Marry or Kill

38

S  O  L

I still feel the invisible sharp touch of hands wrapping on my lower arms when I sink onto my knees and fold my body into the cold ground, wincing at the coldness beneath me.

My bones quiver when a sharp, unforgiving click echoes in the cramped space as the door is sealed shut.

The remnants of sickness, cleaned by unseen hands, leave a lingering stench in the air. My knees protest against the abrasive surface, the skin splitting open as I crawl toward the only semblance of relief – the metal toilet

A bitter taste lingers in my mouth, and I can feel the texture of saliva coating my parched tongue. Each agonising movement sends waves of discomfort through my battered body.

As I huddle over the cold, unyielding toilet, the nausea that clenches at my gut intensifies. The retching sounds resound in the cramped space, and I feel my throat burn the same intensity as my back.

With exhaustion weighing heavily upon me like an anchor, I surrender to gravity, slumping to the side of the toilet.

Wearily, I meet Castiel's lingering gaze. "Do you mind?" I mumble through my parched lips, with a sharp tone I didn't know I could muster.

Castiel pivots with a resigned sigh. As I lean towards the toilet once more, desperation etched on my face, I grip the rim with clammy, trembling palms. I can feel every ounce of fluid leaving my stomach as emotional exhaustion courses through every fibre of my being.

Each retch is a painful reminder of the fact I'm stuck here with no way home.

Castiel turns around once again, watching my battered figure with intensity, his expression hesitant, as if treading on uncertain ground. An internal storm rages within me, and the desire to unleash my frustration on him simmers beneath the surface.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?" he asks, his words hanging in the air.

I grit my teeth, the memory of his calculated doings fueling the flames of my anger. "About how you purposefully got underneath my skin and nearly got me whipped?" I ask. "Or about what you said?"

Castiel's eyes, for a quick moment, darken with a hint of something unreadable. His response, however, is a cold and calculated retort. "You came dangerously close to whipping, all because of your own silly emotions. You really are one reckless and foolish girl."

Castiel's words are a verbal slap that only ignites the fire in me further. Gritting my teeth harder, I feel the pressure of my molars gnawing against each other.

"You know what?" I retort, my tone measured but charged with anger. "You're right. If I wasn't captured here, I wouldn't hesitate to end your life just for serving Atticus."

"The way I see it, what you say doesn't bother me much—it's like a passing breeze," Castiel asserts, his words carrying a detached nonchalance. As he nears the iron bars, his presence becomes an ominous shadow looming over me. "But your own anger and how you act? That's what's going to lead to your downfall."

It feels like another physical blow, one that I can no longer deflect. The fiery defiance within me extinguishes as swiftly as it ignited, and I sense the vulnerability seeping in through my throat.

Tears threaten the edge of my eyelids, but I bite my lip as hard as I can, determined to withhold the emotional storm building within.

Castiel remains unmoved, a stoic figure in the dimly lit cell. With resignation heavy in my chest, I allow my back to meet the unforgiving cold of the brick walls. "I've already hit rock bottom," I quietly confess.