Page 64 of Fallen Stars

It’s my last thought before I fall asleep in his arms.

SIXTEEN

NUMBER 263

Day Twenty-One

A paper platewith a partially eaten sandwich sits inches from my face on the floor. Cockroaches crawl on the remnants of the food, scavenging for their own meal. My eyes lose focus as I stare at them, jealous. I envy their ability to slip under the door or through a crack in the wall and escape this hellhole.

With each breath I take, my hope diminishes further. The longer I exist in this grimy prison, the more I surrender to the idea of never being found.

I honestly have no idea how long I’ve been here. I have no ideawherehere is.

Not that I have a way to tell anyone where I am.

Still, I say a silent prayer often. I plead with whoever hears my cry.

Save me from this hell.

Most days, my prayers are followed by more beatings. Different men in polished attire, straining erections, and black masks to hide their identities.

My mental faculties slip more and more with each visit.

Every time one of them walks into my cell, I bite back the urge to laugh. I fight my desire to mock them. Their masks have become my only form of amusement.

Wealthy, powerful men who probably have countless people cowering to their every whim… wearing masks so the abducted, shackled people they violate don’t see their faces. So they can never be identified if one of us escapes.

Sick pieces of shit.

Dragging my hand closer to my body, I inhale deeply and send all my strength into my arms as I slowly sit up. My limbs tremble with the simple movement as my bones protest. I draw my legs to my chest and hug them, but only for a moment. The position no longer provides me with a sense of comfort.

The longer I am here, the more I lose myself—not just mentally but also physically.

I reach for the water bottle near the plate and the cockroaches scatter.

“Don’t let me interrupt your meal,” I rasp out, my voice unrecognizable to my own ears.

Twisting off the cap, I sip the last of the water and toss the bottle in the general direction of my trash pile. My stomach cramps, silently begging for more nourishment, but I ignore it. Dwelling on the fact that I’m slowly starving to death is futile. There is nothing I can do about it, so it’s pointless to worry.

Footsteps echo outside of my cell, and I scramble to sit on my haunches. My shins scream in pain as they bear down on the concrete, but like the pain in my stomach, I disregard it.

Metal scrapes metal and grates my eardrums as the door swings open. My gaze flits up to the silhouette of a guard as he enters the room. As per usual, he rubs the crotch of his pants until the second guard enters the room.

“Finally learning your place, I see,” his robotic voice praises me. He inches closer and grabs a fistful of my hair. “Doesn’tmean you won’t be taught a lesson every day for the rest of your pitiful life.” Releasing his hold on my hair, he shoves me back.

My scalp burns. The backs of my eyes sting. My pulse beats violently in my rib cage. They enjoy it when I cry or lash out, so I remain the epitome of calm. Either way, they will beat me until I’m unable to sit back up.

Guard One glances over at his buddy. “Bring him in.”

Guard Two nods and exits the cell. In no time, he returns with another man.

“Leave us,” the new man orders. He wears a mask, but his voice isn’t disguised.

The guards back out of the room and close the door. Darkness swallows us and a sense of doom floods my veins.

Since I’ve been in this place, I’ve been malnourished, beaten, and humiliated. Each instance has chipped away at my body and soul.

But something aboutthisman is different. His energy is distinct. Volatile. Malicious. Horrific.

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