It had been eight years since that fateful day and even though I knew he couldn’t hurt me, he still haunted my dreams and my memories. I wouldn’t be free of him until he was six feet under.
“Are you hungry?” He asks me, and I scrunch my nose up.
“More cum for breakfast.” I groan.
“No.” He stalks out of the room, leaving me with my thoughts and even though he is gone, for the first time in eight years, I don’t feel alone.
A few tears and he had turned into a teddy bear. What was happening? Had I been sucked into a black wormhole? Perhaps I’d entered the twilight zone because this couldn’t be the sameman that had kept me locked in a dark torture chamber where he fed me nothing but his cock for three days.
The door swings open and he’s carrying a tray, but I can’t help the giggle that falls out of my mouth. I even kick my feet a little.
“Something funny, little bird?”
I look at him, this manly, tall, tattooed scary man who walks in with a serving tray wearing a floral apron that you’d expect your grandma to wear while she was baking cookies.
He doesn’t look amused but I don’t care, I haven’t laughed since he thought it was a good idea to kidnap me and if I was stuck here, I might as well find my kicks where I can get them.
He sets the tray down on the bed and my eyes widen. There’s a bowl of porridge, toast with marmalade, fresh orange juice and oh—my—god; coffee.
“You did all this—for me?” I choke out.
“You’ve been a good girl. Good girls get nice things and bad girls—.” My eyes widen and I tuck my teeth between my bottom lip. “Don’t do that.” He scolds.
“Do what?” I ask innocently.
“You know what? Now open wide.”
He tilts a spoonful of porridge toward me, honey-drizzled, just the way I like it. My lips hover just shy of the spoon.
“Go on,” he says, and a glint in his eyes dares me to resist.
“Did you lace it with something?” I ask, my voice sharper than I intended.
A slow smirk. “If I did, little bird, would you even know?”
The hair on the back of my neck prickles, but I’m not sure if it’s from fear or… something darker, something that almost feels like a thrill. I’m disgusted with myself, and yet, as the warm taste of honey spreads over my tongue, a part of me is… grateful.
And that terrifies me more than anything.
I chew on the last spoonful of porridge as he watches, his eyes lingering in a way that’s unnerving. My stomach twists, half from hunger, half from anxiety, and part of me wants to spit it out just to break this strange power he has over me. But I don’t. I swallow and he pushes the tray away.
“Good girl,” he says, leaning in so close that I can feel the warmth of his breath against my skin. There’s a softness in his tone that feels like mockery, but there’s something else, too. Something that makes my skin crawl and shiver at the same time.
“Why am I here, Ashton?” I manage, keeping my voice low and steady, despite the fury building up inside me. “What do you want from me?”
His gaze shifts, dark and unreadable, and he just stares for a long moment, studying me like he’s deciding how much to say.
“I want you to understand, little bird,” he finally says, tracing his thumb down my cheek in a way that’s almost tender. “Sometimes it’s easier to see the world for what it is when everything you thought was real is taken away.”
The words linger in the air, leaving a heaviness that makes it hard to breathe. I want to slap his hand away, to scream, to do anything to shatter this strange, twisted intimacy between us. But something inside me hesitates. There’s something in his eyes, something haunting and broken, and for a second I see a flicker of vulnerability in his expression.
“I don’t want to understand you,” I reply, my voice wavering. “I just want to go home.”
He chuckles, a low, humorless sound. “Home? Do you even know what that is anymore?”
His words cut deep, stirring memories I’d buried long ago—the fighting, the loneliness, the feeling that I never really belonged anywhere, not even in my own family. It’s almost likehe knows things he shouldn’t, things he couldn’t. A pang of anger rises up in my chest, twisting my grief into something dark and furious.
“Don’t pretend you know me, Ashton.” I glare at him, my voice dripping with defiance. “You’re nothing but a sadistic coward hiding behind your twisted games.”
