HOW TO RUIN YOUR LIFE (LGBTQ+)

17

Cleo stared at me as I walked down the flight of stairs, holding a plastic tray of assorted fruits and cooked grains.

    She didn't say a word as I put the tray down in front of her, holding out the lamp. She didn't touch the food either. I squinted my eyes down at her, and got into a crouched position. She didn't look so good.

    The bruises were swollen and blue, and her face was pale. There was a thin sheen of sweat on her brow, and I reached out a hand, ignoring her flinch as my fingers touched her skin. She was hot to the touch. I glanced to the side, at her water container.

    Still full.

    "Goddamnit," I muttered, collapsing onto my ass, dropping my chin onto my hand as I inspected her.

    Her breathing was shallow as she lifted her eyes up to my face. "Why don't you ever bring me meat to eat? That's why I'm sick, because I'm starving to death from all the vegetables!"

    I chuckled, glancing at the tray, then back to her. "Wrong. I don't know why you're sick." I blinked, then glanced around the basement, aware of the cold, damp environment and the fact that Cleo was a small, skinny child. "Never mind, I get it. I'm not used to having kids around."

    Cleo coughed, her chest reverberating with the sound. "Cuz you're mean. You hit me."

    I nodded. "Yeah, I guess I am mean. But, I can't let you get more sick."

    Kill her.

    She's gonna die anyway.

    Her father doesn't care about her.

    Just kill her.

    I clenched my jaw, reaching a hand up to wipe my nose with my arm. Cleo watched me in silence as I thought. I ignored the voice, and drowned it out with my own voice. Although, I could still hear it prattling on in the background, as if behind a thin wall in a house. Muffled, but noticeable.

    What should I do? If I left her down here in the state she was in, she'd most likely get more sick. The adults I'd had sometimes had gotten colds, but I'd had Cleo in the basement for weeks now. The others were only in my supervision for a week or two, max, before their people coughed up the money.

    "This basement is so goddamn useless," I muttered aloud, then reached for the manacles binding Cleo's wrists and ankles, undoing them carefully, and then I gingerly picked her up in my arms, ignoring the face of shock she was making.

    "What - where are we going?" she asked.

    I ignored her and started walking toward the stairs, carrying her bridal style. She weighed nothing, light enough to definitely be underweight.

    "Hey! I asked you...a question!" she said again, glaring at me despite her high fever.

    Heat was radiating from her body in waves, as if she was a heater herself. I glanced at her face, then covered her eyes with one hand as I brought her into the main part of the house. I walked with her up the stairs into the guest room where I'd fucked Izzy, putting her down on the bed and locking her to the bedpost with a pair of soft handcuffs. I turned and opened the window, which only showed unrecognizable fields of grass and grain and shining light from the sun.

Good. She probably won't recognize the terrain.

Cleo stared at me from the bed, and I switched the overhead light off.

    "Go to sleep," I said. "If you make any noise up here, I'll duct tape your mouth."

    "Is this my room now?" she asked suspiciously.

    "No, it's temporary," I said. "After you're better, you're going back down to the basement." Then I closed the door behind me, locking it.

    This is fine.

    It's fine.