I shoved him back a step. “You’re a fucking loser. Washed up, stretched out,” I panted. “You fucking suck, what iswrongwith you?” I asked, tears blurring my vision as I slammed my hands into him again, wincing at the pain across my still healing palm. “What the actual fuck is wrong with you? You delusional, prideful, idiotic, piece of worthless, pathetic trash? I hate you, I hate you,I hate you!”
He dropped the gag and snatched my throat, my air instantly cut off, my hands flying to his. He pulled me up until my feet barely touched the ground, our noses nearly touching. “You hate me?” he asked, walking me backwards. “Or do you hate yourself for letting it happen?”
The tears dripped down my cheeks, my head pounding from the shouting. “I didn’t—”
His hand tightened. “What, little writer? What didn’t you do?”
“I didn’t…” I gasped, black spots dancing in my vision. “Let…him.”
He slammed me back against the wall, his eyes flaming. “Yes, you did. He beat the shit out of you. He lied to you. he convinced you that your own mind, your eyes, your heart, they were all wrong. Youlethim get in your head. Youlet it happen.”
I shook my head. No. He was wrong. He had to be wrong. I wasn’t that weak. I couldn’t be that weak.
“Physical pain to you is nothing,” he went on, releasing my neck.
I gasped, coughing, choking, my throat raw from throwing up and now swollen from this.
He grabbed my right wrist and jerked it above my head. “You didn’t care about the fire. You didn’t care about the ice. You didn’t care that I hurt you. Youlikedit. Craved it. It got you so wet, I could wring your panties out if I wanted to.”
My legs shook as I felt something soft wrap around my wrist, my head spinning.
“Abuse is different. Different than torture, different than punishments, different than pain. The basic deciding factorbetween abuse and a good fucking is who is behind it and how it’s being given.”
He grabbed my other wrist and jerked it into the air.
I looked up, tugging on my right wrist, dizzy. It had been tied to that iron circle by a dark red ribbon.
“You just found out that you were on a long list of fucks from a guy who used you relentlessly. You broke up a family,” he said, tightening the ribbon around my left wrist before stepping back. He took me in for half a second before disappearing out the bedroom door.
A moment later, he walked back in with a wet rag.
“Don’ttouch me,” I snarled, fighting the restraints as he stepped up to me and began wiping the makeup away roughly.
“Your response, although slightly psychotic, is also normal. You feel things with all that you are, even when you don’t want to. Unfortunately for you, I’m not the gentle type,” he pulled at the edges of my healing cuts, my cheeks whining in pain as he wiped the rest of the makeup off and finally stood back, tossing the dirty rag to the side. “We’re going to heal you my way. Like I said before, I don’t docoddling.”
I shook my head, tugging at my wrists again, my face raw. All I wanted to do was cover myself up. I felt far too exposed now. “Don’t touch me,” I said again.
“Why? Because he touched you? Because you don’t think I’ll fuck you the same now that I know the truth?Youdidn’t know the truth, little writer, get over yourself.”
I couldn’t stop the tears as I crossed my legs, hating this. Hating everything about it. “Did you know?”
He picked up the gag again before thinking better of it and heading back for the bag, that whip now clutched tightly in hand. “I did my research.”
My eyes widened and I jerked on the ribbon, the pain shooting down my arms. “You asshole, youknew?” I breathed out.“When? When did you find out?”
“The day I killed him,” he answered, pulling something else out of his duffle and walking over. “You picked up that picture. I stole it when I grabbed your phone. It didn’t take long to connect the dots.” He stepped up to me, grabbed my jaw, and forced my mouth open, quickly shoving something inside. “A little disappointed that while you do such thorough research on serial killers and different ways to extract information out of a person unwillingly, you didn’t look deep enough to know that he had a family, a thing for prostitutes, and you.”
I jerked my face out of his, mint exploding over my tongue. “I didn’t think there was a need to deep dive into his fucking life,” I spat as whatever it was dissolved across my tongue. A thought filled my mind then, assaulted me. “Is that why you won’t fuck me?”
“Pay attention, Olivia,” he sang. “I licked my fingers clean.” He slid something into his own mouth. “I had you tested before I made the deal, and every week since then. You’re clean.”
My eyes widened to saucers because, despite the relief, how thefuckdid he manage that without me noticing?
“He got the loan a year ago,” he explained. “He stopped paying, we came to town to take care of business. He kept piddling around. $100 here, $50 there, so we upped the ante, until one day, you walk in. A pretty little thing in a floral dress.”
A shiver ran through my body, warmth spreading through my limbs, followed by a strange tingling sensation that started in my chest and slowly spread from there.
“It took no time to figure out who you were, the books you wrote, the money you had. A good source to pay off the debt of your precious little boyfriend. We already knew his wife didn’t have the money, and we’re not in the business of killing kids, so you were the next best thing. Get the money, deal with the loser, and handle a few other customers trying to stiff us. Do that for afew months, leave.”
