Merciless (Merciless 1)

There’s no tray tonight. No offering for her.

It’s easy to see her breathing pick up as she registers I’m here for something else.

I intentionally let the chair drag along the floor as I make my way to her.

“I don’t have anything to say,” she tells me as I sit down only a few feet away from her. Far enough so that she can crawl to me and kneel. The crawling part I’m not interested in. She decided to do that on her own, but I don’t care how I get her on her knees in front of me. So long as she submits.

“That’s interesting that you would start the conversation then, isn’t it?” She doesn’t respond. Her collarbone looks more prominent today than it ever has. I couldn’t see it on the monitors, but three days of barely eating is starting to show and I don’t like it. Starved is not how I want her.

I should feel remorse, not anger at the observation.

“Why make it harder on yourself?” I question her with a deep tone of disapproval.

And once again, she doesn’t answer.

“You’ll cave again. You can’t help yourself. You realize that, don’t you?” She’s a smart girl. Anyone with any bit of intelligence knows that starvation is painful, and the instinct to survive will kick in over pride.

“Just let me go,” she says weakly, brushing under her eyes and hiding the tears. So close to breaking. So, fucking close.

“I’m getting tired of hearing you make that request.”

“Then both of us are tired,” she says softly, picking at her dirty clothes. I would give her everything if only she’d obey me.

“You wanted me,” I remind her, and she huffs a pathetic sound of disgust.

Her eyes narrow as she looks me in the eyes and tells me, ”You aren’t what I want.”

“What did you want then?” I ask her, leaning forward in my seat so quickly that I startle her. I’m only inches away and so close I can feel the heat from her body. She turns away from me, looking toward nothingness on the blank wall.

“Answer me,” I say and there’s little patience in my voice. My body tenses as I move forward in my seat so I’m as close to her as I can be. I don’t like what she does to me, but even more, I don’t like that I don’t know what to do with her. I don’t want her like this. I need her to break now, her mind before her body.

She looks at me with a stare of contempt before barely speaking the words, “I don’t know what I wanted.”

“You wanted me to fuck you,” I tell her in a voice intended to be seductive. I practically whisper. “I’d feed you, care for you, fuck you and put you to bed used and sated.” She’s silent as I move back to a relaxed position in the uncomfortable chair. “That’s what you wanted.”

“I just wanted my fucking notebook back!” she screams at me with a bite of anger I know must’ve hurt. Swallowing thickly, she looks away from me as her eyes turn glossy.

My heart pounds hard, just once, then stops for a moment as she wipes her eyes.

“You want a notebook?” I ask her, although I don’t know what the fuck she’s talking about.

Her chest rises and falls steadily as she looks at me. Each breath deepening the dip in her collarbone. “Tell me,” I command her.

“My drawing pad,” she murmurs softly, anger and contempt forgotten. “That’s what led me to the bar where those assholes got me,” she whispers with defeat. “I just wanted my drawing pad back.”

“A specific one?” I ask as my brow raises slightly. It’s not going to happen. I can get her a new one, but I’m not risking what’s already been set in motion to find something she’s left behind.

“Yes,” she whispers and parts her lips to tell me something else, but I can’t and won’t hunt down any of her possessions.

“It’s gone,” I say flatly, cutting off her words.

I watch as she swallows and note the way the sadness returns to her eyes. “Any would do.” Her eyes search my face warily as she sits back against the bed, making it dip with her weight. She’s frail with a look of submission brimming close to the surface.

“A drawing pad. What else do you want?” My fingers itch to trace along her jaw and force her to look at me. To force her to make this easier on herself and both of us.

She peeks up at me through only slits, her dark lashes barely letting me see any of her eyes. But in the small bit she offers me, I see nothing but rage.

“You have something to say?”

“Fuck you,” she spits.

I’ve never felt the urge to kiss her until now. In filthy clothes and all. It’s quiet between us as I imagine gripping the nape of her neck and taking her lips with mine. She’d bite me. I know she would because she thinks she should, and that only makes me harder.