Marry or Kill

40

S O L

I wake up, a surge of sickness coursing through my veins. In a predictable rhythm, I sprint to the toilet and retch violently, my body convulsing with each heave. The aftermath leaves me drained, and my breath comes in ragged gasps.

Almost immediately, a piece of bread is callously thrown into my cell, a meagre offering.

"Eat. Otherwise, you'll be starving," a voice commands from the shadows, its tone devoid of sympathy.

"So tending for someone who simply labelled me as a prisoner," I retort, trying to catch my breath after the relentless heaving. My voice sounds parched and strangled out from the continuous retching.

Beads of sweat line my forehead, clinging to me like the precarious thread between life and death.

"Am I supposed to refer to you as anything else?" The response is cold and dejected, sending shivers down my spine as if the warmth has been mercilessly suctioned out of the air and a heavy fog of darkness has settled over our heads.

"You tell me, am I just a charity case to you?" I lift my head to that familiar platinum hair, peering at the piece of rotten bread with a sense of reluctance.

I barely touch it, the emptiness in my stomach sapping away any remnants of energy I might have had. I'm not hungry, either.

"You're merely someone I've shown kindness to in a cold place," he says, the words measured and devoid of emotion. I meet his grey eyes, a bitter truth settling within me. "Nothing beyond that," he emphasises, each word a calculated distance to allow the truth to sink in my skin.

I narrow my eyes, reflecting on the memory of our initial interaction. "And what of when you called me beautiful?" I question, the memory fresh in my mind.

Castiel turns to me, his gaze unwavering. "That's when I thought you'd meet your death sooner," he states matter-of-factly.

"So what, you speak these words, hoping you wouldn't have to live with the consequences?" I push back, a sense of frustration creeping into my voice.

"Eat the bread," he commands, redirecting the conversation with a stern order that brooks no further discussion.

As I stand up, a wave of uneasiness washes over me, but despite the uncertainty, I kick the bread to the heels of his feet. The loaf rolls through the iron bars, coming to a rest on the cold floor near Castiel's feet.

A subtle tension tightens his jaw as he feels the sensation of the bread now sitting next to him.

"So you get to sidestep my questions with demands?" I snap. "You really are embracing the role of the guards around here."

He bends down like a flash of thunder, unmistakably, to pick up the piece of bread. His arm stretches through the iron bars, and he holds out the damned loaf for me to take. "Eat the bread," Castiel finally snaps, his tone taking on a sharp edge that startles me.

Shock courses through my veins, the unexpected shift in his demeanour cutting through the tense air of the cell.

I remain deathly silent for a moment at the demand that shook my bones while staring at the piece of bread. With shaky fingers and my eyes tracing the lines of mold that mar its surface, I take it and I see relief wash over Castiel's face.

"How delicious," I bitterly remark, a tone of resigned sarcasm creeping into my voice.

Wincing, I sink my teeth into the hard bread, the resistance making it feel as if my teeth might break, while an ache forms in my jaw.