Fat. Beautiful. Tasty. Ravenous.

Chapter 16

A/N: Oh snap! An a/n AHEAD of the chapter?! Yes because I need to stop you right there and give a big fat WARNING of really intense situations ahead. I'm sure you could guess that much might happen, though. 

SO trigger warnings for violence against women, assault, non-consensual/forced affection, heavily implied torture.

And with that, enjoy the chapter.

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The moment my feet hit solid ground, I'm sprinting, fleeing like I never have before.

The thing that flew us here just scoops me up again, practically knocking the air out of me.

Cold, stabbing panic overtakes me and I'm just screaming again, crying out for Fat Gum, Suneater, anyone.

HELP ME! GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF!

But no voice comes from my throat. I might as well be whispering for all the sound I make.

"Aiko, calm down," Jared's voice comes, sounding all too relaxed.

"Go fuck yourself," I try to shriek at him with the same results.

My throat is sore and dry. Every time I swallow, it feels like sandpaper. Before long it'll start being really painful too, no doubt.

"Aiko," Jared says again, that disgustingly calm, cold voice turning my stomach as he takes a few steps away from us then turns back to face me, "If you calm down and don't try to run from me, I'll have it let you go, and you won't have to see any of these things anymore."

A war wages in my mind over this choice that he's given me.

I don't want to submit to him for even a second. I want to do the opposite of anything he asks me to do. I hate him. He did all of this to me!

But I can hardly even think over the pounding in my ears as my terror grips me being in the arms of this disgusting monster. If he just has it hold onto me this whole time, I'll never even have my wits about me enough to figure out a way to get away.

"Let her go," Jared says when he sees I'm willing to be more docile, a small, warm smile coming to his face.

I want to smack it off. In fact, that's exactly what I'm going to do.

I lunge for him, bringing my palm soundly across his cheek.

Indeed, the smile on his face is gone but I instantly regret my rashness as the monster comes down on me again, knocking me to the ground and snarling in my ear.

I try to scramble away from it, crawling on my hands and knees across the floor toward him.

"Enough," Jared says, wiping the muck off of his face left by my dirty hand, "I think she gets it now."

The oppressive presence at my back recedes and I look back to find the monster gone.

I hate this. I hate him. I hate myself.

I hate that I'm so terrified, I'd rather crawl toward my captor than have to be near that monster for another second. I'd rather listen to him in some capacity than have that thing touch me one more time.

"Come on, darling," he says, holding his hand out for me to take, "Get up, let's get you cleaned off."

I stand on my own, still keeping my defiance clear. Maybe I can't assault him but I can sure keep from having to touch him.

This man is so highly respected in the fashion community. He's the kind of person budding photographers idolize and want to become. His work has been featured in magazines, billboards, even garnering him awards for some of his portraits. Celebrities request him for bordeaux shoots.