Page 10 of Hunting


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Not all of the guards are bad. Some look at me with pity, some ignore me, one in particular leers at me as though he is waiting for the opportunity to sneak into my cell and do god knows what to me. Thankfully he is not on shift right now. The one that ignores me is.

I hear a door opening somewhere in the distance. Great. I was nearly asleep. Again. Please don’t be the creepy guard. I’m too tired. I don’t feel comfortable trying to get even a moment of sleep with him watching.

The clicking of dress shoes on the cement floor draws my eyes up. My eyes connect with my handsome captor. I can’t help my eyes from wandering up and down him. He has always worn suits. Not like this though. This one is formal wear. I wonder where he has been.

“Hey sweetheart! Did you get a good nap?”

Fucker. I hate that my heart flutters at the nickname. It’s nearly more torturous than anything else he has done. I have had one boyfriend in my life and he was a jerk. We dated for six months my freshman year of college. He didn’t like that I wanted to wait to have sex with him. He kept trying to pressure me into doing it. I finally had enough and broke up with him.

I was heartbroken and hoping it would be temporary and he would realize that he loved me and would wait until I was ready and patch things up with me. It wasn’t temporary and I never want to see the bastard again. I found out that not only did he sleep with someone else the night I broke up with him, but he had been sleeping with a long string of girls while we were together.

The door to my cell opens and rips me from my thoughts. I press further into the wall. Yeah. Like that will help. It’s not like it will open up and swallow me up. It’s useless. Still my body tries. I pull the mattress closer, keeping a white knuckled grip on it.

It’s no use. The man crosses the room quickly and rips it away from me. Not only that, but he tosses it out of the cell. “No!” The word leaps from my mouth before I can stop it.

“She talks.”

Shit. I don’t say another word. My cheeks are clenched in my teeth. I can taste my own blood from the force I use. I don’t relent.

“Don’t be shy.” He takes a step closer again. I know it’s foolish but I turn my head and allow my hair to create a veil between us. “Don’t be like that.” His fingers grasp my chin and turn my head towards him. I keep my eyes down. His voice is soft. Almost caring. “I haven’t hurt you.” My eyes fly up to his. Lies. “Not physically anyway.” I squint my eyes and furrow my brow at his statement.

While he may not have kicked, punched, or drawn blood, I wouldn’t say my punishment hasn’t been physical. My body has been wracked with shivers since I woke up. The several buckets of water they have tossed on me has only made it worse. I’m surprised my teeth haven’t shattered from their constantly clashing while my body instinctually tries to warm itself up.

Looking into his eyes I can see he is waiting for me to answer. Still I don’t speak.

He laughs and releases my chin. “Not yet anyway. Truth is. That’s up to you.” He grabs me roughly by the arm and yanks me to my feet.

With a firm grip, he pulls me out of my cell and down the wide hallway. He brings me into a new room. There is a lone chair under a single bright light-bulb in one half of the room, and what looks like a doctor’s examination table centered in the other half. The back wall is cluttered with what can only be described as a wall of horrors. Chains, knives, guns, belts, whips, spikes, a few different axes, rope, and various other items.

I gulp. Hard. My mouth is dry and the little spit I have doesn’t want to go down my throat. My captor pulls me towards the chair and pushes me into it. He isn’t as rough as I imagine he could be. The pain is internal. A soul eating pain. There is a strong chance that I will not leave this room. How long will I last? Will he make my death quick if I do not answer? Should I try to answer? Is my loyalty to the family my dad pledged us to worth my death?

Would anyone other than my father miss me? Fuck. Why did I have to be such a hermit? Why didn’t I live more while I could?

Straps tighten around my wrist and ankles. I test them. They touch my skin yet don’t bite into my flesh. That will come later. My imagination conjures up a thousand horrors. Shit. I usually love my imaginative mind. Not now. Not here in this room. Those bloody fucked up visions could come to life. This room has the tools to do it. And I sensed the danger that lurks in my captor since the moment his hand first touched me.

Foolishly I had also found safety in his touch. It was startling, and I didn’t like that he did it with my back to him, or even the circumstances in which it happened. Yet, my mind has wondered a hundred times what it would have been like to have met him under different circumstances. What it would have been like to have him hold me and call me “sweetheart” with the conviction my heart wants to believe he says it with.

“I am giving you one more chance sweetheart.” Damn that name. “I am going to ask you some questions, and I need you to answer them. Truthfully.” He circles me so he is to my back and I hear the clanking of unknown metal objects behind me.

Panic threatens to overwhelm me. Stay strong Livianna, I tell myself.

Hands empty, he comes around to my front. “I don’t want to hurt you.” His voice is softer than before. Emotions swirl in his eyes. I want to believe him. Damn, do I want to believe him. “How about I start out with something simple.”

He pauses. His eyes locked with mine.

“What is your name?” I hesitate. He sighs loudly. His head hanging. Maybe he isn’t such a bad guy after all. Maybe he won’t hurt me too bad. Maybe this is all a scare tactic.

With a sigh, he rises and vanishes behind me. I try to turn in an attempt to see. The back of the chair is too high. I turn back to the front. My mind races, as does my heart. Freezing cold water splashes over me. Dosing me worse than the other times. It’s colder too. Or maybe it just feels colder since I was already cold. “Your name.” His voice is louder. Rougher. My body shakes. Whether from fear or the cold, I can’t be sure.

He comes back around and stands in front of me. A knife in one hand. A blindfold in the other. “Last chance.” He says.

I want to talk. I do. Screw loyalty. A name will do no harm to anyone else. My body trembles so violently that I can’t get my mouth to cooperate. Instead of speaking words, the only sound to escape is the chattering of my teeth as they rattle against each other.

The blindfold is placed over my eyes. The lack of sight heightens my fear. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to be tortured. Still, my body doesn’t cooperate to give my captor the answers he desires.

The pressure of a blade against my shoulder startles me. I involuntarily jump, causing the blade to pinch my skin further. I can feel the skin break. It isn’t deep. It’s a threat. No. A promise.

A door opens. It sounds close and a new voice speaks. It’s male, authoritative. “She still not talking?”

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