2. May You Rot In Hell
Chapter 2
May You Rot In Hell
I t isn’t a sound that wakes me. It’s the feeling of cold metal pressing into my neck. I blink rapidly in the dim lighting, but I can just make out Stephan in front of me.
Bryton stands in the doorway.
“You stupid bitch, we had guests!” Stephan yanks aggressively on the chain connected to the collar that is now secured in place, adding to my bruises.
I stay silent. I know better than to speak.
“You were given to me for pleasure, so why don’t you do that? Open that whore mouth of yours.”
It opens wide, and I close my eyes.
It is time to disassociate.
I will survive this.
They will not break me.
The rustling of clothes and the sound of zippers fills the otherwise silent room. It is time to dream of a happier place.
If I can just escape. If I can just survive. If I can find my sister.
I can’t break .
“Look at me!” A hand in my hair jerks me back into the present, and it takes everything not to bite down on the intrusion that is restricting my airway.
I look up, meeting Stephan’s eyes. He likes to watch my eyes water as he chokes me. He wants to push me to the point of death in this moment.
I struggle to breathe through my nose as he sits at the very back of my throat. When I think I might pass out, hot liquid jets into my mouth.
I wait for his command. “Swallow it. All of it.”
I do as told as my mind screams to rebel. To kill him.
I am not weak by nature, but by choice. I have stayed obedient for the sake of my sister. To ensure her safety.
***
The next few hours pass in a lull of pain. Stephan and Bryton take their turns defiling my outward shell while I internally dream of my childhood, a better place, my beautiful sister’s long blond hair. The way the grass smelled after days of rain.
I haven’t been outside in years .
Occasionally, the men will get angry at my lack of response and begin to beat on my skin, leaving bruises in their wake, but I pay it no mind.
Screaming is a luxury I do not allow myself. Instead, I warp the pain into something else. I make myself believe this is all my choice. That I am enjoying being used. I dream of different men.
Niko and Viktor would be my choice.
If I had one.
The stormy and charcoal eyes, soft with care. Their touches heated with passion. I’m inside my mind so long that I do not even notice my captors are finishing up until light shines through my eyelids.
The Masquerade is back on. Everyone in this country is forced to watch it as each game progresses. I can’t catch what is happening, but I keep my focus on it as Stephan removes himself from my body.
“Clean her up.” Stephan barks out the order as he leaves.
Is it odd I don’t ever notice their characteristics? I couldn’t tell you what hair or eye color either of the men I live with have. They are simply my captors. They are evil incarnate.
Bryton waits until Stephan is gone before undoing my collar. I keep my attention firmly on the TV screen. There’s a new game playing out.
In these moments after the abuse, Bryton tries to pretend I am something more than an empty vessel. He wants comfort, love, affection. He does not understand that people are not all the same. Some may succumb to Stockholm syndrome. Some may enjoy this abuse, but I am not some.
I am angry. I am plotting. And I am waiting until the time is right. Waiting to hear anything about my sister.
This will not be where I die.
Bryton cups my cheek softly before he places his lips against mine.
Disgust steals through my walls.
“One day, you will understand that I can make your life better. You just have to give me what I want.” Bryton’s words are the same as they always are.
I ignore them.
Predictably, it angers him. He throws two bottles of water at my naked form. “Fine then. Clean yourself the fuck up. But don’t get comfortable. I’ll be back soon.”
The TV is just background noise as this year’s Masquerade plays out. I ignore it as best I can and do my best to wash away the remnants of Stephan and Bryton until a guttural man’s voice comes through the speakers. I can tell it’s been purposefully changed, but his words are not altered.
That’s new. Usually we cannot hear the players, their identities remaining a complete mystery until their deaths.
“Kat, you wouldn’t want to do that; you are our kitty. Play nice, and we will be kind.” My eyes whip to the screen. The man speaking is playing one of the murder games. They are on a checkerboard-like set up, and he appears to be stuck in a square.
The camera point changes to a girl.
Even with her mask in place, I cannot stop the dread that slinks into my gut.
Kat? Katarina? It can’t be.
I wobble unsteadily to my feet, walking in a trance towards the TV, ignoring the ache of my body. The camera stays pointed at her. She has a knife in her hands now.
“This is for me,” she says in a soft, steady tone, lifting the blade up to herself.
I can do nothing but watch as her shoulders harden. I know instinctively what is going to happen.
“Please, don’t,” I whisper the words to the TV screen.
Words she’ll never hear.
Katarina’s speaking again, and I stay silent. Even with her voice modulated, I recognize her, and her words solidify what I already know. “For my sister, for all the little girls you have found over the years and turned into empty vessels. Never again. May you rot in hell. Spaséniye, sodélal.” She swipes the knife across her neck in one sure stroke, convulsing a few times as blood sprays everywhere.
The camera zooms in on her.
Katarina lays, spread on her back, breathing raspily for a few minutes, and then she is dead.
I watch on in frozen horror as the camera cuts to four men falling down.
The screen flashes for just a moment, showing their five faces without the masks, listing that they died because they were partners before it cuts back to the ongoing game. I don’t watch anymore. I’ve seen enough.
I already knew it would be Katarina’s face, but it doesn’t soften the blow, and the sight has me crashing to my knees. The four men that died with her? The family of men that held us captive. The family that promised she would be safe if I was an obedient girl for Stephan and Bryton.
The last words my sister said before she took her life echo around my mind as the realization that I have nothing to lose burrows into my brain.
Spaséniye, sodélal.
Salvation is created.
She’s right.
It’s time for me to create my own.