Unmatched | ᴍᴀʜɪᴛᴏ

Chapter 32

There was warm blood running from my forehead across my face. I had slammed my head too many times against his, but my kidnapper was still standing. There were cuts all over my body, staining even more parts of my clothes. I had thought these days were over. I wasn't going to give up, but I couldn't deny feeling drained because my cursed energy was focused on healing the many injuries. He had kicked me in the stomach several times, making me vomit on the floor between my feet.

"Who are you working with?" he kept shouting at me. "Who else is there?"

My brain felt fuzzy. I was in desperate need of more cursed energy. I contemplated getting out of those chains to drain him of all he had, but I could see no way of freeing my hands. He had been right: those cuffs really were made for more powerful sorcerers than me. I supposed Gojo or Mahito would have had no problem with them. I was starting to feel weak and helpless, something I hadn't felt in months.

After what felt like hours of him cutting me, he turned off the light again and left the room. And then the real torture began. I sat there in absolute darkness; the slit of light beneath the door was gone. After a while, I felt dizzy and disoriented. The room was entirely silent except for the rattling of my chains when I tried to free myself (in vain) and my breathing.

I couldn't do anything but to sit and think. In the beginning, I thought of ways to get out of here. I wondered how I could get my hands free and how I would get him back. I imagined slicing his throat, slowly, and watching him choke on his own blood. I closed my eyes to imagine the sound of him gasping for air, the gurgling sound of his blood, and his limbs helplessly thrashing around.

Then I thought of Mahito. I wondered what he was doing. He must have noticed that I was gone, but I couldn't tell how much time had passed since I had left him. I felt terrible, wondering if he was worrying about me. He wouldn't think I had left him willingly, would he? He wouldn't. He knew how much I loved him and how much I dreaded being away from him.

That thought, being away from him for so long, made me struggle against my chains again. The cuts on my body were all healed, and I focused my entire energy on my hands. I could feel the blue energy, and I could feel the iron gloves heating up, but they wouldn't burst open or give up in any way. They stayed firmly in place, making me scream out in frustration.

Silence fell again, and I couldn't do anything to stop the thoughts in my head. Whenever I had done anything to only slightly upset my parents, I had been sent to my room. They used to do this to me so many times that after a while, it was nothing special to me anymore, but their enjoyment in it never wavered.

For years, I had been alone in my room with nothing to play with but my imagination. When I was older, I found that I had myself to play with, too. And when I say "older," I mean eleven. My imagination and I were unbeatable then. It made being locked up so much more exciting. What else was I supposed to do? My parents hadn't bought me any toys because they felt that it was a waste of money to buy me things to enjoy.

I had once stolen a teddybear from my kindergarten and hidden it under my mattress, but the fun lasted for only a week before my mother took my room apart to find... I don't even know what she wanted to find. Maybe exactly the bear. Maybe she just wanted an excuse to look through my stuff and have me clean it up afterward. Either way, from then on, she kept doing that every three days, and I had no more chance of hiding things.

But strict parents make smarter children. I simply stopped hiding things where I knew she would look. I had a dresser with three drawers, and I had taken out the floor of the last drawer and created a second floor for the middle drawer. My mother never noticed. That became the hiding spot for the candy I had kept stealing from the store around the corner from my school. Or a floorboard I had ripped out one time when they had locked me into my room and gone to a restaurant. Under there, I kept the small toy cars I had brought home in my backpack from a boy. He and I had met in second grade, and when he still thought I was normal and nice, he had lent me the cars, expecting I would give them back. After a few years, I threw out the cars and replaced them with vibrating toys I had ordered online using my mother's name and selecting a delivery date when I knew exactly they weren't home.

Way before the floorboards, when I was twelve and had found the joy in playing with myself, it was the first time I experienced real euphoria. Before, I could only think things up in my head and... do what? Nothing. I was lying in bed, dreaming of what it would be like to play with dolls and what they would do and say. It always ended with decapitation. That got boring after a while. Then I thought about decapitating the people at my school. That also got boring, so I thought about decapitating my parents. That took quite a while to get boring, especially since I always dreamed up more scenarios of how I could kill them.

Then, one day, I discovered that rubbing my pillow between my legs created a friction that ran through my entire body and made me feel better than anything else I had ever discovered. In the beginning, I paired the pillow with the thoughts of decapitation. It worked wonders, and now, thinking back, this might have been one of the most insane things I have ever done.

But then came the boys. I had grown breasts, and I was hot, and they noticed. And I noticed them. Boys my age, but especially boys older than me. I was thirteen and imagined sixteen - and seventeen year old boys when I was rubbing my pillow between my legs. Then I replaced my pillow with my fingers and then my fingers with some guy's fingers and then with guy's dicks.

My parents never knew any of it. They locked me into my room, thinking that this would stop me from doing things. They were wrong. So wrong. The boys came... into my room and into me. I never came. Never. Not once, unless I did it myself. No other person had made me cum until Sukuna. And then Mahito. And he was unmatched. The orgasms he gave me left me shaking for hours to come.

I threw my head back, thinking about Mahito again. I missed him so much. I had never felt the feeling of missing someone, at least not this much. I missed Yuji, too, of course, but this... It felt like there was a knife in my ribcage, cutting off my air. It hurt to be away from him for so long, not knowing when I would see him again. After so many hours of the strange man cutting into me and beating me, in this moment, I felt weakest. I wanted to get back to him, and I had the sudden urge to cry. But I wouldn't. I wouldn't give the bastard outside the satisfaction.