71. Emily

71

EMILY

I 'd lost count of the days, the hours both rushing by and dragging on. Something that seemed to go hand in hand with having nothing to look at but four walls, a concrete floor, and one watchful eye.

I passed the time searching for patterns in the cracks in the ceiling, staring at the overhead lighting until one of us was forced to look away— no surprise it was always me. When it came to Cohen, it was usually me too. His glare even more penetrating than the searing light.

Like how he was using it on me right now, somehow stripping away every layer and seeing through me. As he took a step forward. Then two. Until he was standing in front of me. Not even a breath between us when he grunted the first words he'd spoken to me all morning.

"Blood or piss. Dealer's choice, pet." He slammed the tiny plastic cup on the table to my left, before presenting me with the needle and test tube he had wrapped up in one gloved palm.

When I peered back up at him, he was grinning. A light-blue surgical mask cupped over his ears and one eyebrow lifted in challenge. I noticed he was doing that more frequently now. Covering his face. I glanced around the room, my gaze sweeping across the cobwebs and insect corpses piled up in the corners before landing back on Cohen again. I also knew the mask had nothing to do with the sick fucker wanting to keep a sterile environment.

No, it was his little insecurity peeking out. The fact he honestly thought I'd rejected him because of the way he looked. Instead of the horrendous things he'd been doing. Truth was, the scars didn't bother me. Neither did the eye socket he refused to hide. Which was just another contradiction that made him the level of crazy that he was.

Must have been hard for an egotist to lose the thing that made him so egotistical in the first place. Or so I could only assume. It wasn't like he'd ever tell me.

I snatched the plastic cup off the table without another word and stalked over to the little metal bucket in the corner. The one I was forced to use when Cohen wasn't around or willing to escort me to an actual bathroom. I'd gotten over the whole invasion of privacy thing real quick. I didn't see the point in stressing over the fucker's literal take on an open-door policy.

If watching me… do everything disgusted the man, he sure as hell didn't make mention of it. No matter how much that might have worked in my favor.

I hovered over my makeshift toilet, my thigh muscles used to the strain this position put on my lower back, and tried to think about waterfalls and sprinklers as I coaxed my bladder to empty. I wasn't a shy pisser or anything. I was just dehydrated. Seeing as the man in front of me controlled everything that went into and came out of my body. Though some part of me had to admit he was much better at it than I was when I was living on my own.

The thought gave me pause. Was this living?

There was oxygen in my lungs. Blood coursing through my veins and a heart pumping in my chest. But it still felt more like existing than anything else. Which honestly wasn't all that different from what I was doing before, I guess.

When the cup was finally full enough to call it a sample, the color a few shades darker than I knew it should be, I pushed up off the wall. Finding my balance before closing the distance between myself and the good doctor.

Cohen eyed my every movement as he reached out a hand from his crossed arms. His posture stiff as I shuffled forward a step to meet him halfway. Until some deranged voice in my ear had me falling short. I tilted my head to the side and watched the dark-yellow contents flip over and splash across his boots.

I couldn't tell you why I did it. Maybe that little devil resting on my shoulder got the best of me. Maybe I was bored. Or maybe defiance was just my second nature. Either way, the look on his face as he tugged off his surgical mask and tossed it aside and the quickness of his steps as he backed me into the closest wall told me I'd fucked up big time.

His hand speared out and pressed against my jugular, his knee digging into a pressure point in my thigh as his other fist white-knuckled the small knife he always kept on his person. He touched the tip under my left eye, just enough to sting as he brushed his lips over the shell of my ear.

"I should cut it out, you know. Give us a matching set. What a pretty pair we'd make, don't you think, Emily?"

I tried to swallow past his grip on my throat, tried to form words, and quickly realized he had no intention of letting me speak. All I could do was suck in whatever air I could force through my nostrils, squeezing my eyes shut as Cohen pressed an open-mouthed kiss on my lips before dragging his tongue over my face. From chin to temple. Then temple to chin again.

"Blood it is," he whispered against my cheek, seconds before he replaced his breath with the blade as he sliced into my skin with a quick flick of his wrist.