Page 8 of Chained

He shoves me on the bed, the room succumbing to a silence that only breaks by the harshness of his breath. He pants as he drags open the coffin, his eyes dark and sinister as he licks his bottom lip, his eyes drinking in the sight of me as he scratches at his crotch.

"Please let me go," I whisper. "I promise I won't tell a soul, just please let me go."

He lets out a barking laugh, one I think I'll always remember, as his fist flies to my hair, his fingers intertwining with every curl. He pulls hard, my scalp burning in pain as he drags me by my hair from the bed. I don't give in, I'm tired of being dragged around. My nails dig into his wrists, scratching and pinching at his skin. My legs fly out, connecting with his stomach as I kick and jerk. I won't let you take me. I won't let you ruin me, too.

But he's too big. Too strong. His fist connects with my mouth, causing pain to splinter across my face, my lips throbbing as I let out a scream.

"I'll fuck that pretty mouth just like I fucked your sister's pretty cunt if you don't fucking shut it." His words land hard, but I can't stop. Like a woman possessed, I keep fighting. I keep screaming. Someone will hear me, they have to.

He shoves me to the floor, pulling me into the box, his hands still fisted in my hair. He pulls me to his crotch, smearing the sticky wetness that stains his trousers against my face.

"Here, bitch. Smell how good your sister's cum is." He pushes his cock hard against my cheek, grinding it against me. "Fuck, I should make you taste her."

In this exact moment, I want to die. I've never understood that term before; I always thought it was melodramatic. I mean, I've said it thousands of times over mundane things like when I've double texted a guy who's ghosted me or when I've done something so embarrassingly stupid I didn't think I'd ever recover from.

I never meant it before, not like I do now. Not like how I wish the ground would swallow me whole and crush my lungs in the process.

He pushes me to lay down in the coffin, his eyes on mine as he licks his lips like the hungry beast he is.

The lid slams closed. I hear the jangle of the padlock, then his footsteps bounding away. I place my hand against the wood, fingers sliding through the tiny holes which he's made barely big enough for me to breathe.

My mind goes blank. No words, no fight left inside to try and soothe myself enough to stop the way my body feels starved of oxygen already.

At least here, I'm safe. He can't touch me.

Chapter Six

Amora

Six days have passed since he put me in the box, and never opened the lid.

I don't know how I haven't died yet. I thought the lack of food might kill me first, or the fact he only dripped water through the small hole twice a day, but it was barely enough to survive. I counted the days from the clock in the hallway that would always chime when the hand hit twelve. Using my fingernails, I'd carve a line into the lid and watch as every day moulded into the same, circling hell.

In the early hours of the morning, when sleep refused to offer me respite, I'd hear him. He'd never speak, but I knew he was there, and I knew he was never alone. The metal bed frame would squeak in a fast, jolted rhythm. The sound of small sobs and whimpering pleas would follow shortly after. It always ended the same. The sound of his strangled moans as he emptied himself inside of whatever poor girl was laid beneath him.

I tried not to let it in, but when you have nothing but your thoughts to contend with, it was impossible. I spent six days waiting for him to tear the lid open, to force me onto the same bed and make me listen to the strangled moans that haunt my dreams as he forced his way between my legs—but he never did.

Somewhere deep down, I feel relieved. That's the worst part. The relief that would come every night when I'd hear a softer set of footsteps as I'd know the lid wouldn't be opened, that it wouldn't be me.

I don't know how to handle the guilt that comes with that.

The lid finally opens, the light peeking through the curtains blinding me as everything starts to spin. He pulls me up from the coffin, sitting me on the bed. My head spins, every part of me dizzy from the lack of food and being laid down in the darkness for so long.

I smell the sweet honey that wafts from the porridge bowl beside him. My stomach growls, loud enough for him to hear, but I don't care. I can't tear my eyes away. My mouth waters at the sweet, syrupy smell.

"You want it?" He smirks, nodding to the bowl. "Earn it."

My eyes drop to the floor, fingers twisting together.

"How?" I let my hunger take over, no longer fighting.

"Take off your clothes. Let me see you." He sniggers, gripping the bowl with his filthy hands and yellow fingernails.

I'm too weak to fight, too hungry to care. My head pounding as I stand too quickly, I slide out of the dress that had got me in this mess, letting it fall to the floor.

"Delicious." His response almost makes me sick, but I don't take my eyes from the bowl.

He shoves it into my chest like the wild animal he wanted to create, and I begin devouring the food. Inhaling it so fast I barely even taste it. God, it feels so good to eat. It feels so good to take the pains that ache in my stomach away, even for the shortest moment.