The best-case scenario was that they were sedatives that would knock her out and make her completely vulnerable before them. Just because they hadn't raped her so far didn't mean that they wouldn't.
Worst-case scenario, the pills were something like cyanide that would kill her, and she wasn't going down without a fight.
“Take the pills, don’t make us do this the hard way.” Mr. Bedroom Man grunted.
“No thank you. I have no intention of letting you give me something that could kill me.”
“Wouldn't kill you that way, little ladybug.” Mr. Bedroom Man sounded insulted by the idea. “No way to kill a worthy opponent.”
There was most definitely something wrong with her that those words reassured her.
“Open wide, little one,” the other man instructed as he clamped a hand around the back of her neck.
Nope.
No way she was doing that.
The words were reassuring, but she was still in survival mode. Which meant not taking anything from a stranger. Multiple strangers. Multiple strangers who had abducted her, hurt her, and likely planned on killing her. Though according to them, not with pills.
“Brat.” As he muttered the word, Mr. Bedroom Man pinched her nose, effectively cutting off her air supply since opening her mouth meant they could give her the pills.
While she held out as long as she could, far too soon Rose was forced to open her mouth to draw in a sharp breath. The second she did so, the pills were popped on her tongue, and the man who had given them to her looked at her with apologetic eyes as he clamped his large hand over her mouth, sealing it and preventing her from spitting out the pills.
Exactly what she would have done.
With the pills now where he wanted them, Mr. Bedroom Man released his grip on her nose, and instead, his hand circled her neck. It didn't squeeze, and his touch was almost tender as he began to massage her throat to get her to swallow.
“Stop making this harder than it has to be,” he murmured, locking his gaze onto hers the same way she’d done to him when his friend was whipping her.
Then his steady gaze had grounded her, given her something to hold onto, and sick and twisted as it was, given he had all the power and was deliberately inflicting pain on her, it had also offered her comfort.
There was definitely something wrong with her.
Because as Rose found herself unable to blink away from this man’s gaze, his hand stroking her neck, making her swallow the pills, she found that same comfort. Who knew you could develop some sort of Stockholm Syndrome this quickly?
“Good girl,” he rumbled as the pills he’d given her began to take effect and she started to get sleepy.
His hand never left her neck until the world faded to black around her.
When she next blinked open her eyes, Rose found herself back in the cell. Other than the time jump, there was no gap in her memory. What had happened in the torture room waspainted vividly in her mind, another horror story to add to the collection that made up her life.
A glance down at her body showed that not only was she still dressed in her bright pink unicorn pajamas, but she’d been covered with a gray woolen blanket. Her head rested on something soft, a pillow she saw as she looked down, and she’d been laid out on her side, presumably so she wasn't resting against the raw wounds on her backside.
One of her hands was pillowed beneath her cheek, and she could see that her wrist was wrapped in a crisp white bandage. With a sigh, she had to assume that they did indeed take theirwe fix what we breakmotto seriously, and her butt had also been cleaned and treated. Since she wasn't hurting too badly and she knew from experience she should be in more pain, Rose also had to assume that one of those pills had been a pain reliever.
As she shifted slightly, realizing she needed to pee, she also noted that the temperature in the room had been modified to a comfortable level. Were they trying to mess with her head now? Confuse her by hurting her and then offering her small kindnesses?
It would be a more effective way of breaking her than inflicting pain was ever going to be.
Rose had grown up on a steady diet of pain and suffering, her kryptonite was love and affection.
Not that she could let them figure that out.
If they thought that hurting her, then tending to her would mess with her head, that’s exactly what they would do.
Worse, it might even work.
Ignoring the fact that the men were probably watching her every move, she kept her head held high as she walked over to the hole in the ground where she would have to do her business. Wincing as the material of her pants brushed across her poor,injured bottom, she placed a hand on the wall to balance herself as she squatted over the hole.
