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I have been stuck here for what seems like two days. There was a chained window which he would usually open every morning, I'm assuming when he comes to check on us. So far, I've seen the sunrise and set twice so far. Whenever I'd deny his orders, his fist and some weapons would attack me if he's feeling creative. 

The last time I spoke words to Lucas was the night before we got kidnapped. I'm sure he must have woken up, but he's been beaten up every time he does. I fell asleep a little earlier and woke up to see his blonde hair drenched with his blood. I could see that he had formed fresh bruises on his face. One of his eyes looked so swollen if he tried to open it he probably wouldn't be able to see much. 

The tan man came back in with a fresh set of clean knives. Yesterday he brought in nails. Yesterday, I was forced to watch him shoot nails into Lucas's legs; I cringed every time and have the urge to throat up thinking about it now. I don't know how much longer I can handle being here, mentally and physically. I feel so powerless and worthless. It hurts just sitting here and watching my boyfriend get hurt. At least I could heal, but he's stuck having to deal with the pain. I wondered if Rebel noticed I was gone and was looking for me. What will happen if this is it for Lucas and me? 

"Why are you only hurting him and not me?" I asked with tears in my eyes.

"Well, because he's special and you're not," he said, playing with his knives.

"What do you mean?" I questioned.

"His family is part of seven special families. They are seven special kinds of families and he's one of them. He can break through anything unless he's damaged." He said. I wanted to tell him I was the special one, but I couldn't. Should I even listen to what Rebel said, Lucas is getting hurt because of me. I have to speak up for him, I can't let him take the abuse for me.

"He's not the special one. I am!" I blurted, my guilt taking over my body. 

"Stop trying to save him," he came up to me, placing his sharp knife on my skin. He's just trying to scare you, Imogen, he wants you scared so you can't run away. He dug his fingers into my scalp, hitting it against the concrete wall. I winced, feeling a migraine about to start. I can't even complain about whatever he's doing because Lucas is receiving ten times worse. 

"Are you hungry?"

I didn't respond, looking down at my tied bloody raw hands.

"Answer me!" He lifted my face forcibly and squeezing the living shit out of my cheeks.

"I don't want anything," I angrily expressed.

"Liar," He chuckled, "I can see you eyeing the bread over there," He bent down, pulling out a key from his pocket. He placed it into the keyhole. The metal chains fell off my hands, and relief settles in. I had chain marks all around my wrist. I tried to rub them but it was painful yet still felt numb. He handed me a bowl with two bread loaves in it, my mouth watering at the sight of it.

I debated if I should even eat the bread at all but how long am I going to be stuck here or maybe I should eat so I can gain strength and maybe find a way to get us out of here. The longer I kept staring at the bread, the more saliva I could feel filling up in my mouth. I grabbed a piece and shoved it in my mouth. The bread was stale, but it satisfied my hunger, which was enough for me. After not eating for a few days, anything would taste like a five-course meal. I picked the other loaf and placed it into my pocket to save for Lucas.  

"Are you going to eat it?" he said. 

"I did," I answered.

"I need to go outside for a while. You're coming with me." He grabbed the metal chains from the floor and locked them back in place on the wrist. My wrist was aching from all the weight of the chains. He helped me stand up, which was tricky since my legs were asleep. He pulled me by the chain leash that he attached to my chain. I feel like a dog being forced to go on a walk that I didn't want to go on.

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