Page 4 of Possessive

The murmur of voices filtered through the ceiling right above me. I couldn't make out a word they said. Didn't try very hard. I'd heard voices up there before. They never came down here. The one time I shouted, trying to be heard…

I shuddered at the memory. Squeezed my arms tighter around myself.

Heavy footsteps walked across the upstairs floor. Most likely Kurt or someone who worked with him, or for him.

I lay down on my side and try to get comfortable. There was no comfort here, just worse positions than others. I'd grown accustomed to that a long time ago. Deserved it. Maybe more than I deserved to have my throat cut.

What was the saying about the good dying young? I didn't deserve the peace, even though I craved it, more than anything.

The footsteps moved across the floor, down to the end of the upstairs. Slowly, deliberately they drew closer.

I pushed myself up to my elbows and stared at the door.

If I could raise the chain and wrap it round my throat, I would have. They say it's impossible to strangle yourself, but I would have tried. Anything to stop Kurt from touching me.

Whether or not I deserved everything he did to me, I hated it more than I hated myself. Hated him.

I squeezed my eyes shut and forced myself back into my numb, emotionless place. I had to lock myself in here. I couldn't let him get behind these walls anymore. He always found a way, but I had to keep him out. I had to cling to the last piece of sanity I had.

I asked myself why. Would it be better if I broke? If I lost myself completely. Maybe then I could switch off. Disappear to a place I'd never feel another thing again. Not death, but close enough.

The door rattled.

I frowned. Kurt would have unlocked it. Unless I'd finally lost my mind, whoever it was, they didn't have a key.

The murmur of voices was louder now, just on the other side of the door. Two distinct voices, at least.

"In my experience, people who keep things behind locked doors have something to hide," one of the voices said.

The others said something that sounded like agreement. "Open it."

A handful of moments later, something slammed against the door.

It held.

"Feels solid to me, boss," the first voice said. "Can I shoot the lock off?"

Apparently he was allowed to, because the question was followed by a gunshot, so loud it hurt my ears.

I clapped my hands over them and shrunk down, wincing.

The door swung open slowly.

"Ugh, it stinks in there, boss." In the gloom, I made out a figure waving a hand in front of his nose.

"You've smelled worse, Gianni," his boss said. He pulled out a phone and turned on the torch.

"True, boss," Gianni agreed. "I've probably made worse smells."

His boss grunted and stepped into the room, moving his phone around to illuminate the space.

I half closed my eyes against the sudden glare. They hadn't been subjected to light that bright in too long.

Gianni pulled out his own phone and waved the torch around the other side of the room. He stepped off to the side and stopped in front of the cage. He shone the light right at me. "Um, boss?"

I threw my arm up in front of my face to shield my eyes.

"What—" The second man turned. "Fuck."

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