“Look at me!” A hand in my hair jerks me back into the present, and it takes everything not to bite down on the intrusion that is restricting my airway.
I look up, meeting Stephan’s eyes. He likes to watch my eyes water as he chokes me. He wants to push me to the point of death in this moment.
I struggle to breathe through my nose as he sits at the very back of my throat. When I think I might pass out, hot liquid jets into my mouth.
I wait for his command. “Swallow it. All of it.”
I do as told as my mind screams to rebel. To kill him.
I am not weak by nature, but by choice. I have stayed obedient for the sake of my sister. To ensure her safety.
***
The next few hours pass in a lull of pain. Stephan and Bryton take their turns defiling my outward shell while I internally dream of my childhood, a better place, my beautiful sister’s long blond hair. The way the grass smelled after days of rain.
I haven’t been outside in years.
Occasionally, the men will get angry at my lack of response and begin to beat on my skin, leaving bruises in their wake, but I pay it no mind.
Screaming is a luxury I do not allow myself. Instead, I warp the pain into something else. I make myself believe this is all my choice. That I am enjoying being used. I dream of different men.
Niko and Viktor would be my choice.
If I had one.
The stormy and charcoal eyes, soft with care. Their touches heated with passion. I’m inside my mind so long that I do not even notice my captors are finishing up until light shines through my eyelids.
The Masquerade is back on. Everyone in this country is forced to watch it as each game progresses. I can’t catch what is happening, but I keep my focus on it as Stephan removes himself from my body.
“Clean her up.” Stephan barks out the order as he leaves.
Is it odd I don’t ever notice their characteristics? I couldn’t tell you what hair or eye color either of the men I live with have. They are simply my captors. They are evil incarnate.
Bryton waits until Stephan is gone before undoing my collar. I keep my attention firmly on the TV screen. There’s a new game playing out.
In these moments after the abuse, Bryton tries to pretend I am something more than an empty vessel. He wants comfort, love, affection. He does not understand that people are not all the same. Some may succumb to Stockholm syndrome. Some may enjoy this abuse, but I am not some.
I am angry. I am plotting. And I am waiting until the time is right. Waiting to hear anything about my sister.
This will not be where I die.
Bryton cups my cheek softly before he places his lips against mine.
Disgust steals through my walls.
“One day, you will understand that I can make your life better. You just have to give me what I want.” Bryton’s words are the same as they always are.
I ignore them.
Predictably, it angers him. He throws two bottles of water at my naked form. “Fine then. Clean yourself the fuck up. But don’t get comfortable. I’ll be back soon.”
The TV is just background noise as this year’s Masquerade plays out. I ignore it as best I can and do my best to wash away the remnants of Stephan and Bryton until a guttural man’s voice comes through the speakers. I can tell it’s been purposefully changed, but his words are not altered.
That’s new. Usually we cannot hear the players, their identities remaining a complete mystery until their deaths.
“Kat, you wouldn’t want to do that; you are our kitty. Play nice, and we will be kind.” My eyes whip to the screen. The man speaking is playing one of the murder games. They are on a checkerboard-like set up, and he appears to be stuck in a square.
The camera point changes to a girl.
