INAMORATA || 18+

32| hell

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"Put these on."

Mick leans down and unlocks the handcuff so I can change into the clothes he brought me. If it was still that first day he brought me down here, I would try to attack him, but I'm so tired. I haven't slept, haven't eaten, haven't even had water since he brought me down here. Just hourly abuse. It's broken my resolve in more ways than one, but I'm more determined to make it out. It's a need, not a want.

He gave me a long sleeved shirt with a zipper on the front, a denim miniskirt and a pair of long, yellow socks. Maybe he's scared that if I had shoes, I would throw them at him. Doesn't he realize I could just as easily strangle him with these socks? Whatever. Right now, it's in my best interest to convince him that I'll go along with all of his requests. So I change into the clothes, making sure the zipper on the shirt is all the way up.

A few minutes later, he comes back. Mick's eyes scan every inch of skin on my body like I'm a piece of meat. It sends shivers down my spine. "What's the occasion?" I ask.

He ignores me, choosing instead to cup my face in his hands. "Look at you."

"What's the occasion?" I repeat.

"Selene thinks you'll be happier upstairs, something about lacking sunlight down here. You do seem pretty miserable, so I figured it wouldn't hurt."

I try to smile. Like really try. If he doesn't believe that I'm wrapped around his little finger, then the idea of getting out of here might as well be nothing more than fiction. "Thank you."

"But," he comes closer, to the point I feel his breath tickling my cheek. "I have some conditions."

"Anything," I say, even though I'm terrified.

"Well, for one, if you leave the house, me or Selene has to be with you. No ifs, ands, or buts. Second, no unmonitored phone calls. I'll let you call your dad, tell him you're okay, that you just need sometime. I'll let you call your brother, tell him you love him and not to look for him. I'll even let you call Hudson, just so you can break his pathetic little heart. But the third condition, that's my favorite."

I know what the third is going to be. I can feel it in my bones, but I keep telling myself that it can't be true. "What's the third condition?"

He smiles and his eyes spark with lust. "You can't tell me no. Ever. No matter what you want, what I want will always be more important than your needs. Got it?"

I nod, forcing the bile creeping up my throat back down. As long as I am here, I'm nothing more than a marionette he can force to do what he wants, when he wants. It's nauseating. Mick forcibly kisses me, and for my own safety, I don't bite him. Even though I really, really want to.

He holds out a hand and I take it shakily. I keep telling myself that this is for my survival, that as soon as I'm out I won't have to do this ever again. On top of that, I have newfound hope in the fact that I'm allowed to leave with Selene. It makes the idea of escaping a lot more plausible, especially if we can leave while he isn't home. Mick leads— or pulls— me upstairs and the brightness of the room has me covering my eyes. I'd been in that dim basement for who knows how long, the lights are blinding.

The feeling of carpet under my feet is much better than the cold concrete I had grown accustomed to. The house is exactly the same as it was the last time I had seen it. I had spent so much of my formative years here, that I could navigate it all in my sleep. So many memories of sitting at the kitchen island while Mr. and Mrs. Hale served ice cream and snacks like it was a parlor. The last time we did that Selene and I were 10 and Mick was 11. It was before our personalities fully developed. The memory isn't as painful as others for that reason. Plus, I never paid him much attention until that night on the football field.

While the kitchen houses years of happy memories, the living room is a different story. We'd have movie nights every Friday. At first, it was great and we had fun with our friends. Then it became an excuse for him to play grab ass. All I can remember is so many times I tried not to cry as he would poke and prod different body parts.

"I hope you're not thinking of running," Mick murmurs and I turn to face him.

I shake my head no. "What're you thinking about?" he asks.

Mick takes a step toward me and every cell in my body is begging for me to scream and run away. But I can't. He has to trust me. "About the past."

"I think about the past a lot. But what happened then doesn't matter, we're here now and we're staying together this time," he takes another step toward me and kisses my cheek. I hate being around him. It's like a form of torture in itself. I'd rather swallow razor blades than spend another second around him, but that's just not an option right now.

"Let's get you up to your room." Mick grabs my wrist and drags me up to the second floor.

He went from locking me up in the basement to locking me up in his guest room. He moves to close the door but I stop it with my leg before it shuts. "You're just locking me up in another room."

"It's nice this time. You have a TV and a little sunlight," he motions toward the window. It's boarded up, but light creeps through the small gaps between boards.

I sigh and draw my leg back. The door immediately shuts and I hear the door lock. Wait. How is he locking it from the outside? I look down and discover he'd taken the knob off and flipped it so the part you lock the door with was on the outside. The only way I can leave this room is if he or Selene willed it, or if I somehow managed to pick the lock.

It's an ignorant thought, but I wonder if this is what a jail cell feels like. Being able to see the world outside through tiny gaps, only being let out when an authority figure tells you that you can. This is my own personal prison, where I'll remain until Mick is convinced that he's won. But he won't win. I won't let him. I can't let him.

Something on the nightstand catches my eye and I approach carefully. It's a copy of the book The Phantom of the Opera and the television remote beside it. That first month when we were dating, I read this book. In hindsight, it reminds me of Mick a lot. A man tormenting his lover for his twisted vision of love, threatening to kill if denied his wishes. Deep down, I know that if push came to shove, he'd kill Hudson if it meant he'd have me all to himself.

He put the book on the nightstand to taunt me, and it almost worked. But it's just increased my drive to make it out, more myself than ever. He wants to make me love him, to take full control over my mind and my actions. He's trying to make me weak so that eventually I'll admit that I "need" him and he'll be able to have his way with me. If that's what he wants, he'll give it. I'll pretend for him, I'll act like I'm under his spell. That way, it'll be so fuckin' satisfying, when he finally gets what's coming to him.

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