Page 9 of Marked By Him

I wanted to spit the food back at him, reject his show of dominance disguised as hospitality. But I was too hungry. Too desperate. Instead, I savored the taste of butter, salt, pepper and eggs on my tongue before I swallowed. My stomach ached for more—a hollow, almost painful twinge that gnawed at my insides. And then, as if my body were punishing me for thinking of not eating, a humiliating growl rumbled and echoed off the basement walls.

He chuckled, then plucked a plump, dark berry from the plate and brought it to my lips.

My mouth watered at the sweet smell of it, at the way it felt cool and wet against my skin. I parted my lips and he pushed the berry inside, letting my tongue sweep his fingertips before he pulled them back out. The air crackled again. Our gazes collided. My head spun.

And the moment I bit down and the juice coated my tongue, I let out a quiet moan.

It was a simple reaction that might as well have struck a match in a field full of dry grass.

The sound reverberated around us. Then, as swiftly as the snap of someone’s fingers, my captor’s expression changed. His face hardened. He shot out of the chair, spun it around and set the plate on the seat.

“Feed yourself,” he said as he reached into the front pocket of his pants and pulled out a knife. He flipped the blade open and leaned down in front of me. The steel was sharp against my skin as he cut through the ties that bound my wrists. The flow of blood rushed to my fingertips, making them tingle and burn as I flexed my hands.

He kept my ankles strapped to the chair legs.

I sat there, staring at the food, speechless. Heart thundering. Partially free but frozen in place.

For a few long seconds, the air was heavy and quiet.

I said nothing.

He said nothing.

There was only the sound of our breathing.

His eyes narrowed, and he ground his teeth as though he were silently cursing me for simply existing.

Little did he know, I was already cursed. Cursed to live in a world I didn’t belong in. And now, I was cursed to live in it alone.

He moved his gaze to the plate. “I’ll be back later to pick that up.” And then he turned away. His bare feet whispered footsteps over the concrete floor when he walked toward the staircase.

The stairs creaked, then the door clicked closed and I was left alone.

He left me alone… with a metal fork and free hands. With two chairs and a window.

My heart jumped. All the hopelessness and sorrow from the past few moments melted into thin air.

I could use the fork to free my legs, then stack the chairs.

Yes!

Then, I would be free.

My excitement was short-lived as doubt quickly crept in.

Would the chairs stack high enough to reach the window? And if I did escape, would my captor be waiting for me outside? Did he know I’d try to run? Was I that predictable?

I wondered if he’d locked the door at the top of the stairs. My guess was that he didn’t. I would have heard the hope-deafeningclickif he had.

This man had fed me, cut my ties, then left me unharmed with multiple ways to escape. And still, I sat there, unmoving, because the truth was suddenly clear.

I was tired.

I was broken.

I was weak.

And that wasn’t even the worst of it. That wasn’t the part where it seemed pointless to go on. That wasn’t the reason that everything lost its purpose.

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