Chapter 9 Aria
ARIA
My shoulder blades ache as I slump to my side, contorting inward into a fetal position with my arms still bound behind my back.
I yearn to reach out and stretch to ease some of the tension, but even the slightest shift makes my muscles cry out against the restraints, so I just lie still and watch the cabin door, resigned.
Sunlight shines through the grime-streaked window to the left, and I squint against its miniature frame, bracing myself for the moment I catch him walking back.
I hadn’t realized I slept through an entire day until I stirred this morning from the clatter of a metal bucket swinging in his hand as he took it outside to empty.
Without plumbing, I assume we’ll have to resort to filling and emptying buckets whenever either of us needs to relieve ourselves.
Mortification washes over me at the thought of needing to use that thing.
The idea of him dumping out my urine is somehow more humiliating than having to go between the forest trees.
At least that had some semblance of dignity since I didn’t need to be cleaned after as if I were an infant or another person’s property, which is very much how I’m beginning to feel.
I wince against the light. The splitting pain from yesterday has eased after the lengthy rest, but a dull throb still persists behind my eyes. When I spot his blurry shadow move closer through the streak-clouded glass, I stiffen, my stomach churning as I compose myself.
Seconds later, the door swings open and snowflakes whirl in heaps around him, drifting forward to scatter across the worn floorboards as a gust of cold air sweeps inside.
The fire crackles inches behind me. My new clothes, large and weighty, feel like a warm blanket wrapped over me, protecting me from the outside breeze.
Yet another thing I’m hesitant to be grateful for.
Nothing good can possibly come from someone like him. Not without a sinister motive behind it.
He steps inside and shuts the door with a firm hand. A soft creak, then a click, sharp and final. The same metal bucket hangs from his hand again. “Great, you’re up.”
A tinge of self-consciousness colors my cheeks when his eyes flick over the length of my body, and I realize he’s probably the one who dressed me while I was unconscious.
The feeling of embarrassment is quickly replaced with bitter animosity at the way my pulse jumps in response to him, still unable to separate the man I thought I knew from the one that’s now tied to acts far more vile than simply being an asshole.
Disgust floods me as I remind myself of what he’s done. His expression remains passive. Empty. None of this means anything to him besides an obvious inconvenience, and now I’m at the mercy of a completely deranged psychopath. My heart continues to thump.
If he isn’t planning on killing me, then what is he going to do with me?
He can’t keep me locked away here forever.
I’m a person, not an object for his own sick amusement.
I shoot him a glare, but there’s nothing I can do to challenge him in my current state.
Each time I wrench against the ropes, they bite deeper into my wrists, pulling at my already aching shoulders.
By the end of it, I’m drained of fight, left with nothing to do but endure the onslaught of emotions drumming into me as I helplessly lie here.
It’d be easier if he just hurt me. At least then I’d know where we stand, how likely I am to make it out of here still alive. But instead, all I get is a meticulously crafted facade and empty assurances that everything will be fine.
But everything is not fine. It’s far from fine.
I might never get to see anybody from my previous life again. A painful swell rises in my throat, and I struggle to swallow it down. I never thought I’d end up missing anything from my miserable life, but my chest constricts at the loss of everything that’s been taken away from me.
Even my own mother, who spent years subconsciously drilling into me how little I matter to her.
Thinking of her now stirs up complicated feelings of homesickness and sorrow.
If anything, she might be a little relieved once she finds out I’m gone.
That way, she won’t have to face the guilt I always placed on her whenever we clashed.
As he approaches me with a steady stride, my posture shifts, and I use all of my core strength to try and sit upright. My stomach growls in the process.
“You need to eat something,” he says casually, reaching for the square packet that was left on the stool from yesterday.
Hunger pangs slice through my stomach lining as I zero in on the packet that’s now in his hands. My throat bobs as I tear my eyes away from it, only to shoot daggers at him. It’s the only thing I can do. I’d rather starve than accept anything else from him from this day forward.
Indifferent to my nasty glances, he tears the wrapper with the sharp edge of his teeth, then pulls out a perfectly round sandwich and dangles it in front of me like I’m some starving zoo animal, expecting me to nibble it off his fingers then thank him for it.
I’d snatch it out of his hand to stomp on it if I could.
He raises a thick brow. “You’re not allergic to peanut butter, are you?”
“I’m not hungry,” I lie through my clenched teeth.
Another loud rumble betrays me, and the corners of his mouth twitch. “Come on, don’t be stubborn and eat it. Nothing good’ll come out of you starving yourself.”
“I don’t want it.”
My sharp tone wipes away the smugness on his face. He doesn’t like to be challenged, it seems. Unfortunately for him, he’ll have to deal with the fact that he messed with the wrong girl.
“I’m not going to argue with you,” he grits out. “Eat. It. Now.” He hovers it over my thinning lips.
I whip my head to the side. “I’m not your damn pet. If you want me to eat, then you’ll have to force my fucking jaw open yourself.”
The swear word feels foreign on my tongue, sending waves of terror through me, but I feign indifference, even as I catch the harsh scowl carved across his face from my periphery. If looks could kill, I’d already be a corpse.
Despite his hard glare, his tone remains low and controlled. “If you were my pet, you’d be much more obedient. Should I train you to behave like one?”
My eyes begin to well, and my chest grows heavy, but I resist caving to the tears threatening to spill across my blanching face.
I’ve done enough of that already. I don’t want to go down as a weeping, pathetic mess in the end.
I won’t let myself. I have to stay strong if I want to hold onto any kind of hope at getting out of here, but his ruthless thirst for dominance keeps chipping away at my resistance.
Odds are, my fate won’t be any more or less special than the countless unfortunate souls before me. The more I spiral, the more I confirm that truth to both of us.
So with great reluctance, I open my mouth to accept the cold sandwich that’s wedged between my trembling lips, and take a frustrated bite out of it.
The saltiness of my tears mingle with the savory peanut butter, and my stupid stomach cheers with joy as I force each hateful bite past the tightness in my throat.
I snap my eyes shut to avoid having to see him, resentment building as I try to fight back the tears. “You win, again. Happy now?”
He’s quiet as I finish the last of the soggy toast. My eyes remain shut.
Finally, he sighs through his nose as I angle my head away from him, resisting the only way I know how as I center my focus on the mattress, fingers twitching behind my back.
He exhales, still standing over me. “I’m sorry.”
Then he turns on his heels to leave me drowning in my own helplessness.
Somehow, his apology only deepens the ache lodged in my chest.
Hours slip by, although without a clock, I can’t tell how many, only that the sun through the window has dimmed, signifying the start of the evening.
Not a word is spoken between us.
In a way, it feels like his silence is supposed to be a form of punishment for my earlier stunt, as if I’m the one who was in the wrong, not him for abducting me.
Still, his refusal to acknowledge me drives me with rage.
And now, an entire day has passed, and I’m no closer to figuring out what’s next from here.
Chained at his side, bound to wherever the hell we are, there is nothing I can do but give in to him.
What good did lashing out even do for me, besides a fleeting sense of triumph that evaporated faster than I could blink beneath his stoic indifference? Now I’m left to stew in my own head, my thoughts spiraling toward what feels like my inevitable doom.
He promised he wouldn’t hurt me, but if I keep pushing him, he’ll eventually snap. Do I really want that?
I’m at a complete disadvantage, and we both know it.
He doesn’t need me like I need him.
Even when he untied me so I could use the bathroom on my own, I knew I was no match for him. Not while he was awake and alert. Let’s face it, I blew my only shot at escape.
The tiny sliver of hope I’ve clung to has dwindled as the day stretches on, cementing itself further inside the dark, windowless bathroom, but by now, the tears have run dry.
Humiliated, I abandon the partially filled bucket and step out of the bathroom, only to find the cabin empty.
The silence tells me he’s just outside the door, probably on a call.
Teetering closer to the window, I hold my breath, silently praying that his back is to the glass so he doesn’t catch me creeping close to eavesdrop.
I squint through the grimy film until I find him, his body slightly angled toward his car.
Relief swoops through me. Nudging my ear closer, I strain to listen, hoping for anything useful to slip through, but his words are too muffled to understand.