Page 19 of Love of the Egoist
Saliva flooded Kuon’s mouth. He gulped it down staring at the needle as something thick blocked his throat. “No… don’t do this…”
Yugo’s hand hesitated, stopping halfway. Looking into the prisoner’s eyes he said: “It is not a drug. It is medicine prescribed by a doctor. If I wanted to sell your organs or whore you off to a brothel, I would have done that long before you regained consciousness. Now be good.”
Kuon didn’t know why, but he believed him. His body relaxed little by little and he leaned back letting Yugo stick the needle into his vein. Exhausted.
“What’s the meds for?” he managed. His swollen tongue refused to move, muffling words. The pain in his body worsened with each passing minute.
“Concussion,” Yugo said, securing the needle with medical tape. He flopped onto the floor, and only then did Kuon noticed how pale the man was. His usual golden tan had dimmed, and his skin had lost its glow. His eyes were heavy, and the lids half lowered as if he were about to doze off.
If only Kuon had some strength left, this was the perfect moment for an attack, but he could barely move; thinking about fighting was pointless. Granting a hateful stare to his captor, Kuon rolled over on his side, shutting himself off.
For a second, he wished he had never woken up.
??E??
A SOFT KNOCK AT THE DOORmade Kuon unconsciously face the noise, but seeing Greg’s face he lost interest and lowered his gaze to the white wall behind Yugo.
Not waiting for permission, Greg came inside. The door hinges squeaked as the draft snuck into the small white room, that looked more like a closet than a bedroom, and pushed the door shut behind his back, spreading a strong smell of food around.
Greg strolled through the room carrying a tray on his palm with the dexterity of a professional waiter; his hips moved, but his torso swam in the air and no hair moved on his head. Approaching the mattress, he squatted down beside Kuon, placing the tray on the floor by the pillow, stood up, and left the room.
Yugo smiled, giving a derisive look to the man lying on the mattress, whose only purpose in life seemed to be drilling the wall with his empty gaze. His long fingers hooked the tray, pulled it closer, then picked up the soup bowl.
“Eat,” Yugo said, and held it out for his prisoner.
Kuon ignored him. He didn’t have any appetite, nor did he want to accept anything from Yugo.
“Eat.” A threat rattled in Yugo’s voice.
The first wave of irritation splashed in Kuon’s stomach and rushed up his chest and neck. He swallowed it down, gave the food a scornful glance, and rolled to the other side. The move disturbed something in the depths of his body and burning pain rolled in his guts.
“If you don’t eat on your own I’ll force you,” Yugo whispered pushing the bowl toward Kuon.
The nasty sound of screeching teeth suffused Kuon’s head. Not having the energy to fight and wishing to be left alone, he propped himself against the wall, took the bowl from the man’s hands, but stilled not knowing how to proceed. The IV, connected to his other arm, limited his ability to bend it. Also, given the pain in his guts, he wasn’t sure eating anything at all was a good idea.
Placing the bowl on the floor he pushed it aside. A wave of soup rushed over the bowl, splashing on the floor. That small act of rejection incensed his awakening agitation. In a connected electric chain his nerves tightened, sparked, and were about to discharge.
Kuon’s self-control was slipping; his pulse elevated, drumming in his ears. His vision throbbed and hands formed fists. The frustration, building in his heart, was overwhelming, promising to pour out any moment in something he would come to regret.
Yugo grinned, amusement flickering in his gunmetal eyes. It looked as if the more Kuon resisted, the more entertained he became. He picked up the bowl, scooped some soup with the spoon, and brought it to Kuon’s mouth. Pure mockery splashed in his eyes.
“I don’t think we have a choice. We don’t want the food to get cold, do we?” Yugo purred, enjoying every bit of anger and indignation surfacing on Kuon’s face then granted his prisoner with a dazzling smile.
“Doesn’t matter, I’ll eat it cold,” Kuon grunted, diverting the spoon from his face with his free hand.
“Open your fucking mouth.”
The threat rang in Kuon’s ears. Blood rushed to his head, clouding his vision with a crimson veil of rage. He tore the bowl out of man’s hands, and, pouring all his frustration and anger into the move, he threw it against the wall. Yellow grease spread over the white wall as shards of white porcelain littered the floor.
Malice twisted Yugo’s face, baring his teeth. His hand flew up in the air, forming a fist.
Kuon recoiled, ready to take the hit. He squeezed his eyes and clenched his jaw, waiting for the pain. It never came. Instead, he heard a low eerie whisper, “If you ever do something like that again, I’ll force you to lick the floor squeaky clean. Do we understand each other?”
Kuon opened his eyes, confusion swirling in his stomach made him sick. He peered up; nails digging into his skin as his knuckles bleached white. The urge to hit the bastard stormed in his chest, but he felt no stronger than a newborn kitten. Not granting the man with another look, he averted his eyes. Never in his life had he felt this powerless.
“I didn’t hear you!” Yugo repeated louder; his voice bore hints of threat.
Biting his lower lip, Kuon nodded. He didn’t want to admit defeat, but he couldn’t win against Yugo. Not now.
