GUILTY (Mxm)

3

As the echoes of Declan's footsteps faded, the silence felt oppressive, weighing heavily on my battered body. The chains were removed from my wrists, but the ache lingered, a constant reminder of my captivity.

Summoning what little strength I had, I slowly crawled towards the bowl of food, my eyes fixed on the meager offering. The smell of stale bread and lukewarm soup wafted up, stirring my empty stomach. I knew I had to eat, not just to sustain myself but to avoid further punishment.

If Declan returned to find the food untouched, he would unleash his wrath upon me. I had learned that lesson the hard way. His tolerance for disobedience was nonexistent, and I couldn't risk facing his fury again.

My hands trembled as I lifted the bowl, the ceramic cool against my skin. I took a tentative sip of the soup, the flavors bland but welcome. The bread was stale, but I devoured it, my teeth aching from the effort.

As I ate, my thoughts wandered to Declan. Why did he persist in this charade? Did he truly believe I would break, that I would surrender to his whims? Or was this some twisted game, designed to punish me for past transgressions?

The questions swirled in my mind, but I knew better than to seek answers. In this bleak world, survival depended on obedience, not curiosity.

With the food gone, I felt a fleeting sense of relief. Perhaps, just perhaps, I would make it through this ordeal. But as the darkness closed in, I realized that hope was a luxury I couldn't afford.

The shadows seemed to deepen, casting long, ominous silhouettes across the walls. I shivered, despite the warmth of the room, my heart heavy with foreboding.

And then, I waited.

Waited for Declan's return, waited for the next cruel twist, waited for the inevitable.

I still recall that fateful evening, the night I first laid eyes on Declan. He sat alone at the bar, nursing a juice, his gaze fixed on the entrance as if awaiting someone. His elegance seemed out of place amidst the rowdy atmosphere, and I sensed an air of mystery surrounding him.

My friends and I watched from afar, intrigued by his solitude. They whispered among themselves, placing a bet: could I, Jerome, win Declan's heart within a month? The challenge sparked my competitive spirit. After all, I was one of the bar's most sought-after guys.

Confident in my charm, I dressed to impress that night. My fitted black jeans accentuated my lean physique, while my sleek, silver-trimmed shirt highlighted my broad shoulders. A sprinkle of designer cologne and a styled mess of dark hair completed my look. I was the epitome of sexy, and I knew it.

Strutting towards Declan, I commanded attention. His eyes locked onto mine, and I witnessed the subtle catch in his breath. Our introduction was effortless; we exchanged names and numbers, and the connection was palpable.

Within that first conversation, I discovered Declan's quick wit and dry humor. His intelligence and thoughtfulness drew me in, and I found myself captivated. As the night wore on, our connection deepened.

The next few weeks were a whirlwind of dates, laughter, and adventure. Declan's reserved nature gradually gave way to vulnerability, revealing a kind and caring soul. I was smitten.

As the month drew to a close, Declan's affection for me was undeniable. His eyes sparkled when I entered the room, and his touch sent shivers down my spine. My friends watched in awe, but I kept the bet a secret, savoring my triumph.

With Declan by my side, I felt invincible. Little did I know, our love was only the beginning – a fragile flame that would soon face unimaginable challenges.