Corrupt Kingdom

I have to stop myself from eating more. If I touch or take too much food, he will know, so I don’t. Just that one bite and then I grab a bottle of water and head back to my room.

Cyrus will have to show up.

If he appears, I’ll have a chance at convincing him to let me go.

Later that night, and after just enough food to let the pain go away, I fall asleep with a smile on my face. This plan will work. It has to.

The next morning comes, and not eating is harder than I thought, especially when I’m sitting there watching the dog eat.

Apparently, he has an automatic feeder. Must be nice.

Storming out of the room, I decide to search the estate to see if I’m alone. After going over every square inch again, I can’t find the lady from yesterday.

Good thing? Or bad thing?

As much as I hated that she couldn’t talk to me, it was nice to have someone else around, even if she didn’t exactly come across as friendly. The only thing I can hope at this point is that she goes back to Cyrus and tells him how I’m faring or, better yet, how I’m starving.

A laugh bubbles up at the thought of the arrogant bastard finding out his captive is being defiant.

With no more rooms to search, I head back into the kitchen, take a seat at the table, and then I stare at the fridge.

My stomach growls loudly in protest.

It’s loud enough to have the dog stop eating and look up at me. He cocks his head at the second growl that leaves my body.

“I know,” I say to him.

This will be torture.

I can’t survive on water and the small bites I took last night. Maybe I can take more without showing anyone I’m eating from the containers.

When another loud sound emanates from my stomach, Cerberus stands from where he is eating and drops something at my feet.

Kibble. He’s trying to feed me.

“As much as I would love to eat this, I think it will kill me.” Standing, I head to the fridge, opening it and popping the lids of the food that is there.

I take a bite from each one, but still a small enough amount that no one would notice it’s gone.

It’s enough to keep me alive, but my brain is fuzzy, and I feel weak.

* * *

It’s getting harder and harder to pick food out of the containers without it being obvious. But the only hope I have of this plan working is being able to sell my hunger as real.

Today, I hear the door, but I’m too weak to approach her in the foyer. Instead, I wait for her in the kitchen, sitting in the same spot that I sat the last time I saw her.

When she walks in, I notice that once again she has groceries. She sets about with the same routine as last time. Putting a few bags down on the counter that she will eventually unpack in the pantry and then walking to the fridge. When she opens the door, she stops.

The food in the bag in her hand hits the floor.

I don’t need to see what she’s doing to know. She’s opening each one, making sure I’m telling the truth. The evidence is there. All the containers of food she cooked are still full. Or so it would appear.

If I wasn’t so weak, I’d smile at my victory. Too bad, I am.

The sound of the fridge slamming has me looking at her. She turns to me and begins to speak in quick succession.

“No. Call him. I will not eat. Not until he comes here.” I know she can’t understand what I’m saying, but I hope she understands my hand gestures. I lift my hand to my mouth, pretending to eat, then I shake my head and gesture to the phone. Her eyes are wide, and she looks scared.

A part of me feels bad. The scars on her body twist at my heart, but I can’t back down now.

I’m a fighter, and I’ll fight with whatever I have to.

Once I’m sure she understands the message, I stand and leave her once again. Staring at my back.

Let’s hope this works.

10

Cyrus

Work has been keeping me busy for the past few days, and I haven’t been able to check on my prisoner.

I always knew I was a monster but leaving Ivy alone on the island just confirms it.

You’re as bad as him.

No. I’m not the same. I don’t take something not clearly offered.

I did what I had to do to protect her. Taking her was the only way to keep her safe.

But why do I even fucking care? The answer screams at me in my head, behind distant and buried memories, but I refuse to let it resurface. I push the thought out of my mind. I can’t think about that now. I have other, more pressing matters.