Grievous (Scarlet Scars #2)(58)

Be gone.

Kassian stalls in front of me, and I peek through the darkness as he reaches into the front pocket of his black slacks, pulling something out. A piece of paper, it looks like, crumbled and folded again and again, into a little square.

“I have been carrying this around for some time,” he says, unfolding it. “I told my kitten that I would give this to you, a gift from her, whenever I saw you again.”

He drops the paper, and it floats to the concrete in front of me. I don’t reach for it right away, just staring at where the paper lands, unable to make out any of it in the darkness. My heart races, like the paper is a ticking time bomb, like it has the power to detonate everything inside of me that I’ve somehow kept together even after Kassian tried to break me apart.

“It will not bite,” he says, his hand on my head, petting my hair before I even realize he’s reaching for me. I instinctively recoil, expecting punishment for the snub—a blow to the face, a thump to the cheek, maybe a hand fisting my hair—but he merely pulls away, turning to leave. “I will let that go this time. Be a good girl this afternoon, and I will have a mattress brought down.”

I shake my head, although I know he can’t see it, whispering, “I don’t want it.”

There used to be a bed down here. There used to be a lot. The first time I found myself locked in here, all those years ago, it looked like a shabby studio apartment, dirty and dark, but yet, it had been livable. You see, since Kassian spent so much time down here, he wanted to be comfortable, but I changed that, because the only thing he cherished more than his own comfort was my suffering. He’d gladly do without if it meant I had nothing.

It went from a regular little jail cell to solitary confinement.

Slowly, piece-by-piece, it all went away. The blankets, the extra clothes, the towels, the sheets. He ripped out the plumbing after I flooded his basement, leaving just a toilet that only flushes when water is poured into it. The bath was removed after I threatened to drown myself, replaced with a hose that is now kept under lock-and-key after I blasted him with cold water when he tried to come near me.

The bed, though, was last to go. He clung to that convenience like a dying man to his last breath, but after I stabbed him with a rusty piece of metal I tore from the box-spring, he finally got rid of it.

That’s when the chains appeared.

Act like an animal and I will treat you like one.

I guess getting that tetanus shot was Kassian’s final straw, because after that, it wasn’t a simple game of willpower anymore.

After that, he became cruel.

Not like locking girls in basements was nice in the first place, but a line was drawn that day. I drew blood. He decided it was time he did the same.

Before then, it was mostly mental. He didn’t want to ruin the goods, so he left no permanent traces of himself. That changed with me, though, and sometimes I wonder if I brought that on myself. Would it have been easier to escape him had I not fought so hard?

“You will change your mind,” he says. “The first time I slam your face into the floor, you will be begging me for that mattress, because it will muffle your cries a lot better than the concrete.”

I bite my lip to keep from reacting to that.

As he starts up the stairs to leave, I reach over, carefully running my fingertips along the paper, feeling the waxy substance coating it. Crayon. She drew me a picture. I smile to myself at that thought, but it quickly fades, worried about what she might’ve drawn, if maybe it was monsters.

“I will turn on a light,” Kassian calls back to me, “so you may see your present.”

A bright light flicks on, harsh and blinding, hurting my eyes. I squint, trying to ward it off, and look at the paper as I pick it up.

My stomach clenches, bile burning my throat.

I hear the door open and close, locks clicking into place as he walks out, leaving me simmering under the harsh lights with tears burning my eyes. I try to exhale, but the air is trapped in my chest, pressure building until I feel like I’m going to burst. I can’t seem to take a breath.

It’s a picture she drew of me.

I cover my mouth with my hand, stifling a sob, my other hand shaking the paper as I grip it tightly. After a moment, I clutch it to my chest, hugging it as I pull my legs up. Tears stream down my cheeks, streaking my dirty bare legs as I rest my head on my knees and cry.

And cry.

And cry.

Please let her be okay.



I give myself twenty minutes.

Or well, at least I think I do.

I don’t exactly have a watch here.

It’s hard to judge time in a void, and it’s not as if counting the seconds would make much of a difference, since I’d eventually waver and have to start over.

But it feels like twenty minutes before I swallow back my fears, wiping away my tears as I pull myself together, taking it one shaky breath at a time. Getting to my feet, I pace around, moving as far as the chain will let me go, stretching, trying to keep my strength up despite my soreness... despite my exhaustion... despite my thirst, my hunger, my fear...

You can do this. You can do this. You can do this.

I need a way out. I don’t yet know what that way is, but I’m imagining it’s not going to be easy, because getting out entails somehow getting past Kassian.

He said I wasn’t leaving this basement until I loved him. I made him believe I loved him once. Hell, maybe I actually did. I remember a time when I looked at Kassian like the universe existed beneath his skin, stars twinkling in his eyes, constellations in his soul, air and atmosphere and water forming his strong, masculine body, like without the breath from his lungs, breathing life into us all, the sun would no longer burn. I thought he was the Heavens and the Earth, I thought he was my savior, but he was really just Hell in disguise. They always did say the devil was beautiful.