BLOOD AND HEART

89 | NOTHING

N      Y      X

Thank you Adrian for saving my family.
Thank you Adrain for not raping me yet.

Hate you universe for putting me into this shit.
Hate you universe for not giving me enough luck.

Being scared would be an understatement. I was terrified, trembling, sweating, nauseous. I had been in this state for thirty seven minutes now. How do I know? I had been counting the seconds, clinging to the passing time as my only anchor. The absence of a clock made my makeshift method desperate, but necessary. Each number I whispered under my breath was a lifeline, a way to keep myself grounded. Because if I let go, even for a moment, the anxiety attack would consume me entirely—devouring me in slow, agonizing bites.

My thoughts flickered back to my families—both the one I was ripped away from and the one that had helped me survive until now. I prayed they were safe, though that hope felt more like a cruel joke than a comfort. Here I was, alone, pathetically anxious, on the brink of losing my mind in this hellish place.

"Here," Adrian's voice cut through the fog in my head. I flinched as he extended a bowl of chocolate ice cream toward me with a smile that sent a chill down my spine. "Some ice cream for your thoughts."

His tone was disarmingly casual, as if we were just two friends sharing a light moment. As if nothing had happened. As if he hadn't kidnapped me, hurt my family, or killed so many of Zayn's men. My stomach churned, bile rising in my throat at the sheer absurdity of it.

I stared at the ice cream, my hands frozen by my sides. There was no way I could take it. Something dark flickered in Adrian’s eyes at my hesitation, and he suddenly shoved the bowl toward me with a force that made me stumble.

"Eat," he commanded, his voice now low and threatening.

A sick realization dawned on me. If I didn’t eat, he would force me, and that would hurt me. I was already hurt—physically and emotionally, but at this point, I didn’t care about myself anymore. I didn’t want to live. I didn’t want to see another day or night that didn’t have Zayn in it. But if I offended Adrian, he might force himself on me. The thought made my skin crawl. I couldn’t let that happen. So, despite every fiber of my being screaming in protest, I took the bowl.

As I brought the spoon to my lips, my hands shook uncontrollably. The ice cream tasted like ashes in my mouth, cold and dead against my tongue. I forced myself to swallow, the sweetness turning bitter in my throat. Adrian watched me with that same smirk, satisfaction curling at the corners of his mouth as I complied.

"Good girl," he murmured, the words sliding off his tongue like oil. It made my skin crawl.

"Finish eating it, and then we'll talk to my mother," he said, his voice light again, as if we were planning a friendly visit. "She's been waiting to talk to you for so long."

His smile was genuine this time, a warmth in his eyes that was almost childlike. If he loved his mother so much, why did he hurt women? Hadn’t she taught him not to? The contradiction was sickening.

I forced down the last spoonful of ice cream, my stomach roiling as Adrian reached for his phone. He dialed quickly, glancing at me with an unsettling mixture of eagerness and expectation.

"Hey Mom," he greeted, his voice softening in a way that was almost unrecognizable. "Yes, she's here." He looked at me, his gaze hardening. "Yeah, hold on, I'm passing the phone to her."

He whispered, his breath hot against my ear, "Be good to my mom."

The phone felt like lead in my hand as I lifted it to my ear. My breath was shaky, my voice barely a whisper. "Hello?"