Page 15 of Blood Spilled
He sighs and sets one plate in front of me. “Well maybe if you're extra good we can take a little walk around the property.”
Excitement stirs in me. “A walk?”
He nods, pulling out a chair from the room's closet. “Yes, but only if you're good. You have to show me you deserve it. I also have more questions for you.”
I tilt my head to the side, gripping a sandwich between my fingers. “If they are the same ones, I can't help you. I told you already, I don't know anything.”
He scoots the chair closer to me, spinning his plate around in his lap. “No, nothing like that. I'm just curious if a person like you has ever been capable of love. Have you ever loved anyone before, Santiago?”
Every time he uses my name it’s unnerving. The way he does it at certain times, like it's only when he decides he wants me to be a person, not his little plaything. Since as his little plaything—his little mouse—I'm rarely allowed to speak. “Yes.”
“What was his name?” he asks in between bites of his sandwich.
“Andy.” I could have made up a name, lied, or said no, but something about this man made it difficult for me to. Before I knew it, I was blurting out the first thing on my mind. Every time someone mentioned the word love, it was hard not to picture Andy's face.
“He was my first boyfriend.” It's like word vomit and I can't stop it from pouring out. Maybe this is good though. It made things more personal between us. Usually, it's a ploy victims use against serial killers and kidnappers, getting them to see you as a person, in hopes it will make it harder for them to cause you harm. They say it's more difficult to hurt someone you connect with and develop an emotional bond with, but who's to say that's even possible with a man like Angel Castaneda.
I recognize the anger and rage in him. It's similar to the anger and rage I've been carrying around all my life.
I take another bite of my sandwich and he continues to stare at me, popping a chip into his mouth. It’s like he's waiting for me to continue. I lick my lips, trying hard not to shove the rest of the sandwich in my mouth the way my stomach wants me to. “Wemet when we were young and fell in love as teenagers. Andy died before he turned eighteen.”
“How?” Angel asks before shoving another chip in his mouth. If I keep answering his questions, maybe he will take me on that walk he mentioned. I begged to see the sun again, to feel the grass move beneath my feet and hear the sound of birds chirping or bugs zapping. He has a man of his word so far, hopefully he will continue to be.
“My father killed him and dismembered his body in the shed out back before moving the pieces to my bedroom.”
His mouth stops moving and the loud crunching stops. I can see the shock in his eyes and something else I can't seem to make out. “Why? Why would someone kill an innocent boy? What did he do?”
“He fell in love with me. I still remember the smell of the rotting body and the look on his cold dead face, his mouth agape in horror. It was the only part of him that was still whole.”
Angel swallows hard and sits up straighter in his seat. “That's enough questions for the day. I'll get you that tea and maybe even give you a bit of freedom from the chains. Your skin could probably use a break.”
I perk up a bit when he mentions releasing me from the chains. Is it working? Is my willingness to open up and be obedient winning him over? It's the only hope I have to cling on to, so I'll take it. He leaves the room again and, when he comes back, he is holding a green plastic mug in his hands with steam rising from the top. “Here's your tea.”
I grab it so quickly, some spills between us, almost landing on my knee. He shakes his head. “Careful, little mouse. You don't want to burn yourself, do you? You have enough scars as it is. No need to add to them unless I'm the one doing it of course.”
He leans down, reaching for my wrist and I meet him halfway when I see a key in his hand. “How did you get those scars anyway?”
As soon as the cuff falls to the ground, I flex my wrist, getting used to the heavy weight missing from it. Oddly, I feel more naked than before, setting the cup down to wrap my wrist in my hand. I hate myself for missing the cuff. “I think you already know the answer to that question.”
He undoes the cuff on my ankle and quickly pulls away, shaking his head. I figured I didn't completely have his trust yet. That would take some time and I'm not sure how much time I have. I release my wrist and pick up the cup again, smelling the mint and lemon saturating the air. “Anyway, I thought we were done with questions for the day.”
I press the cup to my lips and let the warm liquid slip over my tongue, easing down my aching throat. It felt wonderful. I take another sip, enjoying it as much as the last one. “Thank you, Master,” I say with a forced smile.
His eyes grow wide with curiosity. “Someone’s suddenly learned some manners. Maybe being left in here mostly alone for a few days did you some good after all.”
I grind my teeth at the thought of him disappearing for that long again. My stomach knots at the memories of how disappointment sunk in each time that door opened and it wasn't him. “You have access to the bathroom now. Let's see how well you do with your small freedom.”
Without another word, he turns around and exits the room, locking it behind him. He still turned his back on me even after what I did before. That must mean something or maybe this is my head messing with me. The longer I'm here, the less I recognize the man I was before. The man before felt nothing. The man I am now feels everything. I finish my tea and attemptto stand again. After failing a few times, I’m finally able to gain my balance and take slow steps towards the bathroom.
There is no mirror for me to look into when I turn on the lights of the plain white room. I'm not sure I'd want to see my reflection right now anyway. I always hated looking at it before and doubt it will be any different now.
I turn on the sink and the warm water feels amazing on my hands. Cupping a little in my hands, I soak my mouth, and smile into the water. I turn the sink off and stare back at the bathtub that's missing a shower curtain. I'm used to not having privacy by now. There isn't a lock on the bathroom door so Angel could come in at any moment. For all I know, he has a camera in here as well.
When the tub is half full, I climb inside and sink into the warm water. It doesn't matter how hard I try to shove them away, memories of Angel touching me in ways no one else has flood my mind, along with how good he’d made me feel by licking and kissing my hole. He humiliated me before making me feel whole again. Then when he left, I was confused and longing for something I shouldn't want. If my body enjoys it, does that mean I do too?
Each day that passes, I hate myself less for wanting it again and I don’t know how to make it stop because being with this man has become all I’ve known. All I want to know.
I don't leave the water until it's cold and my skin is completely wrinkled. He didn’t touch me like an enemy that night, his hands and mouth were desperate to be on me. Maybe I can make him desperate again, so much that he's too lost in satisfying his need for me that I’m able to blind side him. Making it easier to gain the upper hand and lock him up in that dreadful cage before I go.
