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“I have. But you’re not getting off so easy,” Jay says. He sets a bottle of water onto the floor, and a few plain pieces of bread beside it. My stomach rumbles audibly at the sight of bread. I haven’t had a thing to eat since he took me, and that’s been a long time. All I’ve had is the occasional bottle of water, and the only thing I’ve had to use as a bathroom has been the drain in the floor. “Sounds like someone’s hungry. You want this bread?”
I don’t answer. I won’t give him the satisfaction of hearing just how hungry I really am.
“You know you do. I can see it in your face. Oh, you’re just aching to put this bread in your mouth, aren’t you?” Jay chuckles darkly, then reaches from his belt. It comes off with the slick sound of gliding leather. “But if you want to eat, you’re going to have to work for it.”
I shake my head.
It’s not enough of a ‘no’ for him. Jay reaches down and grabs one piece of bread and holds it in front of my face. I can smell it. It’s the most bland, store-bought, crappy bread in the world, yet I can smell the baked, floury, mouth-watering deliciousness. And, fight it as I might, I salivate.
“You can’t hide it from me, Emily. You want this. Well, before you can eat, you’re going to have to do something for me. So take off your clothes and get against the wall. I want to see that dirty little bitch I remember fucking.”
“Go to hell,” I whisper.
“What’s that, slut?”
“Go to hell,” I scream with every ounce of strength remaining to me.
Jay laughs and crushes the bread beneath his heel. Silently, I whimper.
“I knew you’d still have a little fight in you. Oh, I love it. It just means we get to have fun a little longer. Isn’t that great, babe?” He laughs and then strikes me with his belt, hard across the face. I whimper, not-so-silently this time. He lowers his face right next to mine. “Keep fighting. I love it. Love to watch you struggle. Eventually, you’re going to break, and I’m going to fucking enjoy it.”
* * * * *
Some time passes.
I drink the water; I piss through the drain; I ignore the bread. I refuse to debase myself like that for Jay. People can live a long time on just water — though I won’t be living much longer, no matter how much water I get.
I have no idea how long I’m kept prisoner, only that Jay visits me twice, and each time he’s wearing different clothes.
Each time, he offers me bread and the same deal, and I turn him down.
Each time, he gloats and tells me that Officer Abrams has been monitoring the situation and no one’s filed a missing person’s report for me.
I’m alone. Unwanted. Unnoticed. And about to be un-alived.
The third time Jay opens the door, he’s carrying the same bread and water as before, but something new this time, too — there’s the handle of a knife poking out of his pocket.
He enters, grinning. “Let’s see how hungry you are this time. One last chance to get a taste of something good before it’s all over.”
“You mean?”
“This is your chance to get a good fuck before you die, Emily.”
“If that’s so, then why are you here?”
He snarls and reaches for his belt. “Maybe I’ll give it to you, anyway. I was trying to be nice, but if you fucking want me to rape you, I’ll fucking rape you.”
As his hands clasp on his belt, I lash out. In the time that I dated Jay, I learned he had a weak point: his dick. It’s not unique to him, but when I strike him there with a desperate kick, he crumples to the urine-covered cement floor.
The moment he drops, I run.
Run through the open door behind him.
I bolt through the open door, my heart pounding so hard I’m afraid it might burst. I find myself in a grimy basement, dimly lit by a single, flickering light bulb. My eyes dart around, landing on a dark set of stairs at the far end. It’s my only option. With a guttural cry, I sprint towards them.
The stairs creak under me as I race up, my hands skimming the rough wooden banister. Each step feels like it might give way beneath me, sending me crashing back down into his waiting arms. The air is thick with mildew and fear as I climb, each breath like shards of glass in my lungs.
At the top of the stairs, I shove open the door and stumble into Jay’s living room. It’s painfully familiar — like stepping into a nightmare that used to be my reality. The worn couch, the dented coffee table, even the faded posters on the wall — they all scream the same thing: Jay had been planning this for a long time.
