Game On

Chapter 22: Monster

I hate him. I hate him so much, words can't even describe it.

You know when you're in school and have this really annoying teacher who you says you hate?

That teacher would look like an angel beside Nick.

If I wasn't sure if he was the devil in disguise before, I sure as hell am now.

The thought of what he's done makes me sick. It makes me want to puke.

I thought there was something good inside of him but apparently, I was wrong.

How could I even think that? I mean, the list of what he's done is pretty long.

He kidnapped me.

He gave me a stupid pet name.

He forcefully kisses me and let's not talk about how he seems to love to nibble on my earlobe and caress my arms and cheeks.

He talks about how he will enjoy breaking me.

He doesn't feel any remorse.

He kidnaps people for money, and he's okay with it.

He promised to not bring Patricia to this hell hole.

He broke his promise.

How on earth could I not see that coming?

Right now, I'm clenching my fist only to unclench it the moment after, over and over again to resist the urge to choke Nick. Which I know I can't even do.

The world is unfair, and I hate it.

My vision is blinded by hate, all I'm seeing goes in red. I'm fuming and I wouldn't be too surprised if there would start to come out steam out of my ears.

Nick had dragged me back downstairs, but he didn't put me in his own room, no he had to throw me in a small room which looks more like a cell than a real room.

The walls are gray without any paint on them, and the only furniture in the room is a couch, except for the old lamp which casts a yellow light over this incredibly small room.

If I would be claustrophobic, I can tell you that I would've gone crazy by now. There's no windows in the room, no pictures on the wall. Nothing.

If I stretch out my arms, standing in the middle of the room, I can touch the walls on both sides of me. That's how small it is and it's about twice as long as wide.

Even though I'm not claustrophobic, I can feel my breathing getting heavier. I've been here for at least half an hour now, and my knuckles are red and bloody from all the pounding I've done on the door, and my throat hurt from all the screaming I did the first ten minutes after Nick put me in here. I didn't scream or pound on the door out of fear of this room, no I did it because of how angry I was, and I still am.

Luckily for Nick, I can't do much in here but if he would've thrown me in his own room, I can tell you it would've been trashed by now.

I'm not the one to break down in anger, losing control, but I guess being here have changed that. Being here have changed me.

I didn't be like this before, I didn't use to be full of hate and fear and always come back with witty, sarcastic comments. That side of me did I only bring out when someone really did piss me off or annoy me. I saved it to those who deserved it, and I guess those ones are in this building right now. Or I don't even guess, I know.

A light knock on the door draws me back to reality and I get up from the surprisingly comfortable couch I've placed myself in as I gave up on getting out.