Page 13 of His to Bedevil

The little fire in her eyes blazes a little brighter. “Then I’ll pass. You can kill me now if you’d like.” She crosses her arms over her chest, and they press her breasts up.

I chuckle inside. Does she really think she has any control of her life anymore? I’ll decide when or if she dies. As of right now, I don’t really have plans to kill her. Not until I find out who she is, and it starts with her real name. “You’ll die exactly when I want you to die, my love. Last chance. What is your name?”

She just stares at me with her alluring green eyes, and despite how weak she is right now, she’s defiant as hell. But we’ll see how quickly that fades. We’re barely getting started here. I’m in no rush. I can play with her for as long as she’d like. If it takes months to get her real name, then so be it. I can be a patient man when it’s worth the wait.

“Okay,mi amor.” I grab the bowl and cup as I stand up, and she follows the movement. “I’ll see you in a few days.”

I turn to leave, and she calls out, “Can’t wait!” behind me. Since my back is to her, I let myself smile. I wonder if that sass will stick around the deeper we get into this.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind me, I hear the song start. Berto chuckles beside me as we walk away from the room. “This is the oddest interrogation we have ever done.”

It’s also the most fun as well. At least, it is for me.

Irma

Growling, I roll over to my other side and cup my ears harder. The song “Señorita” has been playing on loop for hours and hours. There are no windows or anything in here, so I have no idea how long, but it feels like days. I had no idea how many forms of torture there were that didn’t involve physical pain. I’m going insane here.Insane!I got to hand it to him, I would find this pretty fucking funny if the tables were turned. If I ever get out of here, I never want to hear this song ever again. Or eat mango.

Fuck.Mango. I would kill for some right now though. My stomach hurts so fucking bad on and off. Every time my stomach is so past hunger it goes quiet, that’s when someone pops in to give me the tiniest bit of food to keep me alive. I wish I had the willpower to refuse it so I can just die already, but my stomach roars out in protest.

I can smell how bad I stink, and thank God I just got off my period when they captured me. I’m sure they wouldn’t have provided me with tampons or pads or even pain relievers for my cramps. Another thing I can sort of feel grateful for in a vain kind of way is that since I got laser hair removal, I’m not a hairy beast. Not that I was really hairy before, but I’m not sporting a bush between my legs or under my arms.

A couple years back, I did a job where I had to live off the grid and didn’t have access to hot water, so I didn’t bathe as often as I would have liked. No bathing meant no shaving. I felt absolutely disgusting and realized there’d be more perks to getting the hair removal than just convenience. Not having body hair, it wouldn’t give away the fact that I’m a natural redhead in certain situations.

I would do almost anything right now for a hot shower or even just a toothbrush. Or a real toilet to sit on. Or a pillow or blanket.

Sitting up, I let go of my ears. “It stopped,” I whisper. The music finally stopped. Either that or I’ve gone deaf.

I feel elated for only a moment when I come to the realization that he’s ready to move on to the next phase of torment. Whatever that may be. He isn’t exactly as predictable as most men are. Just then, the light flickers off, and I’m left in the dark. Not even able to see my hand in front of my face.Fuck.I hate the dark. I absolutely hate the dark. I’m so used to being alone since before I was taken away from my mother at eight years old, but being alone in the dark is such a despondency. Not only do I feel so alone in this room, but I also feel totally abandoned in the world. Like I’d be invisible if I were to be standing inside a crowded room.

I fold myself into the fetal position on my side and bury my face in my knees. Squeezing my eyes shut, I fight back the tears stinging behind them and the lump in my throat.No. I won’t break.I will not break because of the darkness of my past. I won’t let memories of my whore of a mother break me here. Alejandro will not get my tears. I have evaded those painful memories for so long, it will not be now here in this room as a prisoner that I let them consume me.

My body starts shaking violently, and I feel as if the walls around me are closing in. My lungs are struggling for air, and my nails are cutting through the skin on my legs that I’m gripping for dear life. I can hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears, and my teeth are chattering no matter how hard I clench them.

Sucking in a lungful of air through my mouth, I concentrate on my breathing. “It’s just the dark,” I whisper to myself. “I’m okay. I’m okay,” I chant over and over. “Breathe. It’s just the dark.” After some time giving myself words of encouragement, I’m able to get my breathing to a steady pace and my muscles to relax. Keeping my eyes shut, I fool myself into thinking that’s the reason for it being dark. Only because my eyes are closed. I can get through this. They won’t keep me in the dark forever. Once they realize this won’t break me, they’ll move on to the next round of affliction, and I might be begging them just to leave me in the dark again.

I’m awoken to the sound of the door opening. My eyes blink rapidly, trying to focus, then I remember that it’s dark in here. I won’t be able to see a thing, no matter how many times I blink or how hard I strain my eyes. I fell asleep at some point and don’t know how long it’s been. But then again, I’ve had no concept of time now for what feels like weeks.

Whoever came in doesn’t say a word and makes their exit just as quickly. I’m so far past the point of hunger, it has to have been at least a couple days since I’ve eaten. After Alejandro visited me with the mango, I only had one other visit from one of the guards with some crackers and no fucking water. My tongue feels like sandpaper, and my lips are cracked.

Getting to my hands and knees, I try to shuffle in the direction of where the sound at the door came from. My knees feel extra bony against the concrete floor, and I can feel the skin scraping open. I have absolutely no clue how long I’ve been here, but it’s been long enough to lose a lot of weight and for my nails to grow. I don’t need to see my body to know that. My dingy clothing is loose on me, and when I wrap my arms around myself for comfort, I can feel my bones, my ribs and my hip bones protruding through my skin. If I ever get out of here, I’m afraid to look into a mirror.

I search and search around on the floor for anything my visitor may have left, growing more and more desperate and frustrated. “You assholes!” I scream, and collapse onto the floor, trying again not to cry. I don’t even think my body can produce any tears at this point. There might not even be anything for me to find and they’re just fucking with me. But if there is something, I need it. I need it now before I’m too weak to even stand or swallow.

Sitting up, I take a deep and calming breath. “Okay.”I can do this.Getting to my feet, I come up with a plan. With my arms out in front of me, I search through the dark, taking tentative steps so that I don’t knock over the cup of water if they left me one, and so I don’t step on whatever food they may have left for me.

Eventually, I hit one of the walls. Keeping one hand on the wall and my steps light, I reach a corner. Turning my back against the one wall and my shoulder against the other, I put one foot in front of the other and walk the length of the wall until I hit the other side. Once I hit the other corner, I turn my back to it then take a step to the side and do the same thing, making laps in the room so I’m able to thoroughly cover every inch of it.

I’m on the eighth lap when my toe brushes against something. Carefully retracting my foot, I slowly bend down with my arms extended, and bingo! It’s a cup! With shaky hands, I wrap my fingers around it and bring it up to my nose to smell it, making sure it’s not piss or something. There’s no smell other than my rancid breath and body odor, so I assume it’s okay. Bringing the cup to my lips, I drink the water. It’s only two gulps, but it’s like liquid gold. I know rationing it is the smarter thing to do, but someone always comes in later to collect the paper cup and bowl or plate, as if I can use them as weapons or something. But I can’t risk them taking it away with water still in it.

After I finish the water, I carefully feel around for anything else, and then I feel something. Pinching the side of what feels like a plate, I pull it toward me. My fingers fumble over the top of it, and I feel something cool and wet. It’s soft and slippery when I pick it up and smell it.Mango. Fucking bastard.I’m way too starved to be petty, so I scarf it down and reach down for more, but after feeling around the entire plate, I find none. One fucking slice of mango. Crushing the plate in my hands, I bend over and grit my teeth, squeezing my eyes shut. “You better fucking kill me,” I rasp. “Kill me or I’ll fucking kill you. I swear I will kill you.”

The anger I’m feeling distracts me from the nausea in my stomach and the shaking in my body. I won’t play his fucking games anymore. He wants to keep me alive, but just barely. He wants answers that I’m not willing to give. If he really does want me alive still, he’ll have to force-feed me because from now on, I will not eat. I will not drink. He’ll have to let me starve to death or they’ll have to physically feed me. And when they do, I’ll fight. I’ll use any strength I have left in my deteriorating body. And if they can’t make me eat, maybe they’ll hook me up to an IV and I can use the needle to stab Alejandro in his gorgeous eyeballs.

The tiny sliver of adrenaline from my anger suddenly drains me, and I curl back up into a tiny ball and let the darkness completely swallow me whole. I’m going to die here, I just know it.

Barely coherent, I open my eyes when I hear someone come in then exit shortly afterward. Fuck them. I have no idea how long I was out, and I don’t know how I find the strength, but I get to my knees and rise to my feet, standing on wobbly legs. I weakly shuffle my feet and make my way to the wall and do what I did last time to find the food and water they brought me. When I do find it, I collapse to my knees, and before I can change my mind, I hurl the cup of water and the plate of whatever the hell was on it with a shriek. My throat burns from the force and dehydration, but I don’t give a fuck. “FUCK YOU!” I scream as loud as I can, and my entire body quakes. My breathing is rough as I sit there on my hands and knees, seething. “Fuck you,” I scream again, but it only comes out as a hoarse whisper because I have exerted the last of my strength, and I pass out.

“Fuck, she smells.” A male voice floats inside of my head.

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