould stare blankly at her.
Again, she seemed undeterred by my lack of response. I imagined she spent a lot of time talking to herself. She probably even proposed to herself.
You know what they say: you have to love yourself before you can love others.
I think she might’ve taken that saying to a new extreme.
“I would like you in attendance for the wedding,” she added suddenly. “As my Maid of Honor.”
...the fuck now?
There were two things I could do: play along like a good little captive or tell her to go fuck herself (which probably was completely normal to her. She might even take it as a compliment, or she might get pissed that I was meddling in her love life).
My mind weighed the pros and cons of each solution, though neither seemed stellar or viable for the long haul. My main focus was Ryder. Before I could even think of escape, I had to find him and make sure he was okay.
I could only pray that he had been left behind at Elena’s house though I knew that was only wishful thinking.
Face searing with pain, I smiled deviously up at the psycho. “I would love to be your Maid of Honor.”
Bitch.
* * *
If there wasone thing I learned about Whore, it was that she needed to be the prettiest girl in the room.
You might think that would be normal for a petty teenage girl. Most girls had an abundant number of insecurities. But her?
I, at first, wore a pink dress. She had undid the bindings around my arms and legs, had me change into a dress, and then immediately tied me to a chair.
