Chapter 26 #3
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 let him see 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 hate him even 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 I know he’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 bite his hand, to scream, but all I can do is glare as he picks up a grape and presses it to my lips.
He feeds me—one grape at a time, then small bites of the sandwich, pausing between each as if this is some domestic ritual, some twisted game.
To him, maybe it’s comfortable, a moment of control and routine.
To me, it’s a prison. Every second stretches out, the silence choking, every touch another reminder that he holds all the power here.
The chains clink softly, my hands trembling, but I keep my eyes on the wall, anywhere but him. I focus on survival, on getting through one bite at a time. I count down every grape, every crumb, every swallow, promising myself that if I get the chance, I’ll make him pay for every humiliation.
He wipes my mouth gently with his thumb, lingering a second too long. “See? Was that so hard?”
My skin crawls, but I grit my teeth and say nothing.
The sandwich sticks in my throat. I can barely swallow, my mouth so dry it aches. I want to refuse, want to spit in his face, but my body betrays me again.
“Water, please.”
He picks up the bottle, and I hear the cap crack open. He holds it in front of my face, tilting his head as if weighing my worth.
“Don’t make me almost have to drown you again.”
A cold shiver races through me at the memory, the way he forced the water down my throat. I try not to flinch, try to hold his gaze, but I can’t stop the fear from flickering in my eyes.
He brings the bottle to my lips. “Open.”
I obey, keeping my breathing steady, swallowing carefully as he lets me drink—just enough to soothe my throat, not enough to make me feel whole. Every moment is a reminder that I have no power here, that every ounce of kindness is just another chain that binds me.
When he finally pulls the bottle away, a droplet of water clings to my chin. He wipes it with his thumb, then presses his masked face close to mine.
“That’s better,” he purrs. “See how simple things can be when you listen?”
I swallow the taste of fear and hate, refusing to let him see me cry.
But inside, there is still a fire.
I tell myself I will not let him win, but then I feel his hand on my knee. I jerk away as far as the chains let me, hissing, “Don’t touch me!”
He only grips my knee harder, his gloved fingers digging into my skin. “I don’t know what you’re so worried about,” he sneers, that twisted voice warping the words. “There’s only one of me. You’ve been fucking two guys at the same time. I’ll be nothing.”
My stomach twists, everything he just fed me threatening to come right back up.
His hand slides higher up my thigh, every inch a fresh invasion. My skin crawls, a cold sweat prickling over me. I press myself flat against the mattress, trying to shrink away, but the cuffs and chains keep me helpless and exposed.
He leans in closer, mask reflecting my wide, panicked eyes. “Don’t worry, pet. You’ll get used to it. You’ll beg for me soon enough.”
Tears sting, hot and bitter, but I choke them down, meeting his gaze with as much hate as I can muster. I might shake, I might be trapped, but I will not give him my soul.
The door shuts behind him with a dull, echoing thud.
His words still claw at my skin.
His touch still burns on my thigh.
I can still feel the weight of that mask, the knife, the threat in every move.
I try to breathe, but the air comes in ragged gasps, panic making my chest tight and hot. My body shakes uncontrollably, the chains rattling softly as I curl in as tight as I can—knees to my chest, wrists aching in the cuffs, forehead pressed against the mattress.
Tears spill over, silent and hot. I no longer even try to stop them. I sob until I’m hoarse, until my stomach aches, until there’s nothing left but shaking and the raw, guttural sound of my pain filling the dark.
All the humiliation, all the fear, all the shame—I let it out, because if I keep holding it in, I’ll break for real. I cry for Jasper, for Riot, for Macee, for myself. I cry for the girl I used to be, and for the girl I have to become if I’m going to make it out alive.