Page 62 of Deviant

And why the fuck did I not just kill Magnus instead? I had the damn knife in my hand. I could have killed him, then killed myself before I had to face any repercussions. It would have been the perfect fuck you, the perfect ending.

I let out a frustrated scream, throwing my head back, clenching my fists so tightly. It feels like I’m losing my mind, it feels like I’m starting to crack. I know all about Stockholm syndrome, I know all about the ‘falling for your captor’ bullshit.

I don’t want to do it, I don’t want to break like this, to become everything Magnus plans, and yet, how can I fight this? How can I do anything to stop this?

My fists lash out, I slam them over and over into the wall. The pain helps. The pain focuses my mind.

I won’t give in. I refuse to give in. I’m better than that. I’m better than him. He can fuck my body, he can do whatever he wants to me physically, but I will not let him fuck with my mind.

I will not be that person.

With my teeth, I tear into the skin of my arm, biting at that same wound that Magnus inflicted, mangling it enough that it bleeds, and then I delve my fingers, spreading the blood further. My body trembles, my legs feel like they might collapse, but my hand is steady as I start drawing onto the wall, as I start covering it in words.

I hate him.

I hate him.

I hate him.

I don’t care how many times I have to repeat it. I don’t care how much of my blood it takes. I will not forget this fact, I will not give in.

I am not his plaything, I am not a toy. I am Ana Edwards. I am stronger than that. Better than that.

I will fight, and I will beat him the only way I can.

I have to fight. I have to.

He comes again two days later. He hasn’t fed or given me anything to drink, and I guess in his mind that’s meant to be a punishment, but I’m used to the feeling of hunger now. If anything, it’s helping me to focus on the reality of this, that I am a prisoner here, I’m a thing he’s going to use and discard.

I cannot blur those lines. I cannot allow my own head to become confused, and decide that any form of survival is okay, because it’s not.

I would rather die than submit.

I would rather die than give in.

I would rather die than lose all the parts of me that are real, and instead, become some vapid, empty vessel, some toy forhis amusement.

His eyes stare at the words on the walls. The words written in my blood.

I can see his lips quirk; apparently, this too is funny to him.

“Get up,” he says as he fixes me with those piercing black eyes.

I grit my teeth, force my body to work, but my legs shake worse than ever. Maybe if he gave me a decent meal for once, I’d actually have some strength.

He doesn’t give me a moment to even get my bearings before he’s yanking me out, hauling me along and back into that same room I washed in before.

My eyes meet those two women, and a whimper escapes my lips before I can do anything.

Magnus steps back, folding his arms across his chest, but this time he doesn’t go, he stays, watching as they bathe me, as they shave me, as they force me to bend over and shove water up my arsehole and inside me again.

When they’re finally done, he stands in front of me, appraising me. He pinches my nipples, slaps my breasts lightly, and then fixes a different kind of collar around my neck. A thicker one. One that feels even less forgiving than the previous.

As he steps back, he meets my eyes, holds out a tiny remote and pushes it.

Pain surges through my body. I can’t think, I can’t breathe. I’m on my knees, doubled up in shock, but a second later the feeling ceases. My hands grab at the thing around my neck and my heart slams into my chest, beating far too fast. But I realise what it is, what he’s put on me. He really is treating me like a disobedient dog.

He lets out a chuckle before clicking his fingers for me to get up and follow him.

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