The Lonely (The Lonely #1)

The Lonely (The Lonely #1) Page 16

My body doesn’t care. I eat. I gobble. I gag from swallowing too much and not taking my time. I stretch my tongue as hard as I can, to reach the bottom of the bowl. The bowl is too deep.

I grab for the glass of tea and dump some in the bowl. I swirl it around and drink the last of the stew mixed with the tea. It makes me gag but I do it. I need the food. I drink the tea down and wipe my face off with my shirt.

My tattered and filthy t-shirt. The lock in the door turns. I turn my head like a feral cat. I scramble back to the corner. My old ways are all back. They were always there, hiding under the surface. I just never knew it. I never knew I could go back so easily. I'm in dirty pants and a filthy shirt. I stink in ways I don’t remember being possible.

The door opens. The blinding light is too much. I squint my eyes. The man walks in. I would know the slap of his shoes anywhere.

"We have a deal to offer you today. One of you is going to be tortured. It’s a live feed for your friend, well benefactor. I suppose he never was your friend. Now Stuart, has had his fair share. He has volunteered everyday to spare your life."

That hurts me but only a little. My survival skills are something to be proud of.

"He has been beaten, cut, flogged, whipped, burned and endured water torture. We are offering you the opportunity to take his place?"

His accent sounds like he should be offering me a picnic or reading a children's story. He should be saying happy jolly things to me. Instead, he is offering me the chance to save my friend.

I don’t answer him. I watch his silhouette in the light of the doorframe. He turns and leaves the room. He's closing the door when I speak, "I will."

He pokes his head back in, "You will?"

I nod, "I will."

He snaps his fingers, "Clean her up. I want to see her skin blush when I strike it."

I'm about to change my mind when men come barreling into the room. I fight instantly. There is no point. I won't win. But I fight anyway.

They drag me out into the white hallway. It's stark and bright. I'm carried down it. My feet drag. They can't walk. I didn’t have much fight in me.

I'm shoved into a room.

A girl with dark hair and pretty grey eyes is waiting for me there. The men leave me in a heap on the floor. I realize how disgusting and filthy I am when I see how clean she is. She wears a long white dress. It's weird. Like she is an angel. She smiles. Her teeth are bright white against her dark-red lips.

"Hello." She says softly.

She takes my dirty brown hand and lifts me off the ground. I stand on wobbly legs and let her pull me to a huge steal tub. Steam lifts off of it.

She pulls my shirt off and tosses it in the bin. I can see myself in the mirror. I've never looked more like the dead girl from the house. Not ever. She pulls my pants down. I should gasp and grab them. I should leap away from her.

I'm too exhausted and sickly. I do nothing. I let her pull me into the tub.

The water burns my skin it's so hot.

"You're cold. It's not that hot." She says when she sees me flinch.

I step in, wincing and sucking air. My skin burns but my legs collapse into the tub. I sit as she washes me. It's the most frightening and yet amazing feeling I've ever had. She washes my hair, scrubbing my scalp. She pours buckets of the hot water over me.

A disgusting film starts to sit on the water. She lifts me out and grabs a shower nozzle. She sprays me down. My hands cover my breasts and I cross my legs hard. I can see my nakedness in the mirror. I look weak and hungry.

She pulls me out and wraps me in a huge robe. It's soft and fluffy. She takes my hand and leads me down a different long white hallway. It's freaking me out. The hallways are baffling. But it feels like that is the point. I'm completely disoriented.

The floors are dark slate and the walls are bright white. She holds my hand tightly and drags me down the long wide hallway to a huge dark-brown door.

I glance out the windows and wonder if I'm still in the city.

"Is this Boston?" I ask in a dead voice. The windows are glazed in a way that makes them blurry. I can't see anything out of them, but the bright-light can get in.

She ignores me and pulls me though the doorway.

The inside of the room is large and warm. There is a fireplace and rugs in the middle of several couches and chairs. The floor is wood and warmer than the slate. The walls are pale-blush colored. It suits the furniture. There is a bed at the back of the room.

I gulp.

It’s a massive canopy.

My stomach twists when I see the Australian man is sitting in a chair. He grins and my heart beats wildly.

His face.

She curtsies and leaves the room, closing the door and clicking a lock.

My eyes are wide. I'm clutching the robe.

He doesn’t stand. He smiles. His dark-grey pants and pale-blue dress shirt look almost exactly the same as they did the night in the bar.

He smiles and flashes the dimple on his one cheek. His dark hair is in the same faux hawk.

My heartbeat picks up. The room is completely silent except for the dripping of my wet hair on the wood.

"Go sit by the fire, warm up." He points. His Australian accent is gone.

Was he even the same guy?

Am I hallucinating?

"Go." He demands.

My feet back up, not turning my back on him. He doesn’t move from the chair.

He sits so relaxed, it's almost cocky.

"Go to the fire." His tone lowers menacingly.

My stomach twists more. I step back again. I walk around the couch opposite him and drop to my knees slowly. Thankfully there is a fluffy rug in front. I sit there quietly. I don’t know what to say or do.

He watches me. His grin is sick and twisted.

"Anything you want to talk about?" He asks.

I swallow, "He will come for me."

He grins, "I'm counting on it."

I shake my head, "Why?"

"We have business. Is it warm enough in here?"

I nod and look down at the rug. His cold icy stare is freaking me out.

"Are you from Australia?" I ask still looking at the thick fluffy rug.

"No. But I didn’t want you getting your hopes up if you recognized me. I'm good at accents."

"That’s why you asked me to dance in the bar?" That at least made sense. I never could figure out why a sexy well-dressed man would ask me to dance. At least not whilst wearing my running watch.

"I wanted to see if you were the mess the files said you were."

Files? I glance up at him, confused. I smile, it’s a sickened bitter smile. "Well?"

He doesn’t move. He doesn’t talk. My back starts burning from the heat of the fire. I take a deep inhale.

"I have a second offer." His voice is honey sweet. I shiver, "No."

He grins, "You don’t want to hear it?"

I shake my head and clutch the robe. I'm feeling exhausted. The fire is relaxing me.

"I'd be willing to forgo the beating if you were nice to me."

I gag. I shake my head.

"You'd rather be beaten? Am I so repulsive?" I gag again. I swallow it down. The stew was the worst meal yet and the fire is so relaxing.

I can see his plan. Gross me out and make me feel sick but relax me into submission with the fire. Unfortunately, it's working.

"You would still rather have a beating, than have Stuart beaten?"

I nod.

He stands and puts a hand out, "Okay then."

I look up at him. I don’t mean to turn it on, my eyes naturally do it. He shakes his head, "Those long lashes and pretty blue eyes won't work on me. Come here."

I swallow and hesitate. "I'm not coming with you. You're going to beat me either way."

He nods, "I am. But it will be much easier if you just come willingly."

I look into his icy-blue eyes for the truth.

I push myself up and walk on shaky legs to him. I stand close to him. He jerks his hand, insisting I take it.

I lift my hand into the air and drop it into his. He closes his around mine gently.

Terror isn’t the right world. Paralyzing fright isn’t either. I don’t know that a word exists to describe it. He pulls me along to the bed. He's gentle. My heels start to dig in and his grip tightens.

"No. No. No. No. No. No." I chant and pull back.

He stops and looks at me like I'm a child, "It will be much worse if I have to drag you."

I sob. There are no tears. He pulls me along. He stops moving when he's along side the huge bed.

He pushes me down on it. "Remove the robe and scoot down to the bottom. Hang your feet down the end."

I stare at the floor. My body is convulsing in fear.

"What is your name?" I whisper.

"Does it matter?" He sounds dry.

I nod once, "Yes. I need a name to hate you properly."

"Just call me Eli." His name makes me twitch.

I let the robe slip from my shoulders. I lie back and swallow hard again. The bed is soft and luxurious. The black blankets are soft and velvety against my skin.

My eyes feel like there is sand in them. I wish I could cry. I wiggle so my feet hang off the end.

I stare up into the canopy. It's dark like the bedding, so I pretend it's the night sky when I feel his hands touching my feet. He moves them over my feet and ankles softly, like he's letting me get used to his touch.

With a soft jerk he pulls me down the end of the mattress.

His shoes slap against the floor when he walks around the room. I don’t see his hands near my face when he puts the blindfold over my eyes.

The heat from his face and hands make goose bumps along my body. I grip the bedding.

His hands touch me again when he slides something down onto my legs. I can't move them. My feet are forced to flex out the bottoms. Something is hooked around my toes. I can't move the at all.

"I don’t want to mar that skin. Not yet. I'm going to start the film now. Please feel free to be extra loud. It's better for the footage." My stomach is in agony. I'm desperately gripping the bed. I want to cry out before he's even done anything.