Abducting BTS

Chapter 8 - Truths from liars mouths

Satan's body is hot against my back as I lay in bed unable to sleep.

I ache all over.

Earlier, my prediction had been right about what it would be like. He has been rough and domineering.

I think I can feel bruises forming on me, but I can't be sure.

He did it for a mixture of reasons. One; he's mad at me for Yoongi trying whatever it was he hoped to achieve. Two; he wanted to put me in my place, after such a big win on the job he was reminding me who exactly is under who. Three; I think some part of him liked it, to choke me until I couldn't breathe and pound me until I yelped from the pain in my cervix.

My mind is racing and hyperactive again and I feel like crying, something I haven't done after sex for years and never once in front of Satan.

He mustn't think me weak after all or I'd be in deep shit.

I rarely 'enjoy' sex and don't pretend to either. I never faked it. There was no reason with the old Lucifer and when I was with Satan, I didn't even know what an orgasm was like. I'd been taken too young to experience one even if I did at least have a concept of faking it.

It took until my sixteenth birthday for me to finally reach one. At the time I didn't know what was even happening.

He's always better on special occasions, more focused on me and much gentler, and softer too. The times I've enjoyed sex have been every birthday when he'd take me places on 'dates' in the day.

Normal places. Like a theme park or to the cinema and dinner.

He used to only have sex with me maybe once every month or so, but as I got older they got more frequent. By my eighteenth, it was once a week and now it's two or three.

His arm is heavy around my waist and his face is pushed into the back of my neck. He holds me in a vice-like grip that I can't escape both literally and not.

I screw my eyes shut in frustration but whenever I do I see the seven faces of the men I have locked downstairs.

A mix of anger and guilt courses through me. Anger that it wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for Yoongi. Guilt that I took any of them in the first place.

By the time it was morning, I was asleep for only a few hours the night.

Satan leaves quickly as usual with a short kiss as a goodbye. He won't be back tonight. He always says if he will.

I drag myself out, ignoring the pain that walking or just generally moving creates. I slink into the shower and sigh as the hot water pummels my sore and aching muscles.

The water burns my bruises that I can now see.

My waist and thighs are covered in handprints and my wrists are entirely black and blue from his tight grip.

I turn the water off, conscious that there are now seven others that need it.

I get out trying to stretch my neck but it's still tender from last night.

I wipe the mist from the mirror and wince at the reflection staring back at me.

She has cold dead eyes sunken into deep sockets ringed in dark circles. My usually pale skin is marred by bruises from where he slapped me and my split lip has swollen slightly.

My neck is awful. It looks like someone legitimately just slapped some bruise-coloured eyeshadow on me and went to town with a bending brush. 

I go to swear but find my voice is strained. It's quiet and breathy like I've gotten an awful cough.

I skulk downstairs finding everything uncomfortable.

I grab seven paper cups and spoons along with a box of special K and a bottle of milk. Let them eat my women's cereal. Fuck cooking.

I grab the duffel bag of clothes Satan left at some point as I pass it along with a fistful of handcuffs.

I ignore the door and the room I don't let myself think about and walk past to the boy's room.

I practically fling the locks undone and chuck the food inside to them.

I got up before them I realise with a smirk. I rudely awaken them shouting. "By the wall!" Even though my throat decides to run daggers down itself as I do.

They leap up and scramble to stand by the wall, each in varying stages of undress.

Their eyes are wide but bleary, still sleep-swollen. Jimin's face looks better at least as I tell them to face the wall.

I walk along, handcuffing them together and then Jin at the end to a pipe so I can leave the door open whilst I check and clean everything.

I dump the cups on the floor before haphazardly chucking in food and milk. One by one I hand them their food ignoring the wide-eyed and shocked stares they give me.

I look a mess and I know it, but it isn't fun to be so openly shown I look like a mess.

I begin by lifting all of the mattresses and checking for holes they could use to have buried the glass but I find none. I do notice however that the original pile seems to have grown by two large chunks of glass that weren't there the night prior.

"Subtle," I growl before picking them up and chucking them outside with the glass from before.

"Any more?" I ask and take their silence as a no.

A few minutes pass as they eat in silence while I finish clearing everything up and putting the mattress back.

Namjoon speaks in English surprising me.

"Did he do that last night?" He asks quietly.

"Take a guess," I reply sending him a glare.

"Was it because of what ... Happened yesterday with...." He doesn't say Yoongi's name but I know what he means.

Running my hands through my hair, I sigh. "If I'm honest... Fifty-fifty. He would have done something anyway. He does... This" I say motioning to myself in general with a wave of my hand. "Whenever he thinks I'm getting too much momentum. He doesn't want anyone getting any ideas so he puts me in my place so to speak."

It shocks me that I'm so honest, but something about Namjoon and just how he speaks to me is calming. It makes you want to tell him things, probably why he's the leader.

"Your turn. Is there any more?" I ask holding up a tiny shard smaller than my fingernail.

He sighs and nods his chin above the doorframe.

I give a half-hearted smile of thanks and walk over, having to stretch up to reach. My fingers fumble on the top of the door frame until they hit something smooth.

I get a strange flashback to the concert. It was all just two days ago but it feels so long. I reached up for my gun the same way now.

I feel my shirt riding up to near my ribs as I grab the glass and pull it down chucking it into the pile without saying a word.

When I turn around, there is more than one pair of eyes staring at the handprints on my waist partially hidden by tattoos.

I walk over and unlock their handcuffs shoving them back in my pocket and going to leave.