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Fuck the heart that he adored.
I didn’t want it beating anymore. I looked down at the breakfast tray, praying for a knife, blunt or sharp, anything with a jagged edge that could end my misery.
No knife.
I heard the windy sneer come from his nostrils, but it wasn’t until that voice talked again that my ears prickled. “Do you really think I’d give you a knife? While you’re not strong enough to fight the urge to use it. I have no intention of giving you an easy way out. You’ll live with the guilt. I fucking have to.”
I already lived with enough guilt. Something I had kept private in all our chats, and boy, was I glad I had.
“This is your life, Feebee, stolen like Chandelle’s. Get used to it.” And with that, he left me, the sound of the slamming door haunting the room.
Anger swirled in my stomach, that and the emotional pain mixing into a potion of hate for him. He had brought me here, drugged me, and could have fucking killed me with whatever he had injected me with. He had forced sexual situations on me. Broke my fucking heart.
I hated him.
I hated him so fucking much.
And I was sure I would have been fucking dandy and able to survive, if any of that were true.
Chapter 10
Feebee
Ididn’t sleep.
Fear held my eyes wide open, fear over what might come next. I stared at the freezing pancakes and the walls—the gray stone and badly drawn pictures. Now, I hated the green and orange notes so much more than the dull canvas they covered. I hated the lies they told of a man with good intentions. A man who had grown to care for me. Such a fucking lie.
One I had too easily believed.
I hated the sweet aroma of cold syrup, making my situation feel all the more sour.
I rolled onto my back, the plain ceiling staring down at me, weighing down on me, making it harder to breathe. I didn’t close my eyes, tears rolling out on their own accord. I stayed awake for hours...days...I thought of all the ways I could kill Mercer if I got close enough and all the ways I could end my own life, because even if I could kill him, I wouldn’t.
At some point, exhaustion beat fear and granted me a reprieve, sending me into a sleep where no nightmares interrupted.
But that came to an abrupt end.
Water beat down on my face, sneaking into my nose and trying to drown me. This wasn’t one of the ways I had planned to end my life. It wasn’t the crippling pain of starvation. It wasn’t the tight grip of stress around my throat.
But a tight grip held me.
Fingers squeezed my cheeks, pulling me forward and angling my face, preventing the flooding of my lungs.
I coughed, water spluttering from my mouth.
I blinked my eyes open, the hot water clouding my vision.
A heavy slap hit between my shoulders, and I coughed again.
I felt around, trying to find Mercer and his heavy hand that I didn’t want to put bruises on me.
I couldn’t see him.
I couldn’t see anything with the water still burning my tired eyes.
The lights were out in this bathroom. A dim glow crept in through an open door, but it wasn’t generous with what it delivered.
I finally found wet clothes surrounding me, tailored pants and a shirt, different than the ones I had seen him in last, hinting this was a new day…or night, judging by the dark sky meeting the frosted-glass window.
