Page 9 of Blood Spilled
Moving past the kitchen, I'm wrapped in a still silence. Ready to drown it out, I settle on a playlist on my phone while turning on the shower. I strip out of my clothes with the plan to burn them later. I sink into the warm water and overpower the foul smell with my coconut soap, lathering my body and hair with it. When I get out, I shut off the music and that silence from before is back. No rattling of a cage or chains.
Curious of what my little mouse is up to, I go to my office in nothing but a pair of sweatpants. When I turn on the monitor, he is huddled in the corner of the cage, wrapped in the blanket. I sit there for a while watching him, not sure what I'm expecting to see. He is just the way I wanted him, alone and miserable.
I should be overjoyed, but instead there's a heavy weight on my chest. The more I think about how long it has been since he's eaten, the heavier it grows. I slam my hand against the desk out of anger. Anger toward him for making me feel all the wrong things and even more so at myself for allowing it to happen. I reach for the Rubik’s cube on my desk, because keeping my hands busy always calms me. Sometimes just moving my fingers over each section helps me breathe easier, but not today.
I had brought this monster into my home, ready to give him a taste of his own medicine. I was ready to inflict the same amount of pain he's shown others. Except now when I turn off the footage, the only monster I see on the screen is myself.
“Revenge is an ugly look on you my friend,” I mutter to the man I no longer recognize in my own reflection. I stand up from my chair and walk slowly down the hallway to Santiago's room and my hand shakes against the knob. Instead of going inside and making sure he’s okay the way a part of me wants to, I release the knob and walk to my room. I don't look back and decide it's best I avoid that room for the next few days.
Nine
Santiago
I’m not sure how long it’s been, but different men have come in and out of my room bringing me food and water. I'm left with a plastic urinal to piss in and a plastic pink bed pan to shit in. They don't get emptied out often. I’m guessing every two days based on how spaced out the four meals have been. Another week must have gone by, if not more than that.
The next few visits I receive nothing more than a bowl of beans and rice. It’s much better than dog food. I shove the smooshed pieces in my mouth with my hands, licking my fingers clean. Loud music starts playing and I don’t recognize it at first, but then the harmony grows louder. I turn around looking for where the music’s coming from and there are two large speakers in two corners of the room.
I know what he’s doing, and it won’t work. He will have to do a lot worse than playing some annoying song to drive me crazy. I manage to keep that same frame of mind the first five times it plays and then I learn why it's such a popular method used for breaking people.
On the sixth time, “Dancing in the Moonlight” plays on high volume and I curl up under my blanket with my hands over my ears. Fuck this asshole. Normally people do this during interrogations, to get the other person to talk, but I have no information he needs.
None of my father's past plans matter now that he's dead and I knew very little of them to begin with. Sure, I may have had some control and even had people bowing to me, ready to please me, but my father had control of me.
“You like this life mijo. I can see it in your eyes. You are more like me than you claim to be. One day you will realize I am doing this for your own good.” His past words ring in my ears like a bell and the longer I'm alone, the louder they become, even with the music playing.
I press my hands harder to my ears, not noticing anyone enter the room. The lock rattles and before I can fully turn my head, someone is dragging me out of the cage by my ankles. “Come on, get up, little mouse. It’s shower time.”
I’m spun around to my back and stare up at Angel, trying to fight the anger and irritation I feel from becoming apparent on my face. He drags me closer and pulls me up by my shoulders. “You won’t try anything funny today, you hear?”
He unlocks the cuffs from my wrist and the one around my ankle with the key hanging from his neck. I know he keeps it in sight and within my reach on purpose. He wants me to try and take it from him so I can suffer the repercussions of my actions. Each and every day that I’m here, I learn that most of what thisman does is a test. Grabbing both my arms, he pulls them behind my back, holding both my wrists tightly. “Walk forward.”
I attempt to take the first step and nearly buckle, tripping over my own feet. He grunts in annoyance. “I guess I’m carrying you there then.”
Before I can protest, he is lifting me in his arms. This asshole acts like he is carrying me over the threshold when he walks into the nearby bathroom that usually has the door shut. He sets my body down into the cold porcelain tub. Sitting up straight, I wrap my arms around myself while he turns on the water behind me. It pours out cold at first until he adjusts it to warm. “I think you’ve earned a warm bath after these last few days. None of my men have reported any issues. You've been behaving yourself … for the most part.” The music finally stops, and I prevent myself from sighing in relief. At least he no longer has to shout over the melody. He stares at me smiling. “Do you miss the music?”
I shake my head bringing out more laughter from him. “Then how about we talk for a bit and you tell me more about your despicable family. How did little Santiago grow up, huh?”
I close my eyes as the warm water from the cup he holds above my head pours over my body. It feels way too good not to lean back into and I want to savor every bit of it I can. When I open my eyes, he’s still staring at me pouring shampoo into the palm of his hand.
“Well? You not gonna talk today? And here I thought we were going to have a good day.”
I swallow down the lump in my throat, staring at the way he rubs his hands together, gathering suds in his palms. “Why would you care?”
Angel scoffs, sliding his hands in my hair, his nails softly caressing my scalp. “I don’t. But you will tell me anyway, because I asked you to.”
I bite my bottom lip to keep from moaning. Suddenly I no longer care about savoring the memory of the warm water, because all I want to feel are his hands touching me. The way they move gently against my scalp has me almost forgetting this is the same wretched man from before. The same one who let me sit in my filth for days, leaving me to shiver every night in a cold room, and had me eating out of a damn metal bowl like a fucking dog.
How does he expect me to answer when he’s doing that? Maybe it’s some kind of trap. Maybe he is making me feel so good that I can’t talk so he has a reason to punish me again. His hands pull away and I’m finally able to think coherently. “It was nothing special. Just as you said, too spoiled and having the world handed to me.”
He tilts his head to the side. “Is that so?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“You’re lying.” He slams his hand in the water, hitting the space between my legs. The tub shakes when he punches into the porcelain again, his hand barely missing my groin. This crazy son of a bitch.
I grit my teeth. “You seem to assume that no matter what I say. What do you expect me to tell you? That I slept with my door locked and a knife in my hand, scared of being killed in my sleep inside my own house? How I made sure to keep my distance from people and avoided making friends. All because I couldn’t take anyone else I cared about being cut up into little pieces and gifted to me under the Christmas tree?” I take a breath. “Or perhaps you want me to tell you about the brown box that was carved specially for me for whenever I needed to be left alone to think about my consequences. Is that what you want me to tell you?”
His hand tightens around the green cup full of water his eyes never leave mine and before he can say anything, I speak again,“Say it. Go ahead and tell me those words running in the back of your mind.”
