Page 50 of To Have and to Hold

The third time I resumed consciousness and blinked through the smears of black and white, I thought maybe he was gone. But it was only my body betraying me, becoming numb to the weight of him. He was still straddling me, his fingers spindling across my throat, ready to send me under a fourth time.

Each second I came back, I’d struggle blindly, terrified that his clothes were off and he was able to violate me in the one way he craved while I was posed and lifeless. Yet he remained in his dark outfit, the same shade as this dungeon, his knees on either side of my torso and his upper body curving over mine in effort and strain. That mask—the white—was the first thing I registered when reality sunk in its claws.

“Too close,” he muttered this time, sitting on his haunches, his weight crushing down on my hips. “You were passed out much too long.”

A garbled noise lifted out of my throat—coughs and tears.

“When was the last time you ate?” he asked, like I was a ridiculous teenager who was refusing an energy bar on the eve before prom.

Yesterday. Two days ago. I don’t know, I thought, meekly twisting to my side.

“I can’t very well have you dying on me,” he said. His mask cocked to the side. “Have you learned your lesson?”

My cheek stretched and wrinkled against the mattress as I attempted to nod.

He rose to his knees and I gulped down air. “I get too carried away sometimes. I apologize. You made me so angry, disobeying me like that.”

He paused, as if waiting for my encouragement or at the very least, reassurance that no, I wasn’t being subjected to the worst he could muster and I was very grateful for it. Drool slid out the side of my mouth.

“I have empathy,” he continued. “And I understand that bruising you would not align properly with the next act. It’s terrifying being at someone else’s hands instead of mere fists, isn’t it? A gentle pressure of fingers. That’s all it takes.”

Another pause. I tried to swallow, but my tongue was too swollen.

“I think you’re now aware of the consequences.” He stood, his legs flickering against the flashlight’s illumination as he moved out of its spotlight and into the adjoining room.

Good. Go.

But he returned, swinging something that glugged with every casual arc. He plopped it down next to my head. The fruit punch was back.

Saliva coated my tongue. Thirst had me rising onto my elbows, flattening, then lifting again.

“I know how to be nice,” he said, his voice traveling down to my ears. “And I’m very sure you prefer that over naughty. So be a good girl and I will reward you with more treats. But be bad…” He let the obvious consequences trail off into what my imagination could conjure.

A brief spurt of air told me he’d moved. I raised my head to see him heading for the doorway, his back a wide span of shadow against the gold halogen light blooming up from the floor.

“Foo…” I tried saying before he could shut the door.

He paused, one hand on the lever. “Excuse me?”

“Foo—food.”

It was all my bruised, torn voice could muster, but to survive this shithole, I needed the energy to plan, evade, and survive. Without sustenance, I’d remain meek and supple, a rag doll to be repositioned on a whim.

“I suppose you should have something,” he said, albeit reluctantly.

He fished into his pocket then swung something toward me. It landed against my shoulder with a light thwack before falling onto the mattress. Once I came out of my recoil, I picked it up. It was a half-empty, creased and crumpled pack of bubblegum.

A pounding sounded from above. The Skull jerked toward the sound, his chin tipping up to the ceiling. A muffled voice, male, followed, but his words were impossible to decipher.

“Goddammit,” the Skull muttered through his mask. “What an idiot.

“Bon appetite,” was all he said to me before departing, and I was left with the feeling of a pack of gum in my hand and the notion that a gallon of sugared juice was close-by.

I dropped the gum.

Both hands trembling, I reached for the thirst-quencher in the dark and cried.

With my neck so abused and damaged, it would be hours until I’d manage even one drop to drink.

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