Alpha's Captive (Now censored)

1-Captive

A/N: Just to correct some misconceptions; I never took down this book. I woke up one day on November of 2020 and it was gone. My heart broke. It had over 4 million reads and  I had put so much careful work into it.

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Rats are smart.

Learned that after two days in a basement with one.

Making friends with a bloody rat wasn't how I saw my summer going, but what's the choice? Sit in silence and let my thoughts eat me alive? No, give me the damn rodent. Between a loathed creature and the echo of my own thoughts, I'll choose the one less likely to betray me.

I've given it a name: Jupiter, and my food, if leftover spaghetti with mysterious chunks of grease and a piece of wet bread could be called that.

I talk to it.

Quietly, of course. No one needs to know and it's not like anyone else is paying attention.

Sometimes I wonder if I lost it but then I remember everyone talks to themselves sometimes, just happens to be a rat listening this time.

As I glanced at it, crawling near my legs in the dim light, I realized there was nothing remotely cute about it. Just a dirty, crusty little thing that doesn't deserve a second thought.
What on earth pushed me to try to pet it earlier?

I guess you'd be amazed what worth you can see in the most loathsome of creatures when there's nothing else in sight. Clearly, my standards have dropped, matter of fact, I was itching to pet it again, but I was chained.

...And it already bit me once.

I laid back on the dirty torn up mattress. Loose fabric strings caught onto my chipped nail. It should be night by now. Jupiter crawled away somewhere I couldn't see, alarmed at my sudden movement. It will come back. Rats, like some people, somehow always find their way back to you if you've benefitted them before.

The smell of moldy mattress sponge hit my nose as soon as my head touched the pillow. The basement floor was all grey cement. Not a tile in sight. The walls were a terrible green peeling paint job which with the endless flickering of the neon lights above the door, gave me one headache after another. An old run down boiler sat by the door, it shook and screeched every time someone used the hot water upstairs.

That thing could explode any minute.

Death by murder or death by explosion. Hard to tell which one I prefer, both seem preferable to the slow decay of old age.

No.

No, I take it back. I'd rather die of old age, in my own bed, let my skin sag and my bones creak, and a trillion or more grandkids run around. If there's such a thing as 'dying on your own terms,' that's as close as I'd ever get. A peaceful end, not a glorious one.

I don't want to die yet. Not now, and ew, not in here.
Please help.
Someone, anyone. If I have to stay down here for one more day I was going to chew my own tongue off. The chains rattled as I yanked my hands, trying, for the hundredth time, to break free. I was tied like a dog to the radiator behind me. The resilience of these chains frustrated me. I skinned my own wrists trying to slide the cuffs down my hands, I never would've thought I'd ever notice I had chubby thumbs before, but they were the star of the show and the reason I the cuffs couldn't be removed.

My back was sore from sitting all day. That was all I did. Sit. Motionless. Waiting. The gash on my elbow flared with an occasional sting, reminding me I was still flesh and blood. The way I sat, unmoving, for hours, you'd never tell I was human. The needle bruises on my forearm getting bluer. My cheek was flushed red.