Blaidd
Two goddamn days, I spat at him. Does she want to fucking die?
Fenrir answered with a long, low growl.
I lit another cigarette, my fingers shaking just enough to piss me off.
Is it so difficult to say one word? Please? Or even my name, I continued, dragging smoke into my lungs as if it might settle the agitation clawing through me.
“Did you see?” I snapped, pacing. “Did you see her fucking smile as she fell asleep? What the fuck was that? Fucking crazy bitch.”
I raked a hand through my hair, breath sharp, uneven.
Was she really that stubborn—so committed to defiance—that she’d let herself waste away rather than ask anything of me?
The feed held steady.
I stared at her sleeping face. Her brow was drawn tight, tension etched there even in rest. She clutched the thin blanket like it was the only thing anchoring her to the world.
At some point, she’d turned toward the wall—away from the camera whenever she was awake.
She didn’t rage.
She didn’t cry.
She was taking all the pleasure out of this.
I swallowed, jaw locking.
Why wasn’t she breaking?
?
?
?
By the third day, she still hadn’t moved.
She remained curled on the mattress, no stretching, no deliberate turn away from the camera. Just stillness. The shivering beneath the thin blanket had worsened—small, relentless tremors I could see even through the feed.
I watched. Counted breaths.
Then she started to murmur.
Soft. Broken. Names slipping from her mouth—her family. Farewells.
Something inside me snapped.
I grabbed the keys and stormed down two flights of stairs, fury driving every step until I reached her door. Her scent hit before I even touched the handle—stale sweat, and urine. It turned my stomach.
Disgusting.
I flung the door open.
Her eyes stayed shut.
I crossed the room in three strides and ripped the blanket away. Nothing. No reaction. I seized her arm and hauled her upright, irritation flaring as her weight sagged against me. I bent and slung her over my shoulder.
She was lighter than she should have been.
I jogged upstairs, one hand braced against her back, ignoring the way her head lolled as we moved. I didn’t stop until I reached the spare bedroom. I dumped her onto the bed and turned immediately toward the adjoining bathroom.
Hot water. Steam. Heat.
I twisted the taps, watching the tub begin to fill.
Now if only I could stop myself from drowning the infuriating bitch.
Her eyes were half-open when I returned to the bedroom.
Slowly, she lifted one hand from the bed. Her fingers bent, one by one.
The middle finger rose—unsteady, incomplete—before her breath hitched and the hand fell back to the mattress.
Her eyes closed.
Her final fuck you—to me.
“Oh no. You fucking don’t.”
I ran to my room and grabbed the walkie-talkie, snapping at whatever-the-fuck-his-name-was on the other end.
“Get a doctor flown to this island within half an hour. Any longer, and I will personally gut you and feed you to the fishes.”
I didn’t wait for a reply.
I was already moving back to the spare bedroom.
She hadn’t moved.
I tore open her blouse, hauling her limp arms up as I yanked the fabric free, then did the same to her skirt. I didn’t bother with the ruined tights or underwear.
I scooped her up and carried her into the bathroom.
“Stupid woman,” I snarled, lowering her into the steaming water.
?
?
?
I was furious at everyone. Her for giving up, barely three days in. Fenrir for vanishing on me and this mother fucker who kept on giving me snide looks.
Hypothermia.
Dehydration.
Each one was a dig at me.
All she had to do was beg.
When he gave his final instructions and left her medicine beside the bed, I waved to the guard who escorted the old bastard out.
I stood at the other side of the room staring at the water crashing against the jagged rocks before me. This was a good bedroom to lock her up in. It would give her time to recover in the sun-facing room. But I didn't want her too comfortable.
I turned to look at the lump in the middle of the bed. She lay there, a small, unmoving shape beneath the covers.
She hated me enough to try and tell me to fuck off in her last breath. I wasn't offended that she hated me. Everybody hated me and for good reason, but no one had ever dared to flaunt it in my face.
An idea came to me and I walked across the room to stand over the bed.
Sometimes the simplest solution was the most effective one.
?
?
?
Her eyes fluttered several times before they finally opened. Confusion flickered across her face—confusion that she was still alive. Then her gaze locked onto me, and for a moment she looked like she might hurl.
“Well, good morning,” I said, resting my hands behind my head.
Confusion crossed her expression again.
“Don’t worry. You’re in good hands now. The doctor left all of your care instructions with me.”
“Is this hell?” she croaked.
Choking her to death wasn’t an option, so I laughed.
“You’re so funny,” I said, lifting the concoction meant to replenish her electrolytes. “You’ll have a long and healthy life.”
I’d make damn sure of it.
I guided the straw to her lips.
“Drink up,” I said, ignoring the suspicion in her eyes as they flicked to the tall glass.
She did as she was told.
Interesting.