It had been a week since I got off my period.
It had been a week since the pain started.
It had been a week since I had said a word to anyone.
It had been a week since a sound came from my throat through the time of my torture.
It had been a week since Sorin came down to see me once, and I never saw him after that.
It had been a week since I had gotten substantial sleep.
"You ready?" the guard asked me, and I didn't respond. I felt the palm of his hand against my now stinging cheek. "Answer me." I gave him a slight nod. "Good girl," he said.
He turned around and picked up a knife. We had done knives before, he wouldn't be getting much of a reaction from me.
"I was thinking, maybe you need something more intense. None of this seems to hurt you, so..." He trailed off as he lifted the knife up straight in front of his face, examining it. Showing me the sharp edge of the blade. Showing me what he was going to use to damage me, physically. I think he knows by now the emotional damage in me is permanent.
He pressed the flat side to my collarbone and I stiffened.
Hot.
He turned the blade 90° so the sharp end was digging into my skin right below my collar bone.
He didn't need to know that the cell was so cold, the heat felt like a holy grail.
He slid the knife down, letting the blood drip down. The warm thick scarlet liquid trailing down my chest was the only warmth I had felt in a week. I wanted more.
"This doesn't seem to be working for you. Let's try something else," he said. His hand cupped my face, his fingers pushing into my cheekbones as my chin rested on his palm. He roughly turned my face to force eye contact. "Maybe just a few punches will leave you sore for a few days," He said to no one.
Technically, he was talking to me, but I had been a brick wall for a week. I didn't respond, even though I listened. He was talking to no one.
His hand left my face, coming down to my throat, constricting my airway, as I struggled to breathe properly.
I could breathe, but it was rough and harsh. I tried slowly down my breaths, trying to maintain a calm composure. The more I get aggravated, the tighter his hold would get.
I loved being right, and as usual, I was.
He let go of me and pushed me onto the cot. His fist landed between my chest and stomach, right in my diaphragm. My body jerked forward in pain as my breathing went absolutely wild.
Tears rimmed my eyes, but they knew better than to fall. No part of Selene would ever fall for men. Tears or heart, I wouldn't fall. I stood still and taller than them all.
He stood me up and I felt a blow to my upper back, and then my jaw, and my nose.
He was basically trying to disable any movement from me for a few days.
I was barely being fed. I had nothing in me to fight him back. I wouldn't fight him back because he couldn't kill me.
"That should be good enough for a few days." He turned around and left my bloodied, bruised, and barely breathing body on the disgusting, cold floor.
Move. I tell myself.
MOVE! GET YOUR ASS UP!
I slowly push myself up off the floor, I almost let out a sob before I choked on it, trying to be quiet in pain, as I sit up.
My breaths are hasty as I sit up for a whole minute.
The faster you move, the better you'll feel. GET UP!
My legs are working fine, but all the bruises on my upper extremities makes me want to sit back down on the floor again.
No! MOVE!
I grab the cell bar to keep myself steady and grab the black dress from the night at the club sitting there. I quickly shook it, getting any dust or bugs out and bunched it up to use as a cushion for my back.
I took a deep breath, and walked over to the cot and laid down. I shoved the dress under the small area between my neck and shoulder and let out a breath of relief at the soft pressure.
Staying in the cell and taking the room both had consequences. One was comfort, but it was also submission to him. It also meant that he could hold it over me.
I gave you the room, I gave you comfort.
It was a tool for blackmail, and I knew better than getting myself into that.
You want the room.
Of course I want the room, who wouldn't? But every last bit of logic inside me said it was a terrible idea.
Logic is my intuition. Logic was what I felt, and anything beyond that would be denied regardless of whether or not I truly felt it.
Decisions based on emotions and wants would be my destruction, but I know that I am one of the most selfish people that ceases to exist.
People who don't feel emotions seem to be so dangerous because their lack of remorse, but people driven by emotion are far more dangerous. They're driven by purpose, passion, priority. They can't be bought, they're stubborn and straight forward.
Couldn't be me.
I do whatever's best, even if that means changing my plan, but I do what I do so well, there's never been a need for a plan B.
To think so highly of myself while I laid on a cot in a cell with a bruised and bloodied body, was the only thing keeping me sane.
I needed purpose, passion, and priority. Even if I had to fake it. There wasn't enough inside me to feel it, but the voice in my head can force myself to believe it. Even if I know it's temporary.
I'm so in love with myself, there's no room for insanity, it's all ego up in here, and I'm okay with that. I don't need to change.
I heard footsteps down the stairs, getting louder as they approached my cell, but my back was to the metal bars separating us.
"Selene." It was Sorin, and he sounded desperate.
The only way to ensure someone continues to act upon their desperation to to continue to make them desperate.
So, I stayed quiet. I didn't move, I didn't speak, I breathed as softly as possible.
I wanted him to beg to hear my voice, to look into my eyes, get my help.
I wanted him to beg out of hopelessness, desperation, insanity.
As if he was on his deathbed, asking for a final wish.
I wanted him to regret everything he had put me through this last week. Regret every word he said and didn't say.
Regret.
I help people for a price, and I would be taking a premium and a down payment this time.
I no longer wanted to kill the man, and get rid of the body. I wanted to torture him, make him feel every bit of pain I felt in the last week, and more.
I wanted to kill.
"Selene, please, I need your help."
...
Nothing. He didn't deserve to hear the sound of my voice. The voice that gave him power. But maybe he did deserve to hear it because when I kill him, he'll remember this voice that gave him power, and he'll regret everything that gave him that power in those last moments. I didn't want to kill him quickly. I wanted him to suffer. I hear my voice and feel the pain and regret and the agony of existence.
"What will it take for you to talk to me?" he asked and I almost laughed at the irony his question.
I wouldn't respond to him, so he would know what it would take for me respond.
"I will end it. I will stop everything I've put you through if you respond to me."
Don't answer him yet.
Don't be desperate.
Don't let him see you desperate.
Remind him he's the desperate one. Or he should be.
"Please," he said quietly. He was clearly in some deep shit. There was no other reason for the desperation.
"One and a half week without me, and you've made a fool of yourself? I can't say I'm surprised." I didn't move to face him as I spoke. I could barely choke out the words. I had to show him I was better. I was resilient.
I was worse.
"Please," the desperation in his voice was like a drug. I wanted more, and I wouldn't stop until one of us was gone. I pure pain and need lured me in. Almost making me agree.
I didn't turn to look at him, because I didn't want to move, I wanted to show him my bruises, I wanted to see his face.
I wanted to see the look of disgust or fear or whatever on his face at what he had done to me. I wanted him to feel terrible. Not only was it good for my ego, but it also handed me a string to his puppet.
I forced myself to turn. I did my best to ignore the pain bursting through my body, but I couldn't ignore the fact that I felt a strong surge of energy and anger through the pain. The ambition and motivation taking physical form in my blood, nerves, and soul.
I sat up at the edge of the cot, staring into his fear stricken face.
"What?" I asked him.
I didn't want to talk to him, but my job was more important than my feelings.
"The Bishop's."
"What about them?" I asked in annoyance.
"They have an event coming up. I want you there, but I also need information on them."
I let out a laugh.
"You want me, the woman you spent the last week abusing-,"
"I did not do it." The most accurate representation of power. He didn't do it, but he had it done. He gave the order. He was just as much as fault if not more.
"They were your orders! Let me finish!" My throat felt dry. I hadn't talked in a week, and I took a deep breath, and looked up at him. "Water."
He turned around and left and was back in less than five minutes.
"Drink," he handed me a tall glass of water and I chugged it down letting out a loud breath as I finished. I could hear my insides crying for more while crying at me to stop. It was too much but too little. Never enough.
"Anyways, as I was saying, you want the woman you had abused and tortured because she didn't want to sleep on a soft mattress with fluffy pillows and hot baths tortured to tell you everything she knows on the Bishops?" I was going to tell him eventually. It was part of the plan, of course. But I wanted to hear him ask me for it.
"What else does it sound like?" Not enough.
"No." Deny it until he's your bitch.
"No?" He looked surprised and then the look dropped from his face as he supported a scowl.
"Did I stutter?" I asked, quirking a brow.
I was doing way to much.
No I wasn't.
"No. I understand, just know that any lack of information, is your fault." Okay.
"I'll accept the blame," I told him.
"Good," he paused, "No. Not good. You do realize, that this is exactly what you want right?"
I was letting my ego get in the way of the final goal.
Killing Sorin.
"Fine, I'll help you, but I also get something for helping you. Last time I attended the ball, this time, I want access to the gym. I know your gym is huge."
"I was expecting something along the lines of 'free from torture' but this works too," he had a smug look on his face.
"Basic human decency is the prerequisite to my alliance, Mr. Giovanni. I am not a unit. I am the entire fucking curriculum."