Chapter 52
The Prey
The room was strangely silent except for the soft rustling of the doctor’s movements.
I sat there on the edge of the couch, my injured foot propped up as he carefully examined it.
The pain was there like a dull throb that I could barely register over the storm of confusion and suspicion swirling in my mind. Judas had ordered a doctor. For me.
The thought was baffling. Too much to the point that I couldn’t help but steal glances at his face.
Judas was standing a few feet away, though I could still feel his piercing gaze eating me alive despite the distance.
He wore his shades this time, the same pair that made him look impenetrable, unreadable. The cane was in his hand, gripped tightly, and my entire body tensed at the memory of where that cane had been just yesterday. The cruel way he’d wielded it, the way he’d relished in my pain.
But now, he was pretending—no, not pretending.
Acting. Playing the part of a concerned man, the master of this twisted little world we both inhabited.
And as much as I wanted to see through it, to call it out for the farce it was, I couldn’t.
Because Judas, even in this charade, was still in control. Dominating.
The doctor seemed like a nervous man in his mid-forties who kept glancing up at Judas, his hands shaking slightly as he wrapped my foot. He was too scared to speak out of turn, too frightened to ask any questions. I could understand where this fear was coming from; I resided in the same place.
Judas was suffocating. He was like a delicate sword, ready to break at the slightest provocation.
“Is it broken?”
He had this impact on me. The kind that made me jump every time his deep voice would caress my earlobes.
He didn’t move, didn’t even shift his posture, but somehow the entire room seemed to tilt towards him, as if even the walls were leaning in to hear him speak.
The doctor flinched at the question, so do I. His fingers fumbled with the bandage as he awkwardly cleared his throat.
“N-no, sir,” he stammered, eyes flickered nervously to Judas’s face, though he couldn’t see the man’s eyes behind those dark lenses. “Just a sprain. It should heal with some rest.”
“Rest,” Judas repeated, tilting his head. He tapped the cane lightly on the floor. “How long?”
“Two weeks, maybe less if she stays off it,” the doctor replied, his voice barely above a whisper now, as if speaking too loudly would somehow incur Judas’s wrath.
And it would.
Even a fly would tick this man. He was that unpredictable.
Judas tilted his head slightly to the other side, considering this. “Two weeks,” he mused, as if testing the length of the sentence. “No sex then?”
The doctor cleared his throat, and I snapped my head at him though my cheeks burned.
Bastard.
The doctor nodded quickly, too quickly, eager to please. “Yes. She needs severe rest. I can arrange for a nurse—”
“No,” my living nightmare sighed. “She stays here. I will look after her.”
My heart skipped a beat at that.
“That’s all?”
“Yes, sir,” the doctor murmured, finishing the bandage and quickly gathering his things. He was practically trembling now, eager to escape the oppressive atmosphere.
“Good,” Judas said, stepping closer, the tap of his cane echoing through the room like a death knell. He leaned down slightly, as if inspecting the doctor’s work, though I knew it was more about asserting his dominance than actually checking on my foot.
“Remember,” he added, his voice dropping to a near-whisper that only the doctor and I could hear, “if she doesn’t heal properly, if she suffers because of your incompetence, you’ll answer to me.”
The doctor paled, nodding frantically at something he had said.
“Yes, sir. I’ll—I’ll make sure everything is perfect.”
Judas straightened and dismissed him with a wave of his hand, and the doctor nearly tripped over himself in his haste to leave. I watched him go, my heart pounding, my mind racing with questions.
As the door closed behind the doctor, Judas turned his attention to me. I hated that I couldn’t see this expressions behind those damn shades. He took a step closer, his cane tapped once more, and I couldn’t help the way my body recoiled, a small, instinctual movement that I immediately regretted.
He noticed, of course. He always noticed. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, as if my fear was just another form of entertainment for him.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” he said, his voice low and edged with that familiar cruelty. “Heal while you can.”
I swallowed, the words caught in my throat, trapped by the weight of his gaze, even if I couldn’t see his eyes. The truth was laid bare between us, a silent understanding that no matter how much he pretended to care, it was always about power. About reminding me who held the chains.
“Thank you,” I managed to choke out, though the words felt like poison on my tongue.
Judas stared at me, and I wonder if I had said something wrong, and then he smirked. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear with a gentleness that was more terrifying than any of his threats.
“You’re welcome, little bird,” he murmured, and I felt his warm breath against my skin.