The Girl Who Cried Wolf.

E

To my friend who lost the courage to continue reading after chapter 2 but is the first to vote on every published chapter XD <3

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"Want to say that again?"

She gulps. The action brings tears to her eyes, but she fights through the itchy discomfort.

God knows what else he'll do if she irritates him in the slightest.

A week alone with him, and she's bound herself with more rules than she can bear.

But that's okay.

She's still breathing.

For now.

The sizzle of metal draws her attention back to him. She racks her brain, trying to distract herself from the impending pain.

"Your collection is impressive." She finally says.

And it is.

Against one wall, from the top corner down to the other end, are mannequin heads covered in varieties of wigs.

Blond, red, brown, grey, black. Even a light shade of blue.

Death is quite the poser.

She glances at his head, wondering if the dark waves are natural. He hasn't changed anything other than his outfit all week.

"If you move," he breathes in her ear, "it'll hurt more. So move as much as you want."

When he lifts the red needle from the flame, she jerks her head away, resisting the urge to feed the hot ball of fear growing in the pit of her stomach.

But it doesn't work. The panic balloons anyway.

"Do you know what it feels like to speak and not be able to tell apart your truths from your lies?"

Death glances at her and rolls his eyes. "Again, with the questions."

She lets out an uneasy breath. "Do you?"

"I like noise. I like the melodies that bleed into voices when people go mad with pain." He softly brushes a finger over the sweat beading on her brow. "So sing for me, darling."

Then he touches the hot metal to her skin and closes his eyes, already drunk on his fantasy of her bloodied screams.

The second she registers the pain, her first thought is to bite her tongue and swallow it. Shock electrifies her bones and spears her heart.

She can feel the needle roasting her flesh, separating nerves, tissues, and cells, paving the way deeper into her body.

She digs her teeth into her lips, feels the skin separate, and the soft flesh caves under the force.

But she won't give him her dignity.

She won't give him her scream.

She'll fight to keep one thing to herself even if she has to die trying.

Death opens his eyes.

Then he frowns. "You're not going anywhere, darling. I have all the time to make you sing."

Leaning forward, he tucks his face under her jaw and opens his mouth to lick her tears. She trembles, blood dripping down her chin as his tongue glides over her cheek and stops under her eye.

She doesn't realise she's been crying.

Death tosses the needle into the trash with a smile and picks out another. It's thicker and wider.

Does she have the courage to kill herself?

The binds dig tighter into her skin, and another tear falls.

If this isn't her rock bottom, she won't survive if she falls any harder.

Death tips the needle back at her and grins as her skin scrambles apart, charred and black on the edges.

He draws a line.

Then two.

Then, he creates a pattern of wide circles with little punctures.

Dark spots start to fill her vision, and her head swims.

Soon, a pile of used needles collects on the side of her head, and she's burning everywhere.

Her jeans are soaked with blood, and the bed collects the rest of the leaks.

As she releases her lips, she hears a voice she never thought she would.

"-ave a short video here, of a student who insists her friend has been kidnapped despite the police's denial of this claim."

There's some static then: 'That's not true! She didn't run away! She's my friend, and I know her better than anyone. She's missing, and she's scared. I know it. She needs help, our help. If you don't search for her, I will. And you heartless bastards will pay if something happens to her because of your indecision- "

It's Friend.

"Wow," Death chuckles at the TV, "people are actually looking for someone like you? And here I thought you were the worst of the bunch."

Friend is looking for her?

Why?

Why does she care?

"Don't worry. They won't find you. But the smell will draw them in if we go on without a bath. Come on."

Death hooks his hands under her armpits and pulls her to her feet. Her steps are wobbly and pained, and her head is still fogged with the pain, but she can't stop thinking about Friend.

Is it obvious that she'd been taken?

She'd run away before, and no one had looked for her then, so why is Friend looking now?

Is her mother there?

Did people believe or care she was missing?

A hard smack at her nape sends her careening toward the ground, but she's pulled back in time.

"Focus and climb."

She looks down.

The rocky step mocks her, as if presenting a new wave of torture she'll be forced to endure.

She lifts her leg and steps over it.

The bricks immediately soothe her burnt soles, giving temporary relief from the burns, and she immediately sags against the wall in search of more when heat suddenly rains down on her.

White hot pain stings her skin, and she gasps, her hands shifting to shield herself.

"Move an inch, and we'll start again," Death drones as he cranks the temperature.

Her breathing thins, her skin an itchy, scalding burden on her body as hot water lashes down.

She closes her eyes.

The feel of liquid rolling into her bruises and burns.

The pungent smell of diluted blood and pus.

The vapor rising around her.

It's all too much.

It's too much!

Her head spins, her heart is pounding so painfully it's the only thing she can hear, and before she can stop herself, an ear-splitting scream explodes from her throat.

Oh, no.

Not her dignity.

Death groans and tips his head back. "Ah, I knew you could sing."

Then, the world goes dark.