Too Much To Hide || EDITING

c.44

      At this point, my tongue is a piece of sandpaper scraping against the walls of my mouth. The last time I got water was about seven or eight hours ago—I've completely lost track of time and day now. God knows how long I've been stuck in this rotten concrete box. Being fed is also a concept I can't keep a track of, which is pretty dangerous when considering the fact that I'm trying to feed two. My last meal was a cup of melted yoghurt and a sugar pastry. I'm not going to lie, the pastry tasted amazing. The taste is still on my sandpaper tongue.

      My troublemaker, well, is doing okay. Not a day goes by where that wretched door opens and has me trembling out of my skin. Nathan has popped in a couple of times, every day looking paler and sporting hideous dark circles that give him the perfect serial killer vibe. Once, his smart idea was to kick me in the rib when I was asleep. It was a shock, as if someone stabbed me, but thankfully, I wasn't bleeding. Although, the nasty bruise still stains my light skin in blues and purples, almost going green.

      Toying around with the plastic cup I drank my water out of, I sit cross-legged on the musty concrete. Don't even ask how I'm dealing with my toiletry issues. I found out Nathan isn't acting alone. So far there have been only two mean faces outside that door and they're the ones escorting me to the bathroom, which is actually better left alone. Someone could easily catch an infection just by sitting on the toilet seat. Nonetheless, I have to appease the huge strain on my bladder and go anyway. Much to my displeasure, I've been docked of shower privileges and have been stinking like a manky rag since the day I arrived. Hopefully, troublemaker can't smell anything.

      As for the symptoms that come with pregnancy, my self-control has gone all out. It's all in my head—as soon as the demonic gurgling disturbs me, I squeeze my eyes shut and pray that it goes away without having me vomit all over the floor. With this method, I'm only left with a mild headache which usually goes away after a nap, the only form of safety I feel here. Comparing my situation with what I've read in novels, I'm pretty much living in luxury. Thankfully, my kidnapper hasn't shown acts of major violence but I can only hope that he doesn't start showing any true colours.

      A loud bang snatches me from the safety of my thoughts as Nathan stands in the threshold with bright lights flooding in from behind him. In his hands is a tray with two plates of something steamy—a cooked meal? Suddenly, saliva starts building up in my mouth as the scent of boiled vegetables arouse my senses. Unfortunately, Nathan locks the door before approaching me with a sickly sparkling smile, bending down to place the tray in front of my legs before taking a seat on the floor opposite me. Stunned by his strange gestures, he cocks a head at my bewildered expression.

      "Why so sceptical, hmm? I just thought I'd dine with you tonight."

      So it's night time. God, how long is this going to last?

      "I've never heard of a kidnapper dining with their victim," I scoff, abandoning the cup. My eyes fall on the dishes; I was right. A mound of vegetable fried rice sits on both plates, with a marinated chicken leg sat on the side. Such a perfect meal for such freaky circumstances. I raise an eyebrow at the guy, who still keeps smiling as if nothing's wrong.

      "You've been a good victim. I wanted to treat you to a meal, accompanied by yours truly," his smile falls into a smirk that always twists my insides, and not in the good way.

      "What's the catch?"

      "No catch. I can hear your stomach growling." He points out, his brows shooting up as he gestures to my stomach. A subconscious hand wraps around it; man, I'm glad I haven't been growing in size.

      Oozing with impatience, he rolls his eyes and forms a scowl with his red lips. "Just fucking eat."

      Taken aback by the sudden harsh tone, I collect one plate onto the palm of my hand and inspect it, grabbing a fork and pushing around the grains of rice. Nothing smells or looks funny... a bit more searching and I confirm it's a solid, safe meal. Just to make sure, I send one last pray up before grabbing a forkful and placing it in my mouth, enjoying the rich taste of vegetables and soft spices. At my appetite, Nathan smirks and takes his own portion, tucking in. We both eat—well, I stuff my mouth—in silence before Nathan speaks up after a mouthful.