25. The Gift
Chapter 25
The Gift
T he sunlight greets my tired eyes, as I force myself to sit up in the foreign bed. I drag my fingers through my rat’s nest of hair and push it away from my face, as I grimace at all the light flooding the room. I really shouldn’t have destroyed the blinds; that kind of backfired on me, and now I have to deal with the daylight like a vampire allergic to the sun. “Fucking hell,” I groan. My mind processes the fact that there is still faint music coming from somewhere, and it’s not just my delusional imagination. Is that Sia singing about Mistletoe? What the ever living fuck? This guy really is insane.
My eyes skate over the room’s interior. I know the fucker told me not to destroy it and threatened me with punishment, but once I regained the use of my limbs, and that drug he injected me with wore off, I couldn’t contain my rage and went to town, causing even more destruction, until I exhausted myself and crawled back into bed. My sore, swollen pussy reminds me that he’s not small or gentle, and I’ll probably pay harshly for being a brat. Ugh, gross, I feel the sticky wetness between my legs, which forces me to recollect that I was too out of it last night to think rationally and have a shower, and his cum is still inside of me and coating my legs. Motherfucker.
Thank fuck I have an IUD, otherwise who knows what could happen. I don’t wish to be this psychopath’s baby momma, nor do I desire to be featured in the next documentary on one of the streaming services, about giving birth to my captor’s babies. Fuck that shit, I’d rather die. A shudder runs through me at the thought, and all the hairs on my arms stand on end. “You better not have any STI, motherfucker, or I’ll rip your damn cock off!” I yell into the room, as the song changes to Adam Lambert crooning some shit about being home for Christmas. I quickly wrap the silky sheet around myself and head into the bathroom, slipping the chain to the gap at the bottom of the door and closing it firmly. Not that there is a lock or anything that would prevent the psychopath from coming in here to get me if he so desired.
A huge part of me is relieved that he didn’t return last night to terrorize me some more. My emotions and thoughts are in complete turmoil right now in my head, and at war with each other. A part of me is terrified that I’m going to end up hacked to pieces, and buried in the woods in a shallow grave, or Christmas dinner for wild animals. The other part of me enjoyed him taking what he wanted from me, and using me for his depraved needs. That part of me fills me with self-loathing and disgust. How could I take perverse pleasure in being fucked by a madman who kidnapped me? There has to be something wrong with me, right?
I turn on the water as hot as it will go and step under the spray, allowing my skin to redden, and the soothing sounds of water to drown out my sobs. Will I ever see Toothless and Daisy again? How long is this psycho going to allow me to live, once he’s had his fill of me? After a few moments, I grab the shampoo bottle on the shelf, which suspiciously is the same shitty brand I have at home, and wash my hair. The bastard could have at least provided me with better quality shit than what I can afford, if he’s going to murder me anyways; some luxuries would be appreciated before I die.
After conditioning my hair and scrubbing my body down, the water is becoming frigid, and I have no choice but to leave the shower, and face my reality. I grab one of the towels from the floor that I threw around in my fury last night, and step before the mirror. The face that greets me looks pale as fuck and exhausted. I lean forward to get a glimpse of the bite mark on my shoulder, which is all red and inflamed. Fucking vampire mauled me, I’m going to kill this asshole. All of the bruises and cuts along the surface of my skin have me grimacing. How many more will decorate my flesh before this is all done with? The stupid metal collar and chain make it almost impossible not to choke myself as I move around, and it gets caught on stuff. Frustration continues to mount inside of me until it becomes tinder for a flame, and I start screaming like a wild banshee at the top of my lungs, until my voice is hoarse, and my throat is raw.
Tears burn my eyes and threaten to escape, but I refuse to unleash them. Crying has never solved anything in my life, and it’s not about to start now. I square my shoulders, steeling my spine, and force myself to step out of the washroom and back into the bedroom, and when I do, my eyes widen with shock.
While I was in the washroom, the psychopath must have come in and tidied up the room. The remaining unbroken furniture is back in its place, and there are new dark blue silky sheets on the bed, along with a food tray with a plastic carafe, and a paper plate loaded with pancakes, fresh fruit, and plastic cutlery. My stomach instantly growls loudly, as the scents assault my senses, and remind me that I haven’t eaten in over twenty-four hours. My eyes catch on a long, oversized white T-shirt draped on the corner of the bed. I hurriedly drop the towel and throw the shirt over me, feeling instantly more confident with clothing covering my skin. As a shield against him, it’s weak, but at this point, beggars can’t be choosers, and something is better than being naked all day.
I approach the food with suspicion, as some male singer asks faintly what he can bring me for Christmas in the background. How about my fucking freedom, asshole, or is that too much to ask for?
My gaze lands on the food, and my stomach rumbles loudly again. Is it possible he put something inside of it to drug me, so he can have his wicked way with me? A snort escapes me, as I think over how easy it was for him to drug me both times. He doesn’t need to put shit in the food; the fucker can sedate me anytime he feels like it, from a distance, and there is very little I can do about it. I bring a piece of strawberry up to my lips, and the sweet flavor makes me moan out loud. Fuck it, if I’m going to die anyway, at least I won’t starve. I’ve gone too many years barely eating, and certainly not being able to afford fresh fruit like this. I start stuffing my face like a wild, ravenous animal, until I’ve dispatched all the food, and drank the hot black coffee, and my stomach is full. I grab the empty tray and place it on the dresser before lying back down on the freshly made bed, and groaning with satisfaction. My tired eyes begin to droop as my body feels heavy and lethargic, and I burrow further into the mattress, my damp hair soaking the pillow, and the top of my shirt. Fuck, I should have dried it, but suddenly, I’m so tired that even the thought of rising from the bed feels too difficult.
The lack of sleep and the constant fear have done a number on me, and my body and mind are utterly spent. Maybe a quick nap will help me regain my strength, so I can fight against this asshole when he returns. I have no doubt in my mind he will be back; he’s kidnapped me and brought me here for a reason. Could it be that he just wants to fuck me? Maybe this asshole is horrendous looking, and can’t get girls in the normal way, and has to capture women to feed his sick, perverse needs. An image of the hairy beast from ‘Beauty and the Beast’ enters my mind and makes me chuckle. Naw, that fucker was cute, but this guy must be hideous. The thought brings a moment of dismay that I’ve not only had this fucker inside of me once, but twice now. Ugh, fuck, maybe it’s better that he keeps his mask on.
As I’m about to drift off to sleep, a thought pops unbidden into my mind. His eyes were dark silvery-gray last night, not black like the first time in my room. Was that a trick of the light, or did I imagine it?
I drift off to sleep with images of monsters, each one more grotesque and frightening than the last. This monster made one mistake by taking me: he thinks he’s taken a helpless princess, when really I’m a warrior, and have no intention of not saving myself. Fuck him, he wants a fight, I’ll give him one.