My father can attest to that. Or he could, if he weren’t dead.
I clench my jaw, a burning sensation rising in my throat.
Logan did try to speak to me at first. Some utter bullshit about how Damien wasn’t serious. He didn’t mean to do it, he wasn’t serious.
According to him, I guess, Damien never does mean to do it. He’s never serious.
Well, fuck Damien. And fuck him.
Now, Logan has grown quiet. But I know enough about men to know he’s bad news.
Not even the threat looming behind me can make me forget the real tragedy, though. The man who tricked me into believing he cared, all while keeping me locked in an apartment against my will, looking in on me once in a blue moon, for the sole purpose, apparently, of his own sexual gratification.
It’s crazy to think I never fully saw him in his true light before. Insane how I’ve held on to some bullshit illusion all because of how needy I am. Even when he left me tied to the bed and had Logan come and free me, some part of me still hoped. A thread, waiting to be broken. It’s broken now, alright.
I’m so pathetic.
Now, Damien’s bet me in a game of poker, lost me, beaten me in front of his friends, then got rid of me, throwing me to a literal wolf.
Guess he wasn’t Peter Pan, after all. Or maybe I’m the one who isn’t Wendy.
A tear slides down my cheek, and I hear Logan shift uncomfortably behind me. He probably sees me crying.
Well, fuck him. It’s not like he gives a shit. He’s probably gloating over me.
So why doesn’t he try to fuck me?
I can’t wait to stab this pair of scissors into his eyeball.
I slip a hand under the arm that’s hiding the weapon, and close my eyes, remembering how it felt, that one time, to stab someone, to plunge the knife in, through the resistance, with the hot red liquid gushing out a moment later, as if his brain had needed a second to communicate to his body that he should be bleeding right now.
Or maybe it was my own brain that had needed a second to understand what my hands had done.
Red hands. Bloody hands.
The image doesn’t terrify me anymore. It makes me smile.
-
I must have fallen asleep at some point because the next thing I’m aware of is a quiet knock on the door. I manage to sit up, wincing at the ever-present pain, and look behind me. Logan is gone.
I hear the quiet woman’s voice calling “Hello”, then her footsteps in the living room. She sets down the tray on the table.
I frown. This is only the second time I’ve heard her speak. I wouldn’t have expected her to break her silence with such an asinine word.
She walks down the hallway and knocks again on the bedroom door before poking her head in.
“You slept right through breakfast,” she says, a fake grin plastered to her face.
I stare at her. What is she doing right now? Trying to make conversation? This is literally the worst time for that.
I sit up, relieved to find that my dress is still on and my panties haven’t moved, at least, not since Damien pulled them up after belting me. I don’t feel anything apart from the lancinating pain on my backside.
Guess Logan hasn’t touched me, after all.
“I set your tray on the dining table,” she says unnecessarily, since that’s where she always sets it. “You have soup, chicken, green beans and cake today.”
I’m more perplexed than ever. I stare at her, willing her to disappear, but she lingers.
