40
EZLA
My small fist bangs against the taalk, mouth open as I scream, not caring that it is causing me to lose more air in my desperation to escape, escape, escape . . .
“Let me out!” I try to shout the words, but all that comes out are bubbles and a muffled, warped version of my plea.
I slam my fist against the enclosure again, and my knuckles split, tainting the water red.
“Let me out, Father!”
On the other side of the clear wall, he watches me calmly.
Let me out, let me out, let me out, let me out, let me—
“It has only been half an hour. The test is double that, my dearest. You will be okay.” His distorted words find me in the tank.
I shake my head frantically, the water working against each movement. Slamming my palms into the wall, I scream again, but find liquid flooding my airways when I try to suck in air that is not there. I convulse, chest burning, lungs begging, pleading for oxygen.
The last thing I hear before my limbs start to fall numb and the familiar blackness takes hold once more is my father’s hazy voice: “You will be eleven tomorrow. This is what big girls do. The Avri will keep you alive, Daughter, no matter how many times you drown. Once you fear no more, I will let you out . . .”
***
Shooting upright in bed, I gasp for breath as if I am still drowning, hands grasping at my throat. Sweat covers every inch of me, silky onyx sheets sticking to my naked body.
Stupid fucking nightmares.
I get them almost every night when I sleep in his bed.
I remember that day like it was just yesterday: the pure terror I felt, the way the Avri cleared my airways as commanded, healing me, only for the unforgiving water to take me under again every handful of minutes.
My father both wanted to see if he could enable me to breathe underwater using the energy commanded to heal—ordering it to fix any issues before I could die any time it got so far—and to crush any ideas I had of being afraid.
And while the former failed due to Avri’s limits in medical use meaning it can only be commanded to heal damage done rather than prevent it entirely before it actually happens, the latter was a success.
I went numb for the first time that day.
It was the best I had ever felt.
Sometimes, I used to wish I had a mother, back when I was younger.
But now I know anyone willing to be with my father would be just as bad as him, and I definitely don’t need another fucking demon in this penthouse.
As it is, I came to being through IVF, and even if I did want to find my biological mother, she was just some randomer.
A randomer my creator probably murdered to ensure I had no one but him to ever turn to.
Glancing down at my father’s figure in bed beside me in the dark room, my eyes flick to his neck, and I imagine strangling the life out of him, suffocating him just as he did me the day before my eleventh birthday.
But I can never get to the fun part because he can sense it before it happens.
Eyes popping open, he is on top of me faster than I can blink, hand wrapped around my throat.
“Daughter . . . did you forget that the Avri in your eye allows me to sense when you wish to do me harm?”
My jaw clenches. “You know I constantly wish to do you harm.”
He tuts, trailing a palm up my side, and my stomach revolts. “Bold tonight, I see,” he says like he is as excited and amused as he is pissed. Then, “The difference is it is the middle of the night, and you very well could do me harm if I am not prepared to defend myself.”
“Then maybe put me in another room so I am not in the perfect position to do so,” I grit out, trying to keep my temper in check how I have become mostly good at with him, but I cannot find it in me tonight to keep my mouth shut.
“Careful. You know I enjoy you all fiery, but there is a fine line between my excitement and anger,” he warns lowly, fingers coming to pinch and twist my nipple harshly, and I hiss at him like a feral cat, swinging before I can stop myself.
His head snaps back as my fist makes contact, and he curses while I scramble off the bed, tensed and ready for the usual pain to crack my head apart.
But it does not come.
My eyes track him warily as he lets out a short huff of a laugh, his dark gaze coming back to mine as he licks up the blood dripping onto his lip from his nose.
A bruise would pair nicely with that, but, being the Game Master, he has Avri pills specifically made for him that are not shared with the world which heal injuries like that instantly.
They are the same ones he forces me to take every time he marks me to hide what he has done, even though I have my helmet and Avri suit for that.
He would not want me to embarrass him by limping around with a broken leg.
As if I would ever limp, I scoff internally.
Like all Avri, those tablets do have their limits, though. And I imagine cutting his neck open with my preferred crimson daggers and watching him try to pop a pill then.
“Still wanting to hurt me?” Father hums. “Tell me—what exactly are you thinking?”
“Nothing you would like.”
“And what would you like?”
My eyes snap to his.
He smirks. “I can tell you are even more unsettled than usual as of late. So what can I do to fix that?”
He does not care how I feel, not unless it concerns his delusional want for me to desire him as he does me, so this is not because of that. It seems I may be pissing him off too little to punish, yet too greatly for him to be content with.
Hmmm . . . good work, Ezla.
“Let me go?” I deadpan.
“Funny.”
Ignoring the itchiness of my skin as I feel the intensity of his slimy gaze roam all over it, I start to walk around the room languidly, trying not to tense up at every gentle rustle of sheets behind me.
“I would like more freedom. I grow tired of this, Father. How can I be happy with you if you do not give me what I desire?”
“And why am I not what you desire?”
I pause, thinking over my answer with care. “Because I cannot feel desire.” Lie. “I either feel nothing or wrath. You know this. That is how you made me.”
“And pain.”
Rigidness grips me, but I force myself to relax, loosening my posture and heading slowly around the bed as if in no rush to leave. “And pain,” I agree with no inflection.
“Hmm . . . I will not allow you to stop sleeping with me, Daughter.”
My jaw and fists attempt to clench in sync, but I do not let them, maintaining the illusion of calm.
“Of course not. But . . .” I look over my shoulder at him.
“I would like some days off. I need more sleep, and I am always interrupted in here. My performance was better when I was sleeping in my own bed after Game 1.”
“I did notice you seemed more . . . energised. I and the rest of The Council agreed that the fight in this year’s Game 2 was one of your best—as well as Game 3.
The audience especially loves your performances with your Bonded.
” I freeze, but he does not linger there.
“And that is due to the improved sleep? Nothing else?”
“Yes, Father.”
Another lie.
“Really?” he muses, and I wait in silence, keeping my breathing even.
“Every other day.”
I swivel around, trying to show neither my surprise nor suspicion.
But he catches it. Of course he catches it.
He laughs like I am silly to be so. “I want my beautiful creation to be functioning at her best, you understand.”
“Yes,” I snap, growing impatient, and his smile widens. “Have a good rest of your night,” I say with no worries to bury the non-existence of sincerity, then stride for the door without a glance back.
But it is never that straightforward.
“Ezla.”
My foot halts mid-step.
“Come give me a kiss. That was rude.”
Fists balling, I whip around and barely manage to keep from marching over, having myself walk calmly instead.
Snatching up the back of my head, Father yanks me down to where he is sitting on the bed, slamming his mouth over mine and shoving his tongue inside. I ready to chop it in half with my teeth before restraining myself with the understanding that it would only delay my exit.
When he pulls back, I can tell he is aroused, but he thankfully does not make me deal with that, giving a single head nod towards the door.
Relief crashes through me, and finally, I leave.
I am not an idiot—I know this is too easy. But for now, I do not care. For now, I am free.