2. - – Sera
CHAPTER TWO
-
SERA
I don’t know how long I lay there, trembling.
Minutes seem like hours. Hours seem like days.
I don’t even know if it’s still night. My throat burns with every swallow.
My breath comes in sharp, shallow bursts.
The cuffs pinch every time I shift, a cold, cruel reminder.
Just as I’m starting to drift off again, the lock clicks and my heart lurches.
He steps inside with something in his hands.
As I try to figure out what he was carrying, the scent of steak and potatoes starts to fill the room.
Something buttery and rich, like it’s straight from a five-star restaurant instead of wherever the fuck I am.
He sets the tray down on the low table across the room and looks at me.
“Eat.”
It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a command, but I didn't move.
“I said eat, little captive.”
I turn my face away from him and lift my chin. “I’m not hungry.”
Just as the words left my mouth, my stomach growled in protest. The monster’s brow arches as he bites back a laugh.
“Sera, don’t lie. You’ve been out for hours. Your body needs it.”
“I said no.”
There was a long pause before he drags the tray closer until it’s within reach.
“Last chance,” he says softly, “Make it easy.”
I stay silent. He lets out a sigh like I’ve disappointed him.
Like I’ve failed some unspoken test. Then he moves.
He pulls me to my feet like I weigh nothing, and before I even have a second to process what is happening, he’s dragging me onto his lap.
I gasp as my weight hits him and the world tips sideways.
He raises the fork and presses it to my lips.
“Open,” he requested.
I keep my mouth shut. My cheeks burn with the childishness of it, but he just waits.
The fork wavers, the steam ghosts over my face, the smell of food feels obscene.
It takes every ounce of strength I have left to not give in while my stomach groans.
His free hand slides up my throat, his thumb finding the hollow under my jaw.
The touch isn’t gentle. It’s like a mechanic’s hand, placed to tilt, to force, to remind me that muscle does the talking here.
“I can be patient, little captive,” he murmurs, the words tiptoeing between menace and boredom. “But you’ll learn that obedience is the only currency you have left.”
He tightens his grip a fraction, and my mouth parts on reflex.
Not because I want to, but because the motion is pulled out of me.
He doesn't shove the fork in; he angles it, uses his thumb beneath my jaw to guide the motion until I have to choose whether to bite down on my dignity or on something else. For a second, I imagine spitting everything back in his face. For a second, I imagine standing up and running until my lungs collapse. But the cold restraints around my wrist laugh at both fantasies. So I close my eyes and chew. Each bite is a small humiliating surrender. He watches as dizzying shame curls in my belly as I swallow what he offers. Every time I hesitate, his thumb presses harder. A sharp, contained warning that causes me to swallow faster. I’ve noticed that he starts to time me; fork to mouth, swallow, silence, repeat.
When the force withdraws for the final time, he doesn’t say anything for a long beat.
He just watches me breathe. Finally, casually, he murmurs, “You’ll thank me for this later.
” I want to laugh at his remark, but he tugs on the chain enough to pull me back to my feet.
He clears the table, lifting the tray and heading for the door.
“Try to get some sleep, Sera. You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow.” The door closes behind him, and once the lock clicks into place, I realize, with a cold clarity, that this is the first breath of a curriculum.
That I’m a student. That the lesson is obedience. That my teacher is a monster.