AllFreeNovel
Share Us
That’s when I realize it’s torture. They’re trying to break me—make me crack. They want me to beg for freedom, I think. They want me to plead and give in and promise them anything. And when I realize that, the little fire inside me that had been quietly simmering grows into a massive blaze.
If they think they can turn me into some fucking pet, they’re wrong. I have one single thing under my control, and that’s my life.
When James left after the next meal, I waited for the lights to go out. When the darkness hit, I crept across the path I’ve come to learn by touch and stepped into my little bathroom. It took just a second to turn the sink water on full blast, and then I knelt in front of the grimy toilet in the corner of the room, and I heaved everything up.
I was sweating and felt like shit when I made it back to my bed, but I also felt the first surge of triumph. All that was left was to wait and see if I’d be punished.
But no one came for me. No one checked on me. Maybe they don’t care, but maybe they don’t know.
The only way to turn a hypothesis into a theory was time and experimentation.
So I did it again.
And again.
And it takes until I can’t lift my head up from my pillow for James to take notice, and by then, I have a feeling I’m too far gone to save.
Exactly as I planned.
I barely acknowledge when the lights come on. I hear James at the door, and he stands there, then crosses the room with a heavy click of his boot heels. The food tray hits the bed, and then a cool palm touches my forehead. “No fever,” he murmurs.
I laugh. I can’t help it. It’s probably part of the delirium, but the truth is, I’ve lost all ability to give a shit. These men meant to torture me in the worst way—with periods of isolation and then kindness.
Looking at James, I see genuine worry in his face, and that just makes me laugh harder because he looks like he actually gives a shit. It’s probably just me losing grip on reality and slowly dying of thirst. Or huger. Or both.
His firm hand eases me up, but when I sag forward, he climbs behind me and puts me between his legs. My back rests against his chest, and I try not to think about how damn good it feels to be held. We haven’t really touched at all since I’ve been here, and honestly, I haven’t really been touched at all for most of my childhood. Not since my mother and sister died.
I hate how much I crave it. I hate how much I want to snuggle back into his embrace.
Something touches my lips, and I realize it’s fruit. “Come on, darling,” he murmurs.
I shake my head, but he’s insistent, so I open up and chew. It’s sweet—maybe a melon, or hell, ambrosia for all I know. Not that it matters because I’ll be bringing it up as soon as he’s gone.
“I’ve noticed you’ve been poorly,” he says, feeding me more. “Why haven’t you said something?”
I laugh again. “I’m not sick.”
“Look at you, darling. You can barely keep your head up.”
“I’m starving myself,” I tell him.
It takes him a second to get it, but then he shoves me forward and grips my hair to make me turn and face him. “Say that again.”
I grin, then spit out the bite of melon I’d been working on. “I said I’m starving myself.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve been eating every meal with me,” he accuses, and then his eyes go wide. Ah. He gets it.
They’re not going to keep me docile any longer. They’re not going to fatten me up like the fucking witch in the woods before they devour me. They can have my skin and bones. Maybe it’s a little pathetic that it’s taken this long to find my backbone, but at least I have.
“Alice…what have you done?” His face is pale, but I don’t know if that’s him or the fact that the edges of my vision are going kind of hazy.
The next thing I know, I’m lying back down, and he kicks the tray across the room, the plate shattering. “You’re going to eat if I have to fucking force you.”
I laugh at him and turn my head away. “Won’t that take all the fun out of the torture?”
I don’t look back, but I can hear him freeze, then swallow thickly. “You think this is torture, darling? Do you have any idea—”
“Yes,” I snap, my words slurring. “Big scary bad guy with his big scary dungeon. I’m so lucky to be alive, blah fucking blah. You keep me in the dark for God knows how many hours a day to what? Make me crack before you kill me and send pieces back to my father?” I finally push myself up and fix a glare on him. My arms feel like spaghetti, but I don’t care. “Joke’s on you, buddy. He doesn’t care if I live or die. He never has. So if you want to make it hurt, you’d better get on with it.”
