Page 61 of Requiem of Sin

Something prods at my lips. I frown, confused, and try to open my eyes to see what the actual fuck he’s doing.

“Come on. Open your mouth.”

At this point, there’s not much he can do to me that’s worse than what we’ve already done. So I figure, why fight? And I slowly open my mouth.

Demyen shoves it inside my mouth. With… a fork.

It’s… strawberry cheesecake?

“Good girl.” He pulls the fork away and lets me chew this one bite. It’s a painstakingly slow process. My tongue is trying to register what’s inside my mouth at the same time my fried brain is trying to register what is even happening.

And then there’s another bite. A rich, graham cracker crust coated with a thick layer of strawberry preserves and New York-style cheesecake. If I wasn’t sick as a dog, I’d devour the whole box. It tastes incredible.

“Almost forgot these were made today.” Demyen’s voice sounds like he’s also enjoying the cheesecake. “I’m kind of a sucker for this stuff.”

He feeds me another bite. This time, I’m able to chew a bit faster and open my eyes as I swallow. “What are… Why?”

“You’re tasting this, right? It’s amazing, that’s why.” There’s a sudden, heavy silence that settles over him when he realizes what I meant to ask. I almost don’t expect him to answer, but again, he surprises me by turning to his side more and holds up another loaded fork. “You haven’t eaten in over a day. And I was hungry, too.”

I take the bite and chew, narrowing my eyes at him as best I can. “Why don’t you just let me die?”

Demyen rolls his eyes. “You’re not dying. You just have a fever. Mostly because you don’t fucking take care of yourself, though Doc’s wondering if your ankle’s infected.”

That doesn’t answer my immediate question. It does answer a few others, though. Still, I shake my head, which is more of a gradual rocking along the edge of the shelf. “Why do youcare?”

He pauses. The fork is poised mid-stab into the cheesecake resting on his lap inside the cardboard box. He finishes that scoop extra slowly as he thinks.

“Idon’tcare,” he says at last.

I don’t believe him. He sounds like he doesn’t believe himself, either.

But also, I’m sick and feverish and this is all a hallucination, so my brain is probably just trying to make me feel better. Gourmet desserts and all.

“You’re no good to me dead. That’s all. Don’t read into it.”

I snort. It sounds weird inside the freezer, even weirder with how out-of-it I am, but I can’t help it. I snort and I peer up at his face, my mouth twisted in some sort of darkly humorous smirk. “Gotta get me healthy so you can torture me properly?”

He frowns. He doesn’t find it as funny as I do. “Why the hell would I do that?”

“It’s not fun torturing a sick person. Everyone knows that.”

“No, I mean, why would I torture you?”

Now, it’s my turn to frown. “Why wouldn’t you?” The weight of my nightmares slams against my chest. “You have every reason to.”

Demyen seems to consider this. Either that, or my brain has just glitched and can’t come up with a response to my own arguments. Then he sets the box of cheesecake aside, stabs the fork into it like the sword in the stone, and fully turns to face me. “Have you ever been with a man—anyman—who hasn’t tortured you?”

I’m not loving the answer that comes to mind. “I wouldn’t call it ‘torture’.”

“Is that how you get by? Renaming shit to make it seem less terrifying?”

My frown deepens. “You keep acting like you actually care.”

“You keep acting like you don’t.” Demyen shakes his head at me. “Fucking ridiculous. Keeping your kid in that environment, too. It’s disgusting.”

The second he mentions Willow, my hackles raise. Sick or not, I will fight him to protect my baby girl. I sit up and I’m immediately dizzy, but I struggle against his attempt to press me back down. “Where’s Willow? Where’s my baby?”

“She’s fine, Clara. No thanks to you.”

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