11. Her

11

HER

DAY 2

H e was positioned in that same fucking spot on a wooden chair in the corner of the room. Sinking his teeth into another goddamn apple and watching me. Always watching. Eyeing me like a subject under a microscope or a creature in the zoo. With curiosity and something more. Sometimes rage. Others lust. All while giving me little to nothing when it came to who the fuck he was.

He reminded me of that Ryuk character from Death Note back when I was cutting down on caffeine and anime was my go-to indulgence. It was all I could picture every time he bit into an apple. He liked the red ones, appeared to tolerate green, never chose yellow. It was a fitting comparison, this fucker and the Shinigami, considering he held my life in his hands.

Some sick part of me couldn't help but wonder when my name would be added to that little black book of his…

It was only the second day and I already knew my situation was hopeless. But maybe I could figure out something that could get me out of here. Whether it be by his hands or mine. I wasn't ready to die yet. The will to live still flickered in my chest, forcing my heart to beat and my lungs to expand with each breath I took. It wasn't over. I refused to accept that.

I had thirty minutes to ask him as many questions as I could come up with. But it was like a dance, and he would skirt around the truth in whatever way he could. Not that it mattered. The truth. Just his reaction to it and to me. He wanted something and it was more than seeing me dead.

"How long have you known me?"

He grinned, a minute curl of his lips on the left side. The scar tissue never moved, no matter the expression he made. It was eerie. "It feels like it's been forever." He shrugged, and I huffed.

"That's not a good answer."

"Then ask better questions, pet." The chair scraped across the cement flooring as he scooted back and leaned against the wall, with his arms above his head and his eyes glued to the ceiling like he was soaking up his fill of UV rays on some tropical beach. Instead of sitting in this dank basement beneath the handful of flickering fluorescent bulbs.

"What's the point of agreeing if you weren't planning on participating?"

Another shrug of his shoulders. "Who am I to begrudge someone their need for a ticking clock?"

"A man who rapes women, apparently," I hissed in reply.

"Not women. Woman. One woman in particular." He rocked forward on his seat and planted his feet back on the ground. Then his gaze landed on me like a pair of laser beams that could somehow sear their way through to my soul. "Ticktock, pet. Your time is running out."

"One woman or twenty. Rape is rape, you son of a bitch."

"You can throw that word around as much as you want, darlin'. All you're doing is making my dick harder." He tilted his head as he observed me for a minute, adjusting his cock in his pants before adding, "Look at me." He gestured to his face, along his right arm, down to his scarred hands. "Do you really think I care what kind of monster you see me as? I know who and what I am. Can you say the same? Or do you lie to yourself as much as you lie to me, Emily?"