𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭

19

There was never an end to Yates's gifts.

He always gave them to you with a devilish smile, the sharp points of his teeth glittering under the overhead lights with an unspoken promise. His eyes would shine when he held the gift gingerly, always wrapped perfectly, as if he was surprised by his own genius. But the gifts themselves were like a cat's: dead mice left on a doorstep or a still writhing snake buried inside the bedcovers.

One of his presents hung heavy on your ankle. It had the same weight as the gun, but it served as a sort of handcuff instead of a weapon, leaving you a prisoner inside a gilded cage. Somehow, Yates had managed to procure a house arrest bracelet and slipped it onto you while you were sleeping. The thought of him touching you even remotely made you recoil in disgust. You were practically his dog, collared and shackled by an invisible fence. Apprehensive, you didn't even want to wonder what he would make you do next. Force you to cuddle by his side, give him kisses? Profess your love to him?

Yates had already tried tricking you once before. The night you returned from the hotel, he had sat you down and calmly explained how your friends were traitors. Bitches. Tramps who were planning to scam you out of your money and take you hostage; it took everything in you not to laugh at that. If Yates had thought that you would believe any more of his poorly fabricated lies, he was the biggest idiot you'd ever met in your life. There was no room for error, for any more idiocy. He attempted to show you text messages– also poorly replicated and faked.

You had tried to claw at him too, your nails sharpened by constant biting. And frankly, you did quite a good job, leaving gashes at the side of his neck and small cuts in his forearm. Yates had managed to wrestle you off, though not before you were able to chomp down on his shoulder. The tussles continued for a few nights. It was practically a schedule.

You would be locked in your room for most of the night. And day. There'd be one meal delivered by Yates himself. He would watch you eat it, bite by bite, and it would all go down like dust, tasteless and grainy in your throat. Then, you would sip water and go to the bathroom. And then he would try to talk to you and you'd launch at him once again, shrieking and pulling his hair out like a madwoman. And then, he'd fling you off and leave and you'd be left alone in the stifling silence once again. Sometimes, you would stuff the covers in your mouth to stifle your sobs as you cried yourself to sleep. Other days, when you didn't get enough of your anger out on your captor, you would scream. You would fucking scream to the heavens and to hell and to any godforsaken neighbors that were listening.

Tonight, you were in a screaming mood. You resorted to guzzling water from the tap, emerging from the bathroom with a soaked shirt and still parched throat. Yates had returned your bedside lamp after you'd behaved for a few days, so you promptly unplugged it and tore off the lamp shade. Then, you yelled at the top of your lungs and pitched it at your bedroom door, watching the lamp shatter into pieces and scatter glass all over the floor. You even snapped the lampshade, your entire body shaking with the weight of your wrath.

Footsteps sounded behind the door as it flung open, revealing a mirthless, shadowed Yates. You watched with an emotion close to glee as he stepped into the room, crying out as a piece of glass tore into the sole of his foot.

"Fuck. [name], you are in deep shit today. Fuck!"

You dive to get a particularly long piece of glass from the floor, brandishing it like a knife.

"Let me go."

"No. Fuck, get away." Yates took a step back, eyes narrowed as he surveyed the valley of glass separating him from you. "You're such a fucking idiot."

"Says you!" you exclaim, breathless. "You're just a heartless bastard."

His head whips up. "After all I did for you, I'm the heartless one, huh? You're just crazy. Your mom died and now you're going crazy. Look around! Do I seem heartless to you? When the press hears about it, they'll be egging your window and practically begging for me to break up with you," he says, his rage barely contained.