Page 167 of Hymns of the Broken
“We’ll see, Sawyer. We’ll see who breaks first.”
He lingers too close, too hungry, feeding on my fear, on the tiny flicker of defiance I refuse to let die.
And then, just as suddenly, he yanks the blade away and storms out; the door slamming so hard it rattles the walls.
I collapse against the mattress, shaking so hard I can barely feel my body. My skin still burns where the knife touched me. Every muscle aches from the fight to stay strong, but my mind spins with questions.
Again.
He said again.
Who is he? My thoughts race—Blake? But how? He was always a coward, a parasite, not a mastermind. How could he possibly pull this off, slip past everyone, make me vanish? Is hereallythat obsessed? That angry?
A shiver of panic crawls up my spine. Maybe I don’t want to know the answer.
And then I hear it.
Footsteps. Heavy. Deliberate. Coming back.
I squeeze my eyes shut.Please not again. Just give me a minute. Please…
But the door creaks open, and I hear the unmistakable scrape of his boots across the floor.
I force myself to look—can’t let him catch me cowering. He steps into the room, still masked, still silent, but now carrying a chipped plate stacked with a sandwich and a handful of grapes and another bottle of water glints in his other hand.
I want to hate him. I want to turn away.
But my stomach betrays me, letting out a loud, pitiful growl that echoes in the room. I curse myself, jaw clenched, refusing to look at the food.
He pauses at the edge of the bed, head cocked like he’s enjoying every second of my misery.
“You’re hungry, Sawyer.”
His voice is still a twisted, mechanical purr. “Eat. I want you alive.”
I glare at him, defiant, but my mouth is watering. I haven’t eaten in hours? Days? Time slips through my fingers like water—my pride wars with my body’s desperation.
He sets the plate on the table beside me, keeping the bottle in his hand, standing just close enough for me to feel the threat of him.
He doesn’t offer to help this time. He watches, waiting to see what I’ll do—if I’ll give in.
My stomach growls again, louder this time. I curse myself again, refusing to lethimsee how close I am to breaking.
And as much as I want to be strong, my body reminds me that I have to survive.
The smell of food makes my mouth water, but my stomach aches. I hate myself for it. I hatehimeven more. But I can’t pretend I don’t need to eat. I can’t survive if I refuse everything.
My voice is brittle, rough from thirst. “I… can’t reach anything.”
His mask doesn’t move, but somehow Iknowhe’s smirking behind it. The air feels colder. When he finally speaks, his words curl around me like a snake.
“I know. I’ll feed you. Just say please.”
I almost roll my eyes—nearly, but I remember the knife and the threat in his touch. Swallowing every ounce of pride, I force out the word. “Please.”
He sets the water aside, and his gloved hand comes up, fingers sliding through my hair in a way that makes my skin crawl. “That’s a good pet.”
Revulsion twists my gut. I want to gag, to bitehishand, to scream, but all I can do is glare ashepicks up a grape and presses it to my lips.
