Little Lamb

15 ❦ guns & ropes

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"You heard me," I shot back.

Riggs narrowed his eyes.
"Oh, I heard you, Lola. Sly fox, catching onto my name so quickly."

"Fuck you," I spat.

Tears blurred my vision, a storm of hatred and hurt flooding my chest. His beauty, once intoxicating, now felt like a cruel joke, something designed to ensnare and destroy me. My feet shifted instinctively, retreating toward the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" he demanded, lunging toward me as I pushed the door open. But I was faster, slipping through the narrow crack before he could stop me.

I bolted down the hallway, adrenaline coursing through my veins. My heart pounded like a drumbeat of desperation. Freedom felt close, just a few more steps.

But Riggs was quicker.

His body collided with mine, tackling me to the ground. The impact sent a sharp jolt of pain through my ribs as the floor met me unforgivingly. His weight pressed heavily against my back, pinning me down.

I screamed, thrashing beneath him as he leaned closer. "Running off so soon? I haven't even excused you. Such bad manners. You slap me, whine, cry, and now this?"

"Get off me!" I sobbed. "You're sick, Riggs. I can't take this anymore. Why? Why do you keep doing this to me?"

"Maybe I am sick." he said, as his hand tangled painfully in my hair. He yanked my head back sharply, forcing a cry from my lips. "And I keep hurting you because you don't listen. That's your problem, Lola. You never fucking listen."

The cold press of metal against my lips froze me in place. My heart stopped, a suffocating wave of terror crashing over me.

"Open your mouth," he commanded, his voice steady, almost bored.

"Please don't kill me," I whimpered, trying to turn my head away from the barrel of the gun.

"Open your fucking mouth," he growled.
He yanked my head back harder, the sharp pain radiating through my scalp leaving me trembling and helpless.

My lips parted reluctantly, tears streaming down my face as the cold steel pressed against my teeth. The taste of metal and fear filled my mouth as I stared up at him, his unfeeling eyes boring into mine.

"Listen carefully," he whispered, his breath warm and sickeningly calm against my cheek. "This is what happens when you disobey me. From now on, you'll do as I say. No protests. No tears. No resistance. You'll follow orders, if you want to survive. But make no mistake, survival isn't guaranteed."

"Do you understand?"

Tears rolled silently down my cheeks as I nodded, my body trembling uncontrollably.

"Good girl," he mocked, shoving the barrel deeper into my mouth. The cold steel pressed against my tongue, cutting off my breath and any semblance of hope. In that moment, I almost welcomed the release of death, an escape from the torment that had become my reality.

"Oh? You want it?" he sneered, his voice a taunting echo of my silent desperation.

Tears blurred my vision as I nodded weakly, the weight of surrender crushing my chest. The glimmer of light in my eyes felt like a cruel joke, a false promise of salvation. I closed my eyes, bracing myself for the oblivion I craved.

And then—

The sharp click of the trigger rang out, hollow.
My stomach lurched. The gun was empty.

My breath hitched, a sob trapped in my throat as realization clawed its way through me. I stared up at him, wide eyed, trembling, the aftershock of almost dying coursing through me.

"You really thought I'd let you go that easily?" he hissed, yanking the gun away from my lips with an almost casual flick of his wrist.

Before I could even flinch, his hand clamped down on my arm, his grip unyielding and brutal. He dragged me to my feet like I was nothing, my legs barely able to hold me. Broken.

All I could do was follow. There was no fight left to give.

By the time we reached his office, I was no longer crying, not because I wasn't hurting, but because there was nothing left. No tears. No fight. Just a hollow ache where my hope used to be.

He shoved me onto the couch, retrieving a length of rope from his desk. "You missed these? They certainly missed you."

I stared at the ropes, dread coiling in my stomach. The last time he'd tied me up, the marks had lingered for days. But I didn't resist. I couldn't.

"Hands out," he ordered.

I obeyed, my wrists trembling as I held them out for him. He bound them tightly. The rope bit into my skin.

"Stop looking at me with those glassy eyes," he snapped, his voice cutting through the fog in my mind.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

His eyes narrowed as he pulled a cloth from his pocket. "I'm done listening to you talk today. Do you have any last words?"

"No," I murmured.. "Just do it already."

"That's a first."

Without hesitation, I opened my mouth as he stuffed the cloth inside, tying it securely behind my head. He adjusted my hair almost tenderly.

"Relax. I'll check on you later."
He grabbed a few items from his desk, cast one last glance my way, and left, locking the door behind him.

As the silence closed in, I slumped against the couch, my bound wrists aching, my throat raw from suppressed cries. For a fleeting moment, I envied the emptiness of the gun, its merciless promise of an end that had been denied to me once again.