CHAPTER NINE
Ember
“I gave away easily, even dressed in defiance.”
Stupid.
So fucking stupid. I rush to put on my bodysuit. The side of it is ripped because of how aggressive he yanked it off.
Once the fabric is over my body I ignore his stare and rush over to the bathroom. I want to cry, scream, and throw up all in one go. Why would he do that? Deny me when I was so close. It’s so embarrassing and I'd be damned if I begged him to let me finish.
He doesn’t even know my real name and I let him touch me.
I should’ve stopped him, should’ve fought harder, but I didn’t. I wanted it all. I wanted him to put it in. My mind was so dazed, so easy for him to break down and control.
He wanted my submission and I gave him that. I’d give it to him again if he asked. If he touches my body in all the places that ache.
I’m no better than I was in college.
The thought causes a loud hiccup to come up my throat. Tears now leak out of my eyes, not from pleasure but pain.
I look at myself in the cloudy mirror. My features are slightly disoriented but I can see all the dark bruises on my body.
The bites, the hickeys from him sucking on my skin, and the mark his hand left on my neck as he crushed my esophagus.
I can imagine if I pull my jumpsuit off there would be even more so I don’t look.
I can’t look at what I have done—what he’s done.
I cast my eyes away from the mirror, too ashamed to look any longer. I pee and leave the bathroom after I freshen up. He sits in that damn chair with his mask back on. His eyes are either on me or something in the room.
I feel exhausted, spent beyond measure.
When was the last time I was eaten out? Now that I think about it, never, that was my first time.
I walk over to the bed and plop down.
“Don’t touch me. I’m going to sleep.” I murmur too exhausted to say anything else.
He’s quiet, his breath even. He completely ignores me and leans back into the chair. One arm behind his head and the other hanging off the arm rest.
I look out through the small window, barely seeing past the huge metal poles. It’s got to be close to evening. I can feel a cool breeze blowing from underneath the old window. Cracks and chipped paint run across the seal. The overcast is still as heavy as it was this morning.
“You’re an asshole, you know that, right?” I huff and roll my eyes when I get no response.
He’s been in that damn chair for hours now. Even after I woke up, peed, and showered he didn’t get up.
He hasn’t moved since then.
It’s starting to get weird, creepy even.
“You touched me without my consent. You’ve damned me since being in this fucking room. I can tell you completely lack manners or respect for women, so I’ll say this, fuck off.” My eyes burn with built up wrath. My hands form into fists at my sides and I stand up fully now.
He doesn’t budge, the mask hiding all of his emotions. Hiding if he’s even awake or acknowledging anything I’m saying.
“Ignoring me doesn’t make you more of a man.” I walk closer to him and snatch his mask. The band makes a loud pop sound as I remove it from his face and throw it onto the floor.
His grey eyes meet mine, no doubt, just empty. I can see my own reflection in them. The void of nothingness stares back at me. I look angry, upset, like a bitchy girlfriend.
“Do you hear me?” I scream and find myself grabbing his face in my hands. The piercing on his lip grazes my palm, it's cold and unknown. His face is soft in my hands, and his jaw is sharp and well defined.
“I do, Little devil.” He leans into my touch and smiles. It's frightening feeling the warmth of him within my palm but his eyes aren’t warm, they’re anything but warm. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, what he’ll do.
I frown and pull my hand back, but his hand shoots up to mine and clasps it in a tight grip. He brings it back up to his face and places it where I had it.
“Why aren’t you saying anything?” The stubbornness in me told me to keep pushing. No matter how far he or I take it, regardless of the consequences, I won’t go down without a fight.
“What do you want me to say, Little Devil? That I'm sorry because I’m not. I’ll do it again and again, until you’re mine.” His words are a promise, a silent vow only between us.
I blush and pull my wrist from his hand. I step back to create distance between us.
“I will never be yours.” I scoff at his assumption.
“Never said you had a choice.” He stands up and steps closer to me, his hands by his side and a sadistic glint in his eyes.
I back up until I hit a desk. A ceramic piggy bank wobbles back and forth on the edge before falling to the floor. It hits the ground with a loud crack and shatters into pieces.
The sound frightens me and I jump, but quickly bend over to pick it up.
“Oh shit.” I grab a few pieces, but one slices the inside of my palm. Pain shoots through my arm and I drop it all over again.
“Don’t be rash” I shiver when I feel his breath against my shoulder as he leans over me and grabs my injured hand in his. “You could have done worse.”
I nod at his words but don’t understand anything he’s saying. The sight of my own blood pouring out of my hand causes me to gag. He pulls me to stand up and I follow blindly over to the bathroom.
“I–I might throw up.” I barely get out between each gag and heavy breath.
“What, why?” He pulls my hand underneath the faucet and turns on the cool water. The water rinsing over my gushing hand only makes me more nauseous. He opens the cabinet over the sink and pulls out the one bottle in there, alcohol. “This is going to sting.”
Before I can protest he pours it over my hand.
The sensation is numbingly painful, it's like feeling fire against your skin.
It starts with a small flame and becomes an intense wave of excruciating pain.
Pinch after pinch, until it finally dies down into nothing and all that is left is battered skin.
He grabs gauze and wraps it around the deep wound.
“Fuck.” I shake my hand out of his and hiss. The pain subdues to a steady tingle.
“Stop cursing. It’s not cute.” He mumbles and steps away from me. The warmth he was giving me goes with him as he leaves me in the bathroom.
I blink, the feeling of puking vanishes and all I'm left with is confusion. This game he's playing is sickening. He acts like he cares and ruins it with a single word. I won’t let him control me or anything that I do.
I walk out of the bathroom and look at the neon red clock overhead. It reads 57:49. It’s been a few hours since I fell asleep, which is good considering we still had 4 clues to find.
“Did you find any clues while I was asleep?” I ask and he shakes his head. “What’s your obsession with that mask? it's kind of weird.”
I walk over to a desk I hadn't looked through yet and pull open all of the drawers.
“I don’t know.” His answer is enough for me to shut up. I can tell he doesn’t want to talk anymore.
Even though I know nothing about Ronan, his character is quite appealing. He screams danger, darkness surrounds him, but he’s caring. He hides himself under this scary persona because of someone or something and I want to know why. What could have traumatized him this badly?
I notice a small wooden box in the back of the draw and pull it out.
It’s light in my hand as I lift it up to inspect the sides of it.
Random marks are engraved across the sides and top, creating several patterns.
The keyhole is broken off, leaving the box’s contents inside defenseless.
I slowly peel the top off, scared for what reason, I don’t know.
“Another clue.” I say and grab the note out the box. I place the box back inside the draw and shut it. I unfold the note and read it aloud.
“For Ember, find an item that describes your most recent situation. It rattles with shame and cries in despair. Are your parents still keeping the hunger away?” My heart sinks and my voice goes quieter with each word.
I wish it wasn’t my turn anymore.
I look up at Ronan and he couldn’t care less about my financial situation or what the hell I’ve got going on.
“I—I got kicked out of college and it ruined my life.” I stutter out, explaining myself before he gets the chance to judge.
“I don’t care.” My face warms over at his lack of caring.
Fucking dick head.
I look around the room at all the different objects. What could possibly describe being broke?
The room starts to get darker as I walk through it searching for my item. Ronan is perfectly hidden in looming shadows, his black clothes helping him sink even further in the dark. The only thing I can see is his mask. The white against the red lamps are eerily scary but sexy.
Like he said I do want more from him, but the thought of begging him for it grows a pit of uneasiness in my stomach. The way he acts can be a little unnerving, once I give him full consent what should I expect? I look around the room thinking about what he said.
‘So many fucking options just in this room.’
My skin crawls in anticipation and the cuffs hanging from the ceiling catches my attention.
Was he talking about those? I look over all the jars in here filled with fluid preserved specimens: rats, eyes, spiders, worms, an animal's heart. My eyes grow in size at the thought of any of that touching my skin. That’s a point beyond sanity, that’s gross.
I push a fake black pumpkin over with a huff and a wallet lays underneath. There’s a fake ID with my picture on it but it’s empty through-out.
“I guess this is it.” I hold it up for him to see and place it on the table.
He watches my every move silently, his head tilting and rotating with each move of my hand—my body. My stomach flutters as I watch him, watch me. He always looks vicious but being shadowed in darkness; it's carnal and frightening. He looks like a god awaiting praise at his feet.
“What is it, Little Devil? Are you wanting to play?” There’s a slight taunt to his voice. One of his hands comes down and pats his thigh, inviting me.