my prison then unlocked the door and stepped into the room. I didn’t bother to open my good eye as I rested my head against the wall and felt the darkness creeping under my skin as keenly as the cold.
“Now, now, pretty eyes, I’m getting tired of this no reaction bullshit. I dressed up real perdy for you today. Have a look.”
I looked up just to make him shut up. Not that he ever did for long.
He was wearing jeans and an open checked shirt, his abs on display and a sledgehammer slung over his shoulder. I gave him a dry expression as he did a twirl for me, swinging the hammer through the air. Maybe I should have been afraid of that thing, but all I felt was numb. I was tired of the games, tired of the dark. He’d started leaving me here without the light on and days would slip by where I was caged in my own mind, facing all my poor life choices, unable to do anything but pick them apart piece by piece and accept the torture of my countless failures. That was far worse than anything this asshole could do to me.
“Come on, sugar, gimme a scream. Try to run. Do something. You’re not makin’ this fun for me anymore. And if I get bored, you know what that means.” He wrapped a pretend rope around his throat and made a noose out of it, sticking his tongue out and rolling his eyes back into his head.
“You know what to do then,” I said flatly. “Make it slow or fast, or whatever the fuck you like, I don’t really give a shit, Shawn.”
He went quiet for a moment which was saying something for him then he leaned down, holding out a cigarette and pushing it between my lips. “Have a smoke with me, pretty eyes.” He lit up the end and holy mother of a fuck, I wasn’t strong enough to resist the taste of the tobacco on my lips. I inhaled deeply, dragging in the sweet toxicity and letting it rush down into my lungs, a buzz quickly chasing it. It woke me up, pulling me out of the black depths I’d descended to within my own mind and reminding me of all the rare delights in the world which I’d never had enough off.
“Death tastes good, doesn’t it?” he said, pulling the wooden chair over and sitting down in front of me, his head haloed by the lightbulb hanging from the ceiling and throwing his features into darkness.
He puffed on his own cigarette as he laid the sledgehammer across his knees, his blue eyes turning red under the glow of the cherry. He looked like the demon he was for a moment, all shadow and fire.
My gaze moved to the gun at his hip and his eyes followed as he laughed low in his throat. “Now that’s more like it, pretty eyes, I awoke a little fight in ya. Try and take my gun, go on, I dare you.”
My fingers itched as no fear awakened in me. I was an animal at the hands of a butcher, already long dead. This skin didn’t feel. So fuck it.
I lunged for his weapon and his other hand came up fast, a knife in it which slashed across my bare chest in a furious swipe that made me curse and lose my chance as he drew the gun and pressed it to my forehead.
“Sit back and smoke your cigarette, boy,” he warned, his finger tight around the trigger as blood ran down to my stomach and soaked into the dirty grey sweatpants I wore. The wound wasn’t too deep, but it stung like a motherfucker.
I wasn’t afraid to die, but I sure as shit would prefer to take him out before I went. So I didn’t see the point in goading him into pulling that trigger today.
“So how are you, pal?” he asked casually as I sat back and took another toke on my cigarette, savouring every toxin that rolled over my tongue and ran deep down into the depths of my unfeeling body.
“I’m not your pal,” I growled as I released the smoke between my teeth.
“Don’t be like that,” he said with a taunting smile that made hatred rise in my blood. “You and me have a bond now, see? All this torturing’s gotta count for somethin’.”
I took another drag, shutting my eyes and remembering all the times I’d sat on Sunset Beach