The RunAway Model

XXIV. Tattoos on the Wall

Her breath was snatched out of her lungs when he swiftly pushed her inside. He left the door open and she wanted it to stay that way so she stayed quiet as her eyes adjusted to darkness. Vernier flicked on the switch and the room was suddenly filled with light.

There was an empty chair with straps on both arms sitting in the middle of the room. Her heart rammed harder against her chest and she forced herself to look away. Only the sight that greeted her was worse than what she tried to escape from. Before her was a white wall lined with black frames of the same size from wall to ceiling. "You are looking at my life's work, my dear," Vernier's cold voice said behind her. Desiree's knees weakened when she realized what she was looking at. "Years and years of searching, making transactions and hearing women scream...Aren't they beautiful? The art of it is amazing, isn't it?"

She wanted to throw up but it seemed that whatever contents she had inside her were frozen cold in horror. There was no denying why Vernier wanted her here now. She had something that he could add to his collection. Despite the disgusting display before her, she couldn't help but stare at the different designs of tattoos on the wall—dragons, birds, words, names and every other imaginable ones. The skins were well-preserved that they looked like framed canvases.

She had forgotten how to breathe for a few seconds as she continued to stare and imagine her own butterfly tattoo in one of the frames.

Vernier's fingers played with her short hair, tucking some behind her left ear as he said, "If you promise to be a good girl, I won't have to kill you."

Biting her tongue to stay quiet, Desiree stood very still, staring at the wall of tattoos but not really seeing. Her senses were too focused on Vernier's fingers dangerously traveling across her shoulder blades, teasing the hem of her dress.

"In fact, some of them discovered something amazing in my process. Do you want to know?"

An angry whimper escaped her throat but she did not open her mouth.

His whisper was too close to her ear. "They discovered they enjoyed it. They liked the pain when I skinned them with my expert fingers."

"I will never—"

"Wrong answer," his voice uttered coldly and before she knew it, he was dragging her to the chair. "Don't fight the inevitable, Desiree. Theo is not coming. He's waiting to pick you up, isn't he? Don't disappoint him by fighting me. If you just stay still," he pushed her to the chair, using his body to weigh her down and started strapping her right wrist, "you will only get away five inches skin shorter."

She tried her best to shove him away with her free hand. He had pinned her legs in between his. She had underestimated the man. He was stronger than she had thought.

When her wrists were both finally strapped to the arms of the chair, the reality of the situation became clear. She could not get away from here even if she could fight. But she tried anyway. She shouted for help and kicked Vernier when he stepped away from her. He only chuckled, saying there was no one else in the house to help her.

He was strapping her left leg to the foot of the chair now and she tried to reach him with her right but failed. What she got from all her struggle was mockery.

She was frozen with fear when he finally stood before her with his hands on his hips. He looked like someone looking at a mound of clay he was about to sculp. The evil spark of excitement in his eyes was very clear as Desiree stared at him in anticipation. His eyes traveled down toward her thighs with hunger that she almost felt his gaze sweeping down her body. She squirmed in her seat. She was trapped.

Desiree discovered that things would get even worse when Vernier took the remaining steps forward and bent to his knees to crouch before her. His hands planted themselves on her knees and moved higher, taking the fabric of her dress with them.