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It shouldn’t have happened.
I’d said no.
What the fuck?
Feebee
Mercer’s touch was gentle, but the look in his eyes was filled with venom. I barely saw it, my own too full of tears. I had gone too deep, not enough to kill me, but enough for the pain to cripple me and the blood to frighten me.
I woke up a little while ago to the sound of the door clicking shut. I didn’t move, too afraid to see shadows moving around the room. But no further sound came. I pulled my courage from my belly and rolled away from Mercer. I saw the knife near the door, a note with strict instructions wrapped around the handle.
He failed. If you fail, too, he’ll be punished again. If you don’t, you’ll be rewarded.
I glanced back at Mercer, watching his lungs strain, rising and falling through the hurdles of pain. He couldn’t suffer again, which was my reason for seeing this through.
But he didn’t understand, his eyes narrowing in question as he examined the depth of my wound like he was some kind of doctor. His head shook with fury.
“I’m hurt. It’s kinda deep.” My head nodded, the rush of movement vibrating through me, causing more red to stain my shirt.
He nodded, turning for the rags we had used to wash his wounds. He was quicker getting them than I was, returning in a second. I straightened, breathing in through the pain as the rinsed cloth touched my skin.
The water was cold now. A drop rolled between my breasts, bringing a chill to my body and making my nipples pebble beneath the thin material covering them. Mercer’s pretty blues dropped for a second, and he visually swallowed. Professionalism returned a second later. He patted my chest gently, reminding me to breathe back out.
The bleeding eased a short while later. The cloth, with our combined essences, was discarded in the silver bowl. The water again looked appealing, but it was stolen from my view as I crashed into Mercer’s naked chest. His big hands held me tight as he walked us to our corner.
He scowled at the camera, angry and hate-filled, and I could feel all his tension as my fingers clutched his body. My grip turned to a massage, bringing his attention back to me. My fingers kept moving as our eyes locked on each other’s faces. Eyes. Mouth. Eyes...mouth.
I leaned in, my breath tickling his lips. My courage had worn off since my new injury. The bleeding broken heart on my chest matched the one inside. The one I felt guilty for having. Guilty that the freak holding us captive was in so much pain because of me, he’d do these things.
I attempted to reel back, but Mercer’s hand weaved through my hair, protecting me from the wall...then leading me close again. His breath was tickling me now. His slightly parted lips hovered over mine. He kissed me again, and his tongue moved over mine in a way that would have my toes curl, if that was possible.
I moaned into him and felt him smile. We broke apart, him moving away. I followed, kissing him again, and he not only let me, he reciprocated, sucking my lip into his hot mouth. This kiss wasn’t to help the dryness in my mouth. No, it was all about desire, hunger, and lust.
I was dazed when we broke apart again. I didn’t feel empty this time. I felt safe, even here, as he shielded me against the wall, one arm around my waist, the other barricading me from the camera he glared at.
And with that minimal privacy, I let my body relax into him and waited for sleep.
Chapter 7
Feebee
Iwoke to another day in hell, screaming and my new heart pounding as I clawed my way out of a nightmare. A whispering touch skated over my cheek before gentle hands—one below my head and the other under my shoulder, currently being assaulted by the hard floor—lifted me.
I scratched at my skin, violently trying to get to an internal itch I could never reach.
It had been two weeks since I carved symmetrical lines on my chest, or so I assumed. We counted our sleepless nights together, talking and learning so much about each other until exhaustion pulled us away.
We learned a lot, keeping only our painful parts private. But we knew all of each other’s intricate details. Our likes and dislikes. It was like we had been friends for years, and I was one of those friends yearning for more.
We hadn’t known each other long, but it felt so much longer in here, where we only had each other. Days felt like months, weeks like years. Emotions grew quickly. It was like we were on one of those reality TV shows where you flew to an exotic island in the hopes of finding love with someone there. But without the island and the option of another suiter.
It didn’t matter. I would always choose Mercer. He’d become my person. A torch. A light in the dark, who, even with his energy dimming, still showed light. I would fight anyone for him, even this creep watching us.
The robotic voice hadn’t made his demands today, and yesterday, we had been punished for refusing to cause the other physical pain with the blade that continuously made its way into this room.
Our commode, the gift for my carving, had been taken away. I was over the shame of Mercer having to hold me to pee. Over the shame of not being able to flush. I missed the luxury of not having to hold my bladder and the fact that I’d grown accustomed to the luxury of the portable potty. When it was taken away, life felt heavier.
The heart surgery scar cut straight through the middle of my healing design as it became a crispy scar. My fingers caressed both, trying to soothe my racing heartbeat. I hated it when it raced, fearing it would stop any second. Fearing the pain of a heart attack.
