Page 40 of Fallen Petal

Chapter 20

Petal

I’m starving.

My hunger has never come to an extreme like this. The hollow feeling in my stomach may have been pretty bad on my very first day, but it was overshadowed by so many other emotions then. Ever since I adapted to my situation, I have been provided with meals on a regular basis. As simple as they were, there was always enough to keep me fed and not suffer from an empty stomach.

Until now.

The girl hasn’t been back ever since she brought me that delicious stew, and while I can’t say for sure how long it’s been since then, it feels like it must have been at least an entire day. A long day.

I slept in between, but I’m not sure whether it was just a short nap or a full night’s sleep. It’s funny how little I can tell these things, even after discovering the tiny peek into the world outside. I held my hand up to the window several times, not finding a hint of light every single time.

Does this mean it’s been night this entire time? Or is the weather outside gloomy and lacking sunshine bright enough to pierce through the small crack?

I wish I knew. I wish I could get an answer by asking, but even if I could hope for a simple response, there’s no one around to question. I haven’t seen him in a while either, ever since he stormed out of the room. He was mad, but his anger wasn’t directed at me. The expression on his face changed when I told him that she’d brought me food that day. I didn’t think much of it, but it appears there’s more to it than I suspected.

She told me he was out of the house, that’s why we were able to talk. Did she break some kind of rule by visiting me then? Did I accidentally tell on her?

I feel terrible for it, especially because it seemed like there was some kind of ruckus, shaking the walls of this house, right after he left my room. There has never been any kind of noise that was able to penetrate the walls and door of this room, but I feel like I heard something going on shortly after he left me with that furious expression on his face.

Movement. Voices even. A door being slammed? Something shook the walls, and there was some ominous thumping, making me believe that he was about to return to my room, but when I sunk down on my knees, awaiting his return, it was for nothing. He didn’t show up.

He still hasn’t.

The rose keeps wilting, time keeps passing, but for me, it may as well stand still. I may not know how long it’s really been, but I know for certain that I’ve never been by myself for this duration. I’ve never grown this hungry, and my mind has never been this idle, lacking any kind of external dissipation.

I wander, I sleep, I climb up the bench to check the crack on the window—and then I repeat. I inspect the room, unsure what I’m looking for. I try the door to the hallway and the door to the dungeon, knowing that both of them are locked.

I miss him.

At some point, I even called for him. I stood in the middle of the room, knowing that there are hidden cameras somewhere but still not in the know of their precise location—and I called out his name. It was a deliberate move of disobedience. I wanted to provoke him, unsure whether I’m already being punished for something or if the answer for my long solitude was a different one. He always announces and explains his punishments before they happen, so I doubt that this could be it.

Is this about my dependence on him? He is starving me on more than one level, denying me food just as much as the things I’ve come to enjoy with him. It may be carnal, just like my craving for food, but I’ve found myself yearning for his touch more than once. I fantasized about it, imagining myself tied to the cross or the bench, or bent over on the floor while he had his way with me.

It’s more than lust, more than simply being horny. I crave him in all his essence. His voice, his eyes, his scent, his hands, his cock. His appearance was a dark solace from the beginning, if only because it promised change and dissipation. But it’s come to a whole new level ever since he played my body like an instrument, evoking not only sounds but emotions that are overwhelming and addictive.

I want more of it. Like an addict, I find myself willing to give anything for another taste of him. Anything.

Maybe even my freedom. This choice has never been put to me, but if it were... I’m scared thinking about what I might do.

Just like many others, the thought keeps creeping up on me, if only to entertain my empty mind while I wait.

How much longer will it be? And what if neither of them ever returns?

What if something happened to them? What if the noises I heard were caused by intruders? Robbers, murderers? What do I know of the dangers that may lurk behind these walls?

And if that’s what happened, when and how will I ever get out of here? Is that how it will end? Will I just starve to death?

My thoughts move in a vicious circle like that, always returning to the same horrifying scenario before I force myself to discard it. But just as I’m beginning to ponder whether I could break the windows by throwing one of the chairs against them, I hear a subtle noise outside the door.

Steps. His stride. It’s not so much an actual noise that makes me aware of him, but the faint vibrations his footsteps cause as he walks along the wooden hallway.

I’m down on my knees before the door open, my heart beating faster this time. Something has happened. Something has changed. It’s the only explanation for this long absence of any human contact, neither him nor her.

And I hope to find out about it now.

He’s moving fast today, faster than usual. I can see his dress shoes before me just moments after he dashes through the door. And it’s just another breath before I can feel his hands on me, grabbing a fist of hair at the back of my head to pull me up on my feet.

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