darkness found me.
Now I figured the guy from the club had slipped me a drug. I was too stupid to trash my drink.
Stupidity caused by drunkenness. And what a price to pay.
Christ . I'd rather be dead than suffer this insanity.
In a frenzy of motion, I tossed pillows and threw sofa cushions in my quest to find a suitable lock pick. I crazily lifted and peered behind paintings.
Come on. Come on. Gotta be something here.
Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Discouragement reared its ugly, disappointing head.
" Fuck ." I slammed the cushions on the sofa, hurled pillows to their proper spot. A few tumbled here and there.
"God dammit.” My lungs burned for air. “Let me out of this fucking room you crazy-ass mother fuckers !" I circled the room, threw myself at the door and beat it with my fists.
Door frame shimmied.
"Open this fucking door!" Those fuckers wouldn't hear the end of me. I'd already lost my mind and had nothing else to lose. I'd torture them with endless screaming. I'd whine, beg, plead— until they listened.
If they'd ever listen.
I pounded that goddamn door till my hands throbbed and bruised. My voice got hoarse, throat scratchy. I doubled over, choked in a fit of coughing.
Sons of bitches . I hacked, hacked and hacked.
Click . The door swung inward and almost banged into me. Shit!
A tall freak loomed near. Black pointy boots peeked beneath his robe.
"Are you finished with your little tantrum?" he flatly asked.
I clutched my throat.
"Take this." He handed me a glass. I grabbed it and drank the soothing water.
"Thanks." Asshole .
He took the empty glass. "Is there anything else you need? Are you hungry?"
"I have no appetite whatsoever."
"Very well." He started to leave. Without thinking I touched his shoulder.
He froze. Chills shot up my spine.
"Please let me go. You can't get away with this," I said.
"Oh? Is that so?"
Weakly I nodded.
"You're wrong. The Bouvier Secret Society will get away with it, because we've gotten away with it for the past one hundred years. Will that be all?"
"No. I mean—how do you know I'm a virgin? What if I'm not? What then?"
He sighed. "You are a virgin. Society ones are blessed with the ability to detect virgin blood. It's as simple as that. Nice try." He stepped out.
Click .
My hope for freedom went with him, so I fell to my knees and puked.
* * * *
W hat day is it? And why should I even care?
Time crawled by like worms traveling on a stormy night. Like maggots through shit.
One of the freaks had cleaned the room and I could see my reflection in the marble. Such a beautiful prison with its blood-colored walls and decor.
Like—a beautiful poisonous flower. Finally a lovely analogy.
A garden tub completed the en-suite bathroom. A room without the luxury of a door. Just a frame stood there.
Freakish. So fucking—freakish.
Since they were perverts, maybe they wanted to watch their women use the facilities? I cringed while lounging on the bed.
Always I tried not to think of the worst, just survive. Just get by.
Every delivered meal gave a hint of time and I figured three days had passed.
Freaks took care of anything I needed, even clothes. Sometimes I pretended to be a guest at a fancy hotel. Easier that way.
I stayed busy, cleaned the room when it didn't need cleaned; bathed when I didn't need to.
Fears waned as loneliness set in.
One morning a freak rushed into my suite armed with a needle syringe. He wore dark slacks and a snug T-shirt as opposed to the obligatory robe.
I hated needles and e specially hated not knowing what substance filled this one.
"Get up." He flicked the reservoir.
Anger flashed in his beautiful-but-deadly eyes when I didn't budge.
" I said get up ."
I raised and took a step forward.
"Closer," he said. "Either you come to me or I'll come to you. Your choice." He lifted the syringe, long needle glistening.
"At least tell me what's in that thing," I demanded.
"A contraceptive." His lips curled to a smirk, eyes
Now I figured the guy from the club had slipped me a drug. I was too stupid to trash my drink.
Stupidity caused by drunkenness. And what a price to pay.
Christ . I'd rather be dead than suffer this insanity.
In a frenzy of motion, I tossed pillows and threw sofa cushions in my quest to find a suitable lock pick. I crazily lifted and peered behind paintings.
Come on. Come on. Gotta be something here.
Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Discouragement reared its ugly, disappointing head.
" Fuck ." I slammed the cushions on the sofa, hurled pillows to their proper spot. A few tumbled here and there.
"God dammit.” My lungs burned for air. “Let me out of this fucking room you crazy-ass mother fuckers !" I circled the room, threw myself at the door and beat it with my fists.
Door frame shimmied.
"Open this fucking door!" Those fuckers wouldn't hear the end of me. I'd already lost my mind and had nothing else to lose. I'd torture them with endless screaming. I'd whine, beg, plead— until they listened.
If they'd ever listen.
I pounded that goddamn door till my hands throbbed and bruised. My voice got hoarse, throat scratchy. I doubled over, choked in a fit of coughing.
Sons of bitches . I hacked, hacked and hacked.
Click . The door swung inward and almost banged into me. Shit!
A tall freak loomed near. Black pointy boots peeked beneath his robe.
"Are you finished with your little tantrum?" he flatly asked.
I clutched my throat.
"Take this." He handed me a glass. I grabbed it and drank the soothing water.
"Thanks." Asshole .
He took the empty glass. "Is there anything else you need? Are you hungry?"
"I have no appetite whatsoever."
"Very well." He started to leave. Without thinking I touched his shoulder.
He froze. Chills shot up my spine.
"Please let me go. You can't get away with this," I said.
"Oh? Is that so?"
Weakly I nodded.
"You're wrong. The Bouvier Secret Society will get away with it, because we've gotten away with it for the past one hundred years. Will that be all?"
"No. I mean—how do you know I'm a virgin? What if I'm not? What then?"
He sighed. "You are a virgin. Society ones are blessed with the ability to detect virgin blood. It's as simple as that. Nice try." He stepped out.
Click .
My hope for freedom went with him, so I fell to my knees and puked.
* * * *
W hat day is it? And why should I even care?
Time crawled by like worms traveling on a stormy night. Like maggots through shit.
One of the freaks had cleaned the room and I could see my reflection in the marble. Such a beautiful prison with its blood-colored walls and decor.
Like—a beautiful poisonous flower. Finally a lovely analogy.
A garden tub completed the en-suite bathroom. A room without the luxury of a door. Just a frame stood there.
Freakish. So fucking—freakish.
Since they were perverts, maybe they wanted to watch their women use the facilities? I cringed while lounging on the bed.
Always I tried not to think of the worst, just survive. Just get by.
Every delivered meal gave a hint of time and I figured three days had passed.
Freaks took care of anything I needed, even clothes. Sometimes I pretended to be a guest at a fancy hotel. Easier that way.
I stayed busy, cleaned the room when it didn't need cleaned; bathed when I didn't need to.
Fears waned as loneliness set in.
One morning a freak rushed into my suite armed with a needle syringe. He wore dark slacks and a snug T-shirt as opposed to the obligatory robe.
I hated needles and e specially hated not knowing what substance filled this one.
"Get up." He flicked the reservoir.
Anger flashed in his beautiful-but-deadly eyes when I didn't budge.
" I said get up ."
I raised and took a step forward.
"Closer," he said. "Either you come to me or I'll come to you. Your choice." He lifted the syringe, long needle glistening.
"At least tell me what's in that thing," I demanded.
"A contraceptive." His lips curled to a smirk, eyes
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