Page 113 of Fated to Them

“Y… yes, that sounds nice,” I tell him.

My entire body is trembling in fear. My brain is questioning everything I thought I knew about this man.

“That’s my girl,” he says, gripping my face and making me look at him.

He kisses me, forcing his tongue between my lips, and I fight the urge to bite his tongue off as it invades my mouth. My tongue is immobile while he assaults my mouth. He moans, completely oblivious to me not reacting to him. Either that, or he doesn’t care. When he is done, he climbs off me before walking to the door. He pulls a chain necklace off and over his head before unlocking the door with the key attached to it.

“Come, Ada. I went to the city last night. I got coffee and those chocolate wafer things you like,” he says, like he’s not just assaulted me.

I hesitantly get up, following him out of the room, looking for anything that might aid in my escape. The place is pretty bare. It has a TV and heaps of pictures on the walls, but nothing I can use as a weapon. I follow him to the kitchen, and he pulls a chair out for me. I sit in it, looking around the small kitchenette.

He starts rummaging in the fridge and pantry.

“Want some help?” I ask, deciding that maybe playing along would be my best chance of getting out of here. He is unhinged, completely insane. I just can’t understand how I haven’t realized it before.

“No, I want to make you breakfast. I want to do everything for you, Ada. Just you wait. I have so many plans for us,” he says, busying himself with cooking.

“I am just going to use the bathroom really quickly,” I tell him, and he nods.

I get up, walking to the bathroom. I walk in and am about to close the door when I realize there isn’t one.

I could have sworn there was a door last night.

Looking at the frame, I notice hinge marks and realize he must have removed it while I was asleep.

Looking over my shoulder, I quickly pee before getting up and washing my hands. I notice there are no windows in here either, but it has an exhaust fan. I look through the drawers under the sink, trying to find anything to help me. Turning around, I see Sam standing next to the door, making me jump.

“What are you looking for?”

I wrack my brain, trying to come up with an excuse, an answer to give him.

“Panadol. I have cramps,” I tell him.

He watches me for a second before nodding. “I have some in the kitchen,” he says, and I nod, walking toward him.

He puts his arm on the door, stopping me from leaving. He reaches into his pocket, pulling a vial of that disgusting liquid out again.

“Your medicine,” he says, holding it out to me.

“I don’t need it. You gave me some yesterday,” I tell him, about to walk past, but he grips my arm.

“You need to drink it daily. We don’t want any unexpected visitors, do we?” he says, looking down at me, his grip bruising my arm.

“You will drink it, Ada. It’s the only way for us to be together,” he says, and I take it from him.

“It’s gross. Can I get some juice or something with it?” I ask, hoping I will have a chance to tip it out somewhere.

“Of course,” he says, letting me go and moving his arm off the frame.

I walk toward the kitchen, his hand on my lower back. He grabs a bottle of juice and pours me a glass. He hands it to me, standing directly in front of me.

“Thanks,” I tell him, turning around and walking into the living room.

“Drink your juice first and medicine,” he says, and I stop, looking back at him.

He has his hand on the counter with a knife in his grip.

I gulp before forcing myself to smile through my fear. He waits, and I pull the little cork out with my teeth before bringing the vial to my lips. I down it like a shot before gulping the juice to get rid of the taste.