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I winced as my stomach growled, hollowed and starved. There’d been a few times that I’d awoken to food and water—nothing of any value, usually stale bread, or some scraps, just barely enough to keep me going. I didn’t know how long it had been since I last ate a proper meal.
Marcus was cruel and calculated. Nothing he did was by chance. He’d give me something to spark an emotion or reaction and then take it away, whether it was food when I was starved, or news of Damien. It was never enough to give me any ideas of what was going on outside, but enough to spark hope. I didn’t want to think of the embarrassment I’d suffered when I needed to use the bathroom. Thankfully, with the lack of food and water, I hadn’t needed to go very often.
My eyes drifted across the room to the dresser where a dim lamp stood. Every muscle and bone ached, and I groaned as I pushed myself up. It was a difficult walk across the room, but the glass of water resting atop the dresser was motivating enough. When I reached the dresser, I saw that alongside the glass was my medicine, and a piece of paper. It was a note. I disregarded it.
Throat parched and sore, I grabbed the glass, drinking it down ravenously. The water ran down my throat, and the cool sensation left me desperate for more. I swallowed my medicine, unsure how long it had been since I’d taken it. My shoulders slumped when the glass emptied. It wasn’t enough; I wanted more. I set the empty glass down and looked over to the note.
‘Clean yourself up and dress nice for me, little songbird.’
My face heated, fury flooding me. I grabbed the note, crumpling it up, and chucked it across the room, my throat raw as I screamed my frustrations. My fingers twitched at the thought of the things I wanted to do to him, how I wanted to hurt him as he hurt me.
I couldn’t believe he was the reason I’d been waking in the alleyways at night, only to be hunted by darklings. He’d been in my room, watched me while I slept. Did he know my parents lived next door? Would he do anything to them?
My stomach churned, chest tightening as I imagined him there, in the darkness, watching me sleep. My skin crawled with the sensation of his hands on me, as if a part of me had been aware when he worked whatever manipulations he had into my mind, willing me to leave my house in the dead of night.
Thoughts flooded my mind in a chaotic whirlwind, imagination running wild with the worst possibilities of Marcus’ plans. Where could Damien be? What if Marcus had seriously hurt him? Terror swelled in my throat, and I braced myself against the dresser as the sobs built in my chest, threatening to overflow.
Tears rolled down my cheeks, falling onto my quivering hands. I was scared. No, I was terrified. I didn’t know what was going to happen to me, not with the cruel ways that Marcus knew how to get under a person’s skin, making them question everything and leaving them feeling vulnerable. If I didn’t get out of here soon, he may succeed in breaking me.
I lifted my gaze, seeing myself for the first time in the mirror atop the dresser. Dark circles had formed under my eyes from the constant interruption of sleep. My skin was so pale now. Dried blood coated my mouth, dripping down from my nose to my chin. I could see the bruised outlines of his fingers around my neck from where he’d held me countless times as he entered my mind. I was a mess, my hair matted, skin and clothes covered in a combination of dried blood and dirt, shredded where he’d exposed skin to mark me.
Marcus invaded countless private and intimate thoughts and memories that I held close to my heart, taunting me about them afterwards. He knew exactly what he was doing, and I suspected he hoped to drive me insane before he handed me over to whoever he’d mentioned.
No matter what he did, he never let slip who it was he was talking about, and it left me wondering. Who would someone as twisted as Marcus answer to?
I took a moment to inspect the clothes he’d so ‘graciously’ laid out for me. I guess I should’ve been thankful he wasn’t trying to dress me in something revealing, though he’d had many chances to take advantage of me. I had no memory of him attempting anything, though. I frowned as I inspected the outfit folded neatly before me. I lifted the shirt as it unfolded in my hands. They were my clothes. I dropped the shirt and opened the drawers. More of my clothes and personal things sat inside.
Knots twisted in my gut. Marcus had broken into my apartment again. He’d been in my room, touched my things. Did he hurt my parents? Did they notice the break-in and call the cops? I took a deep breath as the panic began to spiral. This was just another one of Marcus’ mind games. There was nothing I could do here, and panicking wasn’t going to help my parents or make the situation better. I could only hope and pray they were okay.
My body tensed, sore muscles protesting as I pulled my shirt over my head. I braced myself against the dresser. The room began to spin, and I almost fell, lightheaded and desperate for food. My reflection in the mirror made me wince. Bruises spread across my rib cage from the beatings, and I lifted a hand, fingers brushing against the tender flesh.
Marcus knew how far he could go before breaking anything. He would always stop just short. It wasn’t worth it to risk breaking any bones. He wanted me alive, and internal infections or bleeding would be problematic. Not like he had to break bones to cause the agony he had.
I touched my busted lip and inspected my nose. Thankfully, it looked like it was healing straight. I knew Marcus had straightened it only to cause me pain, but it benefitted me in the end.
The water was icy as I turned on the faucet in the sink; there was no option for heated water. I grabbed the empty glass, filling it, and downed glass after glass to quench the thirst, fill the raging hollowness in my gut until I nearly vomited. The glass clanked against the vanity as I set it down. I got to work cleaning the dried blood from my face. It stung faintly, but it felt good to be clean again. I worried about the condition of the stitches in the back of my head, but I had no way of checking them. Every bone, every muscle ached, and I could no longer tell where the throbbing sensation stemmed from.
I dropped the rag in a dish, my face and body were as clean as I could get them. I dressed, before I found a brush and set to work detangling my hair.
My eyes drifted around the empty room. The walls felt like they might close in on me. I wanted out, wanted to feel the breeze on my skin, smell fresh air again.
It took me a long while, but I managed to get the knots out of my hair. The mattress sagged under my weight as I sat down, releasing a heavy sigh, containing my fear. I couldn’t let him think he had control over me. Though I was losing hold of myself, I refused to let myself bend to his will. If I could just hold out, take note of everything I saw outside of the cell, I may have a chance at escaping.
There was no denying it, though, the odds of escaping on my own were slim.
I stood, grabbing the chair that rested next to the dresser swinging it at the door. The steel hummed, but the chair barely made a dent. The chair fell from my hands, and I screamed out, grabbing the lamp, throwing it into the mirror on the dresser. It shattered into bits, shards of glass scattering atop the dresser and floor.
Great. Now there’s glass everywhere.
Good. It was a mess Marcus could deal with. I’d ruin everything of his, everything he owned. Him. My hands shook, but I took a deep breath, walking back over to the bed. I had to get ahold of myself; a chance of escaping could arise at any time, and I needed to be ready.
I needed to come up with a plan to escape. There was no telling where they were holding me, what lay outside these walls. I could be in a basement, underground and miles from town in the middle of nowhere, for all I knew. It would be useless to escape if I was only going to get caught again. Gravity shifted and the room threatened to spin again as I imagined what Marcus would do to me if I failed an escape. No, I would only get one shot.
If I failed, I would do everything I could to make sure I wasn’t brought back alive.
The bed cushioned me as I eased down onto my back, staring up at the ceiling, my mind wandering. Time passed, and I didn’t know how long I sat there pondering. Any sense of time had left me long ago. Was it morning outside? Nighttime?
There was a click as the door unlocked and I jumped to my feet. The door opened. It was Cole, his gaze as cold as before.
